Category Archives: Uncategorized

Encores

There are those who seek to

hustle Summer off the stage like a

blown act before the

boos set in but the audience

claps and whistles for

encores whilst Autumn

stamps its foot in the wings

impatient to perform.

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Trawlers and Drifters

Fridayam's Blog

Trawlers and Drifters—which was which?

Though born sea-blooded I preferred

watching water from firm earth but I

always wanted to be a Trawler,

hauling hidden riches from the deep,

dripping with slippery thoughts to make

buyers gawp when my catch

splattered about their shiny shoes

making them jump back in

astonishment and fear.

 

Many years later, alone in the dark,

feeling the sea beneath me by its

heave and swell, I’m content that all along

I was a Drifter, the haul is meagre and

I do not expect to find anyone

waiting on the quay.

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Shadows Pass

Fridayam's Blog

Shadows pass like clouds on a

perfect Summer day with the sound of

DIY and children playing

two gardens over, a lawn being mown and

unappreciated roses coming into bloom,

dust thickening, a trapped fly

angrily attacking a locked window, its

pocked buzz competing with a

telephone, bills still arriving,

white lines from almost

invisible jets just discernable through the window,

birds twittering for the

life of them.

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Evenings Out

Fridayam's Blog

I even out my life in evenings

out in the garden, making the most

of Summer, watching the

colour drain from things into

pools of black which

trickle slowly together to

drown the world in darkness,

like rock-pools on a beach into which

we stare at crabs and

starfish while the sea

cuts us off, and Autumn

swallows Summer.

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Vapour

I live in a quiet country so

I’ve never felt an earthquake or

fled uphill from a tsunami

never feared a forest fire and the

ground being so porous here

never fretted about floods

however dense the downpours yet

fear surrounds me like a

vapour I can’t seem to escape or

shrug off like a blanket too many

on a sticky night.

Marble

Fridayam's Blog

In dawn’s glim light your pale body seems

carved from marble by a master using the

delicate imperfections of the medium to

suggest the buried red and blue of veins, the

wan pink of nipples, lips, vagina, each hair

carefully chiselled to look

tousled by sleep or sex or death, and my

heart stands still until the

faint tremor of your belly belies that

you have been taken by some

covetous Pygmalion and

raptured back into stone.

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Dagger

Fridayam's Blog

Winter is the dagger hidden behind

Summer’s back, ready to be deployed in some

improbable Fifth Act carnage that leaves a

stage littered in corpses and some

ingenue in charge of whom there will be

great hope but

little expectation.

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Moontide

Moon window

Sometimes my house trembles

with the weight of the

Moon passing over

lifting it like a

tide of bricks and

dust.

A Question of Sport

Fridayam's Blog

When did love become a game?

Of two halves? Four quarters?

Five sets? Five days like a

Test Match? Is there a

referee, and is that person

impartial? Do I have to

suck an orange at half-time?

Are there training-camps? With

sit-ups and rabbit-jumps and

biometric measurements? Is it

something the unsporty are

excluded from? Can I be

penalized, sin-binned, cited?

Are there big-screen replays? Is

punishment retroactive? Might I be

banned? Permanently?

Prevented from playing?

 

Hang on,

have I ever been

shown the rules? And

wasn’t I supposed to just enjoy

taking part?

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The Twentieth Century in a Pub

Fridayam's Blog

When all was said and done, the

corpse-candles burnt out and their

greasy puddles, their

smeared existence, scrapped from

calvaries and cenotaphs leaving them

pristine and exiguous and somehow

forgotten, I suppose I shouldn’t be so

outraged by that cap-badge, the

hammer and sickle aslant within a

five-pointed star, but

dead people by their millions keep

nudging my arm, shaking my resolve and

spilling my beer.

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