Brens Shorts!

Reading. Writing. Rhythmatic.

My home is the sea

I find sand in my work bag
From the time we stayed by the beach.
I brought my work with me –
Set up my laptop and notes
On a coffee table standing on two chairs.
I filled the bag
With my togs and towel.

So the days would go by the tides:
Always early to rise –
Then a swim in the sea
Or at the computer, arms stretched out in front of me.
Either splishing splashing
Or tippity tapping
So the days would go. By the tides.

Autumn (or Fall)

The Autumn thing
is the wind
blowing leaves like birthday candles:
On a bright, blue-sky cloud-crisp day
the candy green and
various shades of flame
Flutter and park
Under the wheels of cars.
Where they’ll darken
with dirt and rain and
shorter evenings drawing in.
That’s the Autumn thing.

April 26th

All these things we’d love to buy
To give us just a little high
A feeling of freedom and maybe power
In the dreary days of hour-by-hour

But the shops aren’t open for us today
And without a job, we’ve no money anyway
So maybe we could just look out the window
At the wall or the middle distance, or you know

Imagine if we bought a little ball
Something to throw against the wall
Oh, imagine moving your arm like that
And when the ball came back I’d catch it.

But the shops aren’t open for us today
And without a job, we’ve no money anyway
So maybe we could just throw a ball against a wall
In the dreary days of hour-by-hour.

April 25th

We know our children as well as
We know ourselves
There are epiphanies everyday
The horizon chases us away
From our children as well as
From ourselves.

April 24th

They say the ocean is the sky’s daughter
Her face is in the clouds, the winds and the downpour.
You can see it when she opens up her waves to roar
And swallows whole whoever was left to the slaughter.

Back on the shore, we could all be marauders,
Waiting for our chance to take back what we came for.
Waiting for the safety to attack from safe port.
Waiting. Waiting for the water to stop bursting forth.

We’ll wait.

April 23rd

It is simply hypnotic:
The drip drip drip
As drops from the tap
Land in a cup in the sink.
I could turn the tap
To make it stop
But that’s not
What I do.
Instead I go
Drip drip drip
As I drink from a cup
Of coffee that’s going cold.
The drips are dripping and the cup is filling
If I don’t do something it will soon start spilling

April 22nd

In under the moon
But over the streetlights
Drifting clouds watch
Over the earth.

Two A-M-. The dog is barking.
Bleary eyed wakening,
I hear a car and go to look
Out of the spare room window.

Under the streetlight glow
Headlights protrude, and behind them
A car is turning.
I don’t even wonder
What they’re doing
At 2 A-M-.

Instead I go back to bed.

April 21st

So long, deadline
You passed so fast
I hardly knew you were mine
Hello delay
I thought you might visit today
With nothing to do
But wait
For nothing to happen next.

A little like something
But when nothing happens, something doesn’t:
And when something doesn’t, nothing happens.

Think about this a little more
And wave goodbye
To another deadline.

April 20th

On the way last week to do the shop
(On the motorway! It’s like a holiday,
To escape a radius-from-home restriction)

A walking crow – walking over the road
(Why did the crow cross the road?)
It does not scatter: it limps as we approach
Thirty three and a third meters closer

The crow is walking with a broken wing
Limping along, but not alone. A companion
Crow is guiding this crow across the road

My wife decides it goes to show:
Animals have greater empathy
Than is granted them
I tell my wife she’s right
And swear I’ll never eat crow.

April 19th

The pubs may be closed until Christmas, they say
It feels like the country may not open this year
This evening we went out with some tree stalks and spades

With a tree, the future feels very far away
Especially when they look like roots of thin-twigged fear
And the pubs may be closed until Christmas, they say

It’s so long since we had a pint and heard a band play
I’ve a fire in my head and a worm in my ear
So this evening we went out with some tree stalks and spades

Started digging, while chatting two meters away
Human contact has become a rare and sacred cheer
And the pubs may be closed until Christmas they say

In since March, we might get out in some way in May
But what way and when depends on how many are clear
This evening we went out with some tree stalks and spades

To put a little something in the ground for another day
Like a day when we can shop, when we can go there or here
The pubs may be closed until Christmas, they say
So this evening we went out with some tree stalks and spades

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