Free Verse
The Lost
President
Poor George, the
president, deserted by foe and
friends, roaming the corridor of his big white
house like a ghost of yesterday. Cry he does and
says to his wife: "Why, have they forsaken me?"
She cradles him in her arms and says: “there, there
George don’t mind them, you kept the braying
enemy away for eight years, and in time a street
will bear your name, you can be sure of that”
Reassured George gets on his bike and cycles from
eight to nine, but since the morning news doesn’t
mention his name and there is talk of a Moslem
called Obama he frets again, till a flunky tells him
he is still the president.
A By'way
n. 1. A secluded, private, or obscure
way; a path or road aside from the main one.
The orange grove was
like a forest,
trees close together laden with fruit
blocking my view
of a winter ocean
Further on I came to an olive grove,
more space
amongst trees
that looked like elderly,
sagacious men
contemplating a vanishing future,
while terracotta wooly sheep
grazed on fresh
green grass.
I could see a sliver of the sea,
glittering as a pearl-necklace thrown away
by
an intemperate wife of a Russian oligarch.
Timeless, she is
teasing me with her shimmer.
I thought of racing down to the coast to join a ship
and sense the heave of the seas under my feet
once more...
Ah, but not today, if ever.
The sheep stopped grazing,
looked my way, and
chewed slowly.
Tho' it was getting colder
they
had flecks of sunlight
still in their eyes.
A Night to
Remember
It is cold here in
this room, the faded roses
on the wall paper have absorbed
the light from a 40 watt bulb
stuck naked and hanging
on a thin rubber encased electric wire.
Too dark to read, too early for a bed
that doesn't look inviting, I wonder
how many losers have been trying to find sleep
looking up in silence and asking the same question:
“How could it come to this?”
I sit on a chair and look out of the window,
dark shadows move
some with haste, perhaps
in the hope of getting away.
But, without substance they can only disappear.
On a ship of dreams I sail,
at dawn ice crystals glitter
on the same window
I had stared at my reflection
just the night before.
