Wednesday, February 15, 2012
No cockroaches on the floor
Or rats sneaking through the door
Only the buzz of an empty fridge
Stocked with bottled water about to freeze.
No aroma from previously fried chips
Only a drink too stench to sip.
The switch off cooker,
Listens to the sounds from some room, of a droning hover.
Taps run dry, belching stone dry air
And fires put up warming signs, “Don’t dare go in there!”
Some, sun fried on the window sill and mummified
A bread- bin shielding a crumb of cake long dried
That once broke the tooth of one roach.
And I had to bribe them all with goch goch.
It’s only this empty kitchen left
To be swept
Before the odds and ends are taken out home
Whilst rats, cockroaches and flies are already waiting to storm it.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Tomorrow awaits with splendor
In Her hands I will but rock,
With the oboe and the spinet, there is much grandeur
To be known and crowds to shake.
With each passing day there is
Something to write about: the breeze or the next door Miss,
Whatever may be consumable to their delight.
If well put, the feeling and the rhymes,
Together with the bell’s chimes.
Tomorrow may be another day
Which would lively sound bestow and gay
That is if I stick to the oboe and spinet
Or the stages like Peter Tenet.