write all about it (12/July/18)

what should I write about
nobody knows
and nobody cares if I am merely counting toes,
what should I write about
world affairs?
world leaders with laughable hair
State visits I’d hoped would never occur,
soccer, tennis,
strawberries, beer
the winners, the losers, the grunts and cacophonous cheers?
what should I write about
the sky-scraping jackdaws
the un’cawking crows, rattling magpies, where the wind blows,
the end of the world
the rise of the Right wielding a left hand of darkness?
what should I write about
the weather again
whether Brexit’s a breakfast or yet more proverbial wind,
when it last rained
when it last didn’t or whether this still needs to rhyme?
what should I write about
the distance between
death of an innocent, death of a once upon dream
wings and prayers,
knock, knock, who’s there, it’s just me dressed as a bear
what should I write about
why I am dressed as a bear?
your guess is as good and probably better than mine;
what should I write about
a looming apocalypse,
poverty, terror, misogyny, bullies, bigotry, zombies?
something, old, something new,
something borrowed, something blue, something borderline taboo?
what should I write about
the more than meets the eye,
whatever floats your boat, whatever gets you through the night,
immigration, refugees,
oligarchs or aardvarks or sitting on a beach?
what should I write about
desperate measures, desperate times,
Desperate Dan or desperadoes, cones in hi-viz, yet more roadwork signs,
junk food, space debris,
epidemics, war and peace, climate change and rising seas?
what should I write about
the price of oil
fat-cats and homelessness, victors bringing home the spoils
how the West was won
or how to make a paper plane and fly into the sun?
what should I write about
that anyone would read
that time and tide will wash away before you even see?

© 2018 robert greig

no one read (28/June/18)

I wrote a poem today
that no one will read

not even me
it’s not finished, will probably likely never be

so why did I write it?

good question,
and one for which I have no answer one way
or the other
needless to say it began with all the best intentions, an almost-plan, an itch of direction, some words even rhymed while others scanned, syllables slotted in place until soon before long clarity turned from translucence and into resigned opaque…

I have to confess to parallel lines

one atop
the other,

like so…

which is all good and well but it was maybe a little too late as it managed to dodge and evade all attempts to impose any pattern or logic, beginning or end, reason or even I’ll say it again, any rhyme, an unruly child, a duck that won’t quack, a sneeze that won’t sneeze, but then again…

no one will ever read it anyway so why should I care, what’s all the fuss all about…?

I could lose it among an equally unruly, unquackable, unsneezable pile of unfinished scribblings growing accusingly ever-taller, but then again….

years and years later I might stumble across it’s muttering and grumbling between some dog-eared paper of anonymous ilk then what would I do, could I in all conscience consign it to oblivion….?

I wrote a poem today
that no one will read,
clearly this wasn’t it……..

© 2018 robert greig

under the stairs: an Easter treat (1/April/18)

there’s a monster under the stairs
I know it’s there under the stairs because I heard it
I can smell it there under the stairs
hiding in what must be its lair
though there isn’t much space there under  the stairs
I know there’s a monster there, a monster there,
hiding there under the stairs;

there’s nothing under the stairs, you say
and declare with a confident air
and a stare that’s decidedly sure as sure
there’s no monster there under the stairs
but there is, there is, I shout in despair
waving my arms in the air
secretly hidden, inhabiting under the stairs;

but how would you know, you say,
how would you know if it’s secretly hiding
hiddenly under our stairs,
I know, I just know, and I hear it and smell it
and know from its footfall
it’s there hiding under the stairs like a bear
but it’s not a bear and hasn’t got fur;

without any fur, you seem certain of that,
how can you know it’s no fur
the monster you know to be making a home
comfy and snug here under our stairs?
because there’s never a trace of a hair
not a follicle here nor follicle there
no follicles lost anywhere;

but if you’ve not seen it with your own eyes
plain as the day, as the nose on your face
the monster that lives unknown under the stairs
then how can you know, for surely be sure
there’s a monster there hiding
a monster residing, squatting, reclining
and snoozing under the stairs?

I know there’s a monster, a monster that sneaks
when we aren’t looking
when all backs are turned
as silent as light that spills through the windows
from under the stairs and into the kitchen
it creeps with a stealthy aplomb
sating its hunger with biscuits and buns;

sad to say so but I know it’s not so
there’s no monster there hiding under the stairs
I know it’s not so because,
as you well know, we don’t have any stairs
under which we might find
a monster that hides
snoring unseen with its monstery eyes;

well you can think that if you like
while I know for sure and for certain
there’s a monster hid under the stairs
regardless of whether
the stairs are not there
since when would that stop a monster
from living there under the stairs.

© 2018 robert greig