The Inkwell
#fowc #winter #hazard
Holes in the pavement
and black ice – dont really make good conditions for
zipping about on a winters morning
as one or the other will see you flat on your back or
rolling about on the floor – worse still – the
drop might see you in a hospital bed
#Valentinesday
passing in corridors
two masqueraded , star crossed lovers
leaving each other small heartfelt notes
on each others stations
message clear – as eyes meet
for the briefest of moments
before the next admission comes in
#Octpowrimo #Broken
more than one penny dropped
on the fall to the ground
vision went haywire while
every single memory
moved around like scrambled eggs
expectation – another rendezvous with the
neurological ward
to fix the problems caused by the drop
Salford, 17th September 2017
Someone should have
Told the sun worshipper to not go near that hive
Instead they went on a honey hunt – and met some angry bees
Note – they were whisked straight off to First aid –
“Got to tell you” – said the nurse – this is going to hurt…..
Salford, 8th April 2017
A gap in the line of teeth
caused by a toughened Chinese spare rib
hidden by the scarred lip
caught whilst shaving
Mark above the eye
that chickenpox i had to scratch
Lines in the chin – covered by facial hair
caused by a flight without wings
Another Line – Across the foot where i’d fallen and cut it ,
A victim to a stray sharp piece of broken glass
stitchmarks in my head
where the surgeons drilled away
to ease the pesky headache pains
and check the working valve and drain
Lines that tell a tale – of woe ?
A story that has time to grow
to me a tale that means a great deal
as at each stage I’ve had time to heal
From the home of my “Pacman” Poem (Hospital Bed, Hope Hospital, Salford)
I wrote this whilst undergoing tests on my pressure valve.
Found it in my notebook – and decided to share…(28/8/15)
Its time to give the headaches a break,
and give feeling well a try
Time to let those pains go free
and let the pressures fly
So, i’ll let the surgeons work
to ease the pains before they go berserk
and as I let them do their best
I’ll give myself a bit of a rest
They’re a funny thing!…with all those little gifts that they bring.
Head pressures, fireflies and aversion to sun
and that’s before they’ve even begun
I might have appreciated Kipling or Keats,
but instead, something musical its left as a treat.
A Clashing steel cymbal, a large kettle drum
A Brass section blaring out noises not hums
They’re playing a jam – as I try to sleep,
as night time moves slowly – the noise it just leaps
all as I try to rest my sore head
and hide under the pillows at the top of the bed
The band in my head – is jamming it loud
the horn sections blasting their flugelhorns proud
Never playing their sounds in the day
Preferring the night during sleep they will play.
But smile I will, as those horns they will jive
The sound of that music – means I’m still alive
Even though, it appears to me
My head’s stuck on Jazz Night on Radio 3
The Inkwell