absent minds (3/Sept/18)

ghosts taunt the trees and horse huddle in threes, or these three do, I suppose if there was a fourth then they’d huddle in fours, but these are just three, two brown and one white… and a wheelbarrow… for some reason it too occupies the field, grazing like the horses are maybe, if wheelbarrows graze that is…… whatever it’s doing I’m sure it has its reasons… from the first floor looking out over the fields of horses and wheelbarrows to where I know the Strait to be but can’t see way over into the mountains currently moidered by clouds themselves coming apart at the seams, hastily-sewn clothes shedding threads in fly-away trails… nooks and crannies, peaks and crags, on occasion peeking through… with a silver cheese knife he absent-mindedly sliced another sliver as thin as gauze, such precision all the while removing and replacing his spectacles, every time he spoke, off they came, then on again…… she pondered the contents of a book turning pages absent-mindedly back then forth, back then forth… another said “hmm” almost absent-mindedly to everything said and even when  silence became just that too long for comfort, another “hmm” escaped his lips… a fourth, as opposed to the three which were horses in the field, absent-mindedly folded a red napkin this way and that as though trying to recall the word, what’s the word… “hmm”, said the other, another sliver of cheese reduces the Caerphilly’s volume and another page is turned… yes, origami, that’s it, that’s the word… she sets down the napkin remembering she has no idea how to do it, rain strained remnants of sound from the air flinging it at the windows and walls, an agit-artist in a strop……

© 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

askewmetrical (22/Jan/18)

nothing in this house is straight… never has been… no two walls match each other perfectly, lines don’t meet, get one thing level and everything else looks out, get another thing level then that thing looks out…. trying to level one thing against another against another is a fool’s errand and bound to fail… this house is one eccentric block of convergence falling into a geometrically-challenged vanishing point… to call it asymmetrical would be stretching it beyond mathematical probabilities that any self-respecting architect would faint at the sight of, even the self-disrespecting ones would be challenged to a vernacularian duel…

it’s not that the house is haunted or anything like that, it’s too boring for that and no serious ghost would bother, not even living by a graveyard is enough to attract the odd spectre to spare  a boo or two…… pictures never stay straight, always skew-whiff, and when I try to straighten them I find them still askew as lining them up with the skirting will put them out with the ceiling, setting them to a door frame will throw them with a window pane, thus irrespective of what perspective one attempts to impose the house will always win and refuse to bow to my symmetrical whims…… not that I’m a model of symmetry, far from it, just look in the mirror…… on second thoughts, don’t…. damn!… too late……

bloodshot eyes, again, oh joy…… mirrors are just merciless, no respect for vanity despite what they appear… it’s what you see is what you get and no messing even though they cheat by making you think they’re showing you as you are when in fact they cheat and show you the wrong way around… the left on the right and the right, because there’s no room left on the right because the left has taken its place, is left to sulk on the left… right is right and left is left, these are givens, until you look in a mirror… then you have to start all over again working out left from right…… mind you, as regarding my eyes (laughs: regard… eyes…) they are both pretty much right and left bloodshot as seems to be my norm these days…. I shouldn’t have looked then I might’ve gone through the day in blissful ignorance……

I wouldn’t live in a totally symmetrical house anyway, wouldn’t be right (… or left)…. I’d live in a lighthouse if I could, or a windmill… I once lived in a lighthouse actually, although it wasn’t the round part of it, it was the keeper’s cottage attached…. I would though… but then I’d have to be aware that round can be symmetrical too although I can’t imagine lighthouses are completely with a bit of askewing here and askewness there……

© 2018 robert greig