well it has been some time since I visited here..I guess I should take more space to block out the noise of the day...a feeling that I would think many have...Work is forever busy...writing is at best spasmodic at worst crap!...ah well this poem I like because of the memories it brings to me...I remember gardens and a flask of too sweet coffee..it was one of those days that it didnt matter what the weather was like...some days just stay with you...
I would prefer
a frayed country lane edged with foxglove,
hollyhock, wild marigold burnt orange
and an old five-barred gate to climb.
Of course it's chained, even in day-dreams
But inside my head,
I'm stranded outside a motorway service station
watching white and yellow lights travel in opposing directions.
I loathe these bricked cubes that smell of frying oil,
lemon scented floor polish with the obligatory scattering
of near-dead motorists driven towards their happiness.
I hold an impression of mayonnaise bleeding
from cardboard bread edges that pretend to be tasty
and wonder what the fuck is going on.
So I work hard, drag thoughts back to soft needles,
muted song within a forests unfathomable beauty.
Even so, I cannot quite shake off that futile feeling
and the pretence of being happy.