Therapeutic poems extruded from lockdown
As an educated male you don't think that lockdown could get to you. But it does.
Gosh, have they really stolen Portsmouth?
Has it dropped backwards over the edge?
Are all its holding cords breaking?
This grey mist is so all enveloping,
The sight of Portsmouth over there
Is the reality we are holding.
Proof that North Island existed,
But now we are just left hoping
that the greyness stops the Solent crossings.
Those Northerners bring us their virus
To share with us all, with generosity.
Then they go home, not to make a fuss.
If and when the sun comes out again
And evaporates off the grey gloom.
Portsmouth would then be given back to us,
But they can keep it, this is our home.
THE VIEW THROUGH THE PORTHOLE ON DOCKING
The return from Covid-19
Can I return home, to that place from the past?
Would it still be as I knew it?
Is this my new life? Is this where I am?
Am I now the guy from over there?
The guy from behind, the guy from the past,
Where it was better by definition?
I am now used to being prevented,
Learning to take time to eat, read, think.
I see time in a different light now.
I don’t want to go back to being late
Or early or to be somewhere else now
I just want to live in dawn, noon or night.
Will money and power allow us change,
Or demand it goes back to whatever,
So they can continue to make money,
More than all the lot of us will ever see.
To allow them to stay away from us
And pretend their reality is real.
Let’s go for change, buy groceries on-line,
Accepting all their weird substitutions.
Talking to friends through electronic glass.
As we consider what life is about,
What our present community could be.
Dare we now hope for a radical change.
Jacb July 2020
I’ve reached my limit
Only one more very hard squeeze.
Only one more brush of the teeth.
Then for paste I will only pine,
When using solution of saline?
Of course I can always get more
It just takes interminable time
While the litt’l man walks the green stripe *
Till a slot in three weeks is mine.
Three weeks, three weeks, and then-
How will I know what I want then?
How will I know what I need then?
Start a list as stuff empties, when -
The deliverer’s a nice man
Stands back from your door like it smells
Smiles and offers his greetings
Well wishes on final retreat.
Then see what you’ve got in your bag
What was substituted by them?
Lush full firm round red tomatoes,
Now full firm round red cherries - in brandy! Whoopee!
Jacb May 2020
* The Morrisons web site shows how close you are to accessing the site by showing xy,000 people in front of you and only z minutes to go, being the time taken for a little white man to walk the length of a growing green stripe!
What should be done do today?
Bring forward the to-do list from yesterday.
Bring forward the list from the day before yesterday.
Then bring forward the list from the day before
The day before yesterday.
Tick off the one item on the list that has been done.
Tick off the items that are past their to-do-by date.
Remove the to-do-by date from those that can be left
Until there is nothing better to be done.
Organise the others by importance, or interest to particular jobs.
Give them a priority number so they can be sorted more easily.
Go through the undated list to see if any of them are now relevant
And give them a to-do date and put them back on the list.
Decide what sort of day it is, what the aims should be.
Is it say, a letter writing day, or a going outside day,
Or even a doing things in the house or garden day?
Today the first to-do on the list is to sort the to-do list --- tick!
There that was a good day’s work, time for cocoa I think.
Jacb Jan 2021
Yet Another Bloomin' lockdown Poem
You write down a line of words,
Rearrange them all like nerds.
There is no help from Google,
AI can’t correct woogle. *
A poem is never a real poem
Without Google’s dotted lines in bright red.
English is stretched and distorted by my brain
To look pretty ‘n’ mean more than was said.
Only a very hot shower,
Or vacuuming the lounge carpet,
Can give to your pen the power,
To write on life on the planet.
Only a deadline can focus the mind,
Unless it’s a stanza, they’re far too kind.
Just write, it’s not difficult, imbecile,
This is not forever, this is not real
Or is it?
jacb August 2020
Woogle is a miss spelling of a scout’s woggle!!! But it rhymes
Googles suggestions for “very hard” were “extremely hard”, “awfully hard” or “ridiculously hard”, which play havoc with the stanzas metre!
Two people walked past me in the street,
Their lips moving and expelling air.
Making a very strange range of noises,
But passing information between the pair.
Was it a different language?
Was it French, German, Dutch or Basque?
Was it just a strange or random sound?
Or was it from behind their mask?
WHY IS IT THAT –
Why is it that - Stealing moments from busyness is so productive?
But - Having nothing to do is such a total thief of time?
Why is it that - The inside of the house is warm and relaxed?
But - When forced to stay in, there is less thinking time?
Why is it that - I need social intercourse to stimulate thought?
But - Touching elbows is right but feels to be so wrong?
Why is it that - The rustling of the tree’s leaves is so refreshing?
But – My drive is lost when I can’t hear nature’s voice?
My father when he got dressed to go out
He put on his tweed sports jacket
With his silk Paisley handkerchief smartly arranged
To o’rflow his jacket breast pocket
When I get dressed if and when I do
I put on my tweed sports jacket
With nothing more than a light white and blue
Coloured face mask in my breast pocket.