Was I waiting for you?Or had you already gone?Did you just miss me like a phantom phewor haunt me forever like I was the one? The older we get, the more our memories go back to childhood.The leafier nature is, the more it grows like wood.Say something and tender.You know it’s a winner and won’t ever …
Author Archives: aprettykettleofpoetry
Big Kids
Playing in the playground.Mighty strong and puny weak.Running round the playground.Playing hide’n’seek Playing in the playground,Geting in a huff.Rolling round the playground,getting ready rough. Playing in the playground.Do not want to play.Sitting in the playground.Bullies have their way. Playing in the playground.Big kids, they will rule!School bell rings, classroom-bound.Nothing learnt at school.
New Year (from the home front)
New Year’s Eve fireworks explodeand shell the midnight skiesafter grammatically thicko teenage terrorists with their little bombs throwedhave already beated ear drums of jumpy elderly passer-bys into submission and into hiding. Funny how in a world claiming to want peace,the new year is seen into a planned frenzy of endless war sounds to fire ceaselesslyin …
Cesare in the Piazza
Cesare street-bellowsabove the bells;Red wine has reddened his tonsils.His blackened lungs tarred by Camels. He’s the local lunaticaround whom stories circulate:Of a life ruined all too quick.Of a foreign legion escapade. Were his dice destined badplaying fortunes dicey game?Or did he risk all he hadwith no-one but himself to blame? Now he gobs, the gobshite …
November unlucky 13th plot
About to go back to a torrential rain a month after 33 years agowondering why stereotypical summers didn’t last as long as autumns on a tincoastal birds swirl over cliffs down-beating down to earth in a pantomime showwith a why don’t they give me credit for doing what they wanted me to before it ended …
Everlasting long-player
I live with my muse in a music box.I live like a duke in a juke box.I sit within walls of sound in my bedsit.I turn my factory 45s churning out hit after hit. Feel as close to a return paradise ticket there and backas a record player needle to a record track.As fictitiously far …
Wood Pigeon
Sitting in my summer garden of an afternoonand feeling safe in my middle class mother mountain father cocoon,I daydreamed with the lawn mownand all my neighbours a silver jubilee clone. Long long later and of an afterand, once again, passed by for the Nobel prize for Literaturethere I sat in a garden, daydreaminglistening to the …
Afternoon Busking Away
Passer-by footsteps are a beatwhile printed lyrics, straight out of a songbook,flutter on nearby window curtains over a paper street. Couples hand in hand talk of fingers in a piewhile babies in their prams deafen sighing parents as they bawl and cry.A hat on the pavement coins a musical refrain,but market forces won’t change till …
Last Orders
Drunken words stagger out through saloon door mouthsand the world in the long-term is not where I would want to live.I spout off a load of nonsense my predecessors would be proud ofbut they have nothing left to give. Have you ever wanted to go back to who you were?Got sick to death of those …
Sat on my park bench
A bright brisk breeze turns leaves clockwiseas a glimpse of a blackbird darts out of sightwith its alarm bell beak sounding the alarmfor catnapping cats to wake up for their bag lady’s daily bag o’ biscuits. Criminal chancing it hooded crows,always on their toes for a free meal steal,pick a nick from under a dozy …
A Pretty Kettle of Poetry 