While Life Goes On All Around Me

It’s seven thirty, they’ve started early,
churn political expertise around in a rusty
cement mixer till it is smooth, creamy
and set into a new south faced existence.

Weary face in a timeworn van pulls up,
pours calcium into brittle bones of
daily life, his own rattled by plastic
progress; business is dead.

Lone jogger pads daily ritual to
crescendo, as a brisk breeze edges
its sharpness through the open window.

And here comes Boy Racer, dead on cue;
screeches to a tedious halt,
picks up his friend in the white shirt
with no tie.
They say he’s the clever one, Boy Racer,
can park his car on a postage stamp,

which makes me think about my life and
how, it seems, most of it fits onto a
stamp these days,
a small, watery blue one, second class,
lost in the post.

Advertisements

Another Update – plus a poem!!

Hi everyone!

Here’s another update so that you all know I am still alive 🙂
I have had a difficult 6 weeks or so with an MS flare up affecting my vision. As a resultof this I had to have an updated brain MRI scan so I thought I would just share theexperience of this with you! My vision is improving slowly but it may take a while,. So together with that and the fact that the steroid injections in my hand don’t appear tohave worked I am still not going to be back here as often as before but I will post now and again. And please accept my apologies if I don’t comment quite so much on all your
great poetry; I am still reading it!:)

MRI Scan

She asks what music

I would like to listen to;

I suggest Vivaldi.

Confident nod of approval;

I can be accommodated.

Then she asks if I am okay.

I tell her I’m fine;

What else can I say?

Besides, does she really want

to know?

She has a list to get through.

The bed glides mournfully along,

reluctant coffin into the unknown.

I grip the panic button, but not

too tight so it bleeps;

they will bring me out and I will

have to go back in again.

I wasn’t aware that Vivaldi had

composed The 1812 Overture;

can’t hear it much anyway,

gruesome noises magnetically

resonate images of

inflammatory changes, playing

games with my brain.

I try to think of pleasant things

but draw a blank.

So I decide to smile instead;

it works.

The return journey begins,

slow but less mournful.

I haven’t been cremated after all

and amazingly, the sea-sick greeni

walls look exquisitely appealing.

I could never be a potholer.

Wendy L. Macdonald

My faith is not shallow because I've been rescued from the deep.

Pitching Pennies Poetry

the work of smzang

Grit Flow

courage, resolution, strength of character

Veggiewitch

...adventures of a Crafter-Mama!

The Fat Damsel

Poems To Survive In

roughwighting

Life in a flash - a weekly blog on daily living

Some Good Things

Musings of an explorer...

Poet's Corner

Poems, poets, poetry, writing, poetry challenges

Seasonings

Just a little poetry...

Traces of the Soul

Whispering insights of this, that, then and there

Gramma Krackers

Words of the Wise Krackers

dVerse

Poets Pub

leaf and twig

where observation and imagination meet nature in poetry

Petals Unfolding

The Story of LIFE ... My Way

Awakened Words

Poetry and Other Ramblings