It's Still Life

poetry and prose

AprPAD: Day 23

Social Isolation and Weird Dreams about Wales

look at these veins
laced along my legs,
a juicy damson colour.

hold fast my heart; I am
airborne on faithless
wings of dreams, and

the weather’s turning
into a wringing storm.
thunder drums, and

wind’s bugle blows.
nightfall stirs dreams
of rainy brined air, and

I am glad to wake –
to leave behind Wales,
its hard-hurled language.

glad to leave its
Seventh Seal mono-
chrome game,

and its widow-making
gloom. glad to just
bloody well wake up.

for NaPoWriMo Day 23: shape of a letter

The H’ Chair

have a seat.
take a load off.
Cup of tea?
White with sugar?

Tea cake?
The supermarket gave them to me
in exchange for a kilo of plain flour,
which they didn’t have in stock.

Reckon my “shopper” was testing
the “which came first theory –
the chicken or the egg”
… “the bun or the flour”

Yes, that chair is uncomfortable,
but then you’re not staying long,
so what the H’.

#porchprompts “open a book, write from the
first sentence that catches your imagination”

. . . . . working

Misky