Wednesday 3 June 2020

2nd part of my epic poem....

But beyond my sadness
Lay a darkness
A darkness darker than my own
As far within
As far without
My inner-outer mind.
A streak of pain like a lover’s tongue
Licks the orbits of my eyes
And all I see are the mangled limbs of the branches in the trees.
Look! Look at how the moon bleeds
And far off by the broken gate a figure moves
Picking flowers
Her blackened nails scratching at the soil
With the screech of an owl.
And now towards me heads this figure
Bearing not flowers but a pink-eyed stare.
The bloody moonlight seeps across her tangled face
While now she waits
And now she waves her fish-hook hand
And scrawls her shaky voice upon the silent breeze.
And how the twisted stems of the grass snatch at my ankles
Like the hands of the drowning.
And in that wood the eyes no longer see
But only feel
The blind, poking darkness
Of the wood’s searching, groping anxious need
To clasp me to its damp and heaving breast
Where now it holds me
Like its rooted trees.

Tuesday 2 June 2020

A Poem For Our Times by Grenville Allen

It's the spittle and sputum you have to avoid
Just keep a two metre distance
No need to be paranoid

Aerosols! I hear you say
Those tiny airborne Covid particles
Are out to get you
And look like they're here to stay
Fear not though:
If you wish to live to a grand old age
Just heed the advice of those experts called Sage
When all's said and done
It doesn't really hurt
To stay alert

And there's no need to frown
At the lockdown
Just vent your spleen at Covid-19
And tell any friends who've asked where you've been
That now's the time to be heard
Not seen.

Grenville Allen

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