Ooops – error!

I seem to have posted my latest poem twice!
One  of these was supposed to arrive in Poets’ Corner! There is something
very basic about posting over there that I am simply not getting.
My IT skills do not improve!!! Well,  Harry usually sorts me out when
I do it wrong, but this one hasn’t even arrived there for him to sort!!
Don’t want you all to think my non-acceptance is so bad that I feel the
need to state it twice!!! lol Apologies and back to the drawing board in Poets’ Corner!

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Trapped

Acceptance just flew away.

Accompanied two magpies as
they took off over gardens,
into distant fields now green again,
able to breath from welcome thaw.

I opened the door,
saw the grass,
sensed a sharp edged wind
as loving as it was harsh,
brush against a pale
complaisant sun.

And I wanted to run again.

Trapped

Acceptance just flew away.

Accompanied two magpies as
they took off over gardens,
into distant fields now green again,
able to breath from welcome thaw.

I opened the door,
saw the grass,
sensed a sharp edged wind
as loving as it was harsh,
brush against a pale
complaisant sun.

And I wanted to run again.

Admonition

There’s a hammering on the door,
and again,
aggressive, unnerves me.
I never intended to keep the
money I found.

There are no handcuffs;
I have a parcel.
House numbers should be on the
house, not on the garage door;
he hasn’t got all day to be
looking for where people live.

“Sign ‘ere love”.
I tell him I can’t write;
he frowns, incredulous,
stylus hovers stubbornly
over a grubby screen.
Angry squiggle;
he shouldn’t be doing this,
could lose his job.
Drops the parcel at my feet
and goes,
nought to sixty in seconds.

Morning reprimand.

I must balance this out by saying that some couriers are extremely courteous
and understanding but others…

I Don’t Point at Rainbows

There’s just a touch that
tells me if I don’t tighten
the lid on this jar, my taxi
driver today will be a rapist.

There’s just a touch that
tells me if I don’t line up the
TV remote, mobile, two pens
and a coaster perfectly parallel
on the arm of the chair,
my daughter will fail her exams.

There’s just a touch that
tells me if I don’t eat every last
piece of red pepper on my plate,
routine blood tests will
reveal cancer.

There’s justl a touch that
tells me if I don’t rinse my mouth
four times when teeth cleaning,
my dog will be run over.

And there’s just a touch that
tells me if I don’t reach the
foot of the stairs before the
toilet flushes (fat chance),
MS will render me paralysed
by the end of next week.

This is why I don’t point at rainbows.

Not Resolutions

More reading,
less face-booking,
an addictive pastime;
one hour is too much,
ten are not enough.

Face to face contact,
(I miss that),
except with doctors
who can provide no answers,
hand me an invite to the
next party in six months;
I know they do their best.

Exercise; this will involve
the bottom stair and me in
a few casual calf stretches,
unless the cat happens to
be resting there, then I will
leave it until tomorrow.

I will be kinder to myself,
let my dog make better use
of the stick I often hold to
beat myself up;
practice self-compassion,
maybe a little Mudita,
wandering in and out of my
Buddhist inspired lifestyle
depending upon current
level of acceptance.

These are not resolutions;
I’ve tried before and
they don’t work.
These are goals or aims,
a less challenging image,
one of sauntering sideways
rather than forward,
but a shift nonetheless
and better than standing still.