"sprats" poems
Last time was this time that time, but next time like the first time we met the first time
gets better.
We set sprats to catch mackerel and fish for compliments while the whales sit on couches and watch television, repeats and retreats and it beats me how the sea cow gives no milk.
But this time brings time into focus again and I rise with the dawn to bring the then into now and the day limbers up as I do my bit and sit down for a tea, a cigarette lit, a cough with a wheeze, two Weetabix please and this time gets better every time that I'm sat here.
She comes about ten and by then things are done, the plates have been washed, the laundry is hung and we wait for a bus, the ten twenty-three,
to Putney, and on the heath, there we will be
like the last time but this time,
I remember the first time I met her when I thought to myself that this could get better and it did,
so you see,
while sprats catch a mackerel or is it the other way round it all follows on and back on dry ground you're bound to make a connection in the mystery of the lines that cross in and out of those times last the last times.
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 5:48 AM UTC
Fishing for my muse
but he eludes me.
A futile quest to catch
mere sprats.
Other times they gush in torrents.
He teases me, I’ll warrant;
lets them drop into my lap,
words, fast & fat.
He commands the waters
but I will catch him for my tea
& feed my famished poetry.
Aug 28, 2020
Aug 28, 2020 at 10:50 AM UTC
A sink bucket
Today I forgot to buy milk, black coffee in the morning it is so
easy to remember the past it shines like jewels lost.
It was the winter of 1964, it was dark my brother carried
a big sink bucket and I a smaller one, we were on our way to
the coal depot to- if we found a hole in the fence- to steal coal.
We were caught by a man who wore an armband of the new
people in command and they were taking no nonsense from
anyone least of all seven years old thieves.
I have often seen that you put a uniform on someone who
who never had power and they behave like little ****** sprats.
On the way home with two empty buckets we came across
a wooden fence that had partially fallen down we took as many
planks as we could carry and had a warm Christmas Eve
Jun 20, 2017
Jun 20, 2017 at 4:54 AM UTC