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Lonely As A Cloud Life's trials left me lonely as a cloud On high until I found some daffodils, Not in an adventitious golden crowd Extending by a lakeside near some hills Like Wordsworth in his poem, but below York's city walls on sloping grassy banks, Arrayed in row upon enticing row. So I plucked half a dozen from the ranks And clasped them and, like Wordsworth, felt a rapt Companionship that filled me with renewed Light-heartedness ... until a copper tapped On my left shoulder and rebuked me—"Dude, Unlicensed flower picking's stealing"—then Detained my blooms ... to leave me lone, again. (First published in the Spring-Summer 2024 issue of Rat's Ass Review) |
Security Lights Sweet dreams are recommended: wellness guides Encourage you to spend eight hours a night Cocooned in bed with darkness on all sides, Untroubled by incursions, which a light Repels when motion sensors turn it on ... It's on. It isn't meant to make you rise, Though does. There's nothing there. The moth has gone. You curse the safety expert who supplies Lights calibrated by AI to keep Intruding moths from tripping wires—you're owed Good money, since the bugs that stop your sleep Hide not outside, but in the expert's code ... Then you turn off the lights and, back in bed, Sleep soundly till at dawn you rear your head! (First published on 16th February, 2024 in Autumn Sky Poetry Daily) |
Sherlock Holmes Sir Arthur Conan Doyle had learned to hate His own creation, Sherlock Holmes, whose fame Eclipsed the works the literary great Regarded as more worthy of acclaim, Like Poison Belt, White Company and lots Of other highbrow novels few had read. Could Holmes be made to fade? Sir Arthur's plots Killed Holmes in Switzerland. So far, so dead ... However, two years later, Holmes wore tweed On Baker Street again: he had been spared Lethality by fans who yearned to read More ace detective stories. No one cared Especially for Arthur's other tomes ... Sir Arthur should have loved his Sherlock Holmes! (First published on 4th March, 2024 in the Creativity Webzine. Story here) |
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Stoop To Conquer So many old guys stoop as they walk by, That I once thought kyphosis had to be On steroids here. I walked with head held high, Observing them, and swore: You won't see me Proceeding stooped! ... But little did I know That I would buy a single-storey house, On top of which the attic door is low, Confining upright entry to my spouse, Or guests—too bad the attic is my den, Necessitating that I bend my waist Quite far, or bang my head ... I judged those men Unwisely: They may stoop because they're faced Each day, like me, by attic lintels that Require a stoop to conquer sans hard hat! (First published in the Winter/Spring 2024 issue of Light on 13th May, 2024) |
Marital Harmony Matilda's been a night owl all her life, Averse to sleep before the morning light. Ray's been a morning lark. Unlike his wife, If he's awake, it can't be late at night. Their paths cross during teatime every day, As she eats breakfast, knowing there will be Lunch later—during dinner time with Ray. Her dinner waits till he's asleep: at three A.M., she dines alone ... Six decades on, Ray swears he's never had a quarrel with Matilda, who insists their marathon Of wedded harmony is neither myth Nor magic, and contends the moral's this: Your time apart is good for wedded bliss! (First published in the Summer 2024 issue of WestWard Quarterly) |
Dawn Choristers Dawn choristers make sounds of many types: At dawn in Scotland, you may have to bleep What's sworn at bagpipe players, on their pipes, Not understanding people need their sleep. Cocks crowing are no welcome sound if you Had plans to sleep till noon: before the crack Of dawn, a piercing cock-a-doodle-doo Revolts you, were you late to hit the sack. In music student dorms, in early morn, Sleep may be broken by a saxophone, Trombone, drum, oboe, clarinet or horn ... Euphonic sounds are wonderful to clone, Record, and play again—but you should keep Some earplugs handy for your morning sleep! (First published on 4th July, 2024 in the Creativity Webzine) |