Poems for Monday

Once again I’ve found a bunch of poems that were hidden away in a notebook and I hadn’t typed up. So here they are for your delectation:

Trees
(written during the sunny September of 2011 waiting for a friend to arrive to meet me)

What a great thing it would be
If you could become a tree.
Spreading your branches in the sun,
Facing adversity, bowing to none.
Standing tall, majestic, grand:
A silent guardian over the land.

The Park
(written at the same time as Trees)

Sitting alone in the park
Beneath the shade of a tree,
People pass me by without a second glance.

I am waiting for you to arrive.
You woke up later than you planned.
The sun dapples the ground beneath my feet.

Speed Dating
(written a week or so ago, in an idle moment in a café)

She’s far too common.
She’s far too posh.
She’s far too thin.
She loves her nosh.
Desperate. Clingy.
Wants a child.
Think I saw her
On ‘Girls Gone Wild’.
She was better;
Strangely pretty.
Not too boring,
Not too witty.
I put a tick
Next to her name
Knowing she’ll have
Done the same
I don’t believe it!
I’m at a loss –
Why would she
Have put a cross?

Internet Dating
(written at the same time as Speed Dating)
Facebook’s fickle, Twitter’s short,
I need a network of another sort.
Myspace is failing, Bebo’s dead –
I’ll give G+ a go instead.

Sketch of a Girl
(written November? last year on seeing someone in the library)

She sits alone,
Reading a book:
Not unusual for her.

Her hair falls across her face
And she chews her lip,
Brow knitted in thought.

Long legs – pale, but not overly so –
Hang over the arm of the chair.
She rocks them gently back and forth.

We’re Fucked
(written at a railway station, watching an argument between a couple dressed in suits, who looked like they worked in finance.)

“Almost all of our relationships begin and most of them continue as forms of mutual exploitation, a mental or physical barter, to be terminated when one or both parties run out of goods.” – W. H. Auden

It’s time to face the press, admit mistakes,
Give a full and frank confession:
The financial sector’s completely crippled,
We’re in emotional recession.

The market’s deep in free fall.
Our losses can’t be covered.
The staff have all got lazy,
And the workmanship has suffered.

We’re in the red, the cards are maxed –
We’re going bankrupt, bit by bit,
The exchange rate of our love
Has left me with a deficit.

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