Where Are The Rats To Race

Keyboards lie on sanitised desks – untapped

Chairs unspun, un-sat upon

Desks un-leant upon

Carpet pile untrodden

Blinds frozen in stasis

Printers silent

Photocopiers still

Scanners lidded

Drawers unopened

Ink and gossip dried up

Chatter a mere memory

Celebrations unmarked

Frustrations unheard

No banter

No politics

No coercion

No persuasion

No orders

No edicts

No KPIs

No targets

No graphs

No trackers

No visits planned

No meetings booked

No greetings

No snide looks

No passing in the corridor

No coffee shop chat

Lift doors unopened

Car doors without chips

Carpark without cars

The sun rises and sets

Shadows cast unwitnessed

Rush hour slow

Abandoned roads

Traffic lights flicker

No drivers to heed

Where are the rats to race?

The Covid Blues

I’m interrupting Napowrimo prompts today just as Covid has interrupted my schedule. I’ve spent the day drifting in and out of consciousness after taking painkillers which turned out to be incredibly effective at removing hours from my day as well as the pain. Please note – this is absolutely not a criticism of the NHS, Chemists or any supporting staff, they are all super heroes in my book, doing a wonderful and courageous job. However…. 🙂

Covid Blues

 

Sore throat, temperature

followed by dry cough

wheezy days, sleepless nights

feeling “slightly rough”

 

No energy, teary-eyed

coughing all the time

swollen tongue, now mouth ulcers!

whilst defiant – I’m alright!

 

Swollen face, pain in jaw and gums

now earache!

Family insistent

“Call the doctor for goodness’ sake”

 

NHS Online says;

I have the plague

Stay at home, paracetamol

but the pain doesn’t go away

 

Ring 111 to ask for help

“We aren’t medically trained.

Ring the chemist they will know

what pills you should take”

 

The chemist says “Ring the Doc –

antibiotics, you’re infected”

Holding the line once again

“whilst we try to get you connected”

 

The receptionist asks what is wrong

and why you need a Doc?

Finally she puts me through

to rehash the whole damned lot.

 

I pick up my drugs that afternoon

by eight I’m numb and sleeping

The following day I cruise through space

though awake I’m still dreaming

 

I’ll take the antibiotics

to cure the cursed infection

but the painkillers are in the bin

before I fall into addiction.

 

It’s nice to escape from life’s trials

when pain strikes and gives you jip

but opioids aren’t the answer

rather – a British stiff upper lip.

 

 

 

 

Image – This sickness Blues by Aurora Meyer

Near Rhyme Hell Whilst Corona’d

Napowrimo Day 6 using prompts from Christina Thatcher.com

Write a poem about a project, collection or activity. Distracted by my symptoms of Corona Virus I have used artistic license in that my “activity” is making sense of my day!

 

Near Rhyme Hell Whilst Corona’d

 

A symptom of corona virus is confusion

I was outwitted by a simple lock mechanism

So please forgive me the occasional delusion

I’m personally finding, within it, amusement

I shall isolate in my castle of seclusion

So not to spread to you my infectious pollution

I hope to soon see a swift and final conclusion

Full recovery, not the end of my inclusion!

 

*Featured Image by Parvez Taj

**Opening the patio doors outwitted me; I couldn’t fathom the key turn and lever arm mechanism, which alerted me to something being wrong (other than the cough and lack of energy). I hadn’t realised this was a symptom until consulting NHS 111 online. If you find yourself in this position please bear it in mind. You dont need to have a fever to have Corona Virus.

Dream Home

Napowrimo Day 4 – Write about a dream

 

It started with a dream

of a home in the forest

with a ceiling of stars

of a life non-conformist

 

I climbed a great oak

there I laid the first planks

made a bed in the boughs

with moonbeams for a lamp

 

I drank from the waterfall

I ate berries from the bush

I forgot about the city

its pollution and the crush

 

Time evaporated into air

joy took its place

I was living without a care

I lived at my own pace

 

Wild roses were my perfume

small animals my friends

birds serenaded daily

leaving my soul fully cleansed

 

My pulse did not race

my arteries didn’t harden

I was healthy, I was happy

In my rustic home and garden

Razored Nail

 

Razored Nail

 

You will not see her approach,

hear footsteps fall or gravel crunch.

The moonlight shadow makes no sound

as she picks you out for lunch.

 

But you may smell the foul stench,

feel slimy spittle against your skin.

Pungent odour fills your nose

your stomach writhes and knots within.

 

You will not see a blade glint

but feel the gouge of razored nail

as she disembowels your organs

and drags out your entrails.

witch

 

Pray she passes you by, my dear

pull the covers over head.

Lock your windows, bolt the door,

hope she isn’t in your bed.

The Window

The Window

 

I stood on a chair and watched from the window.

Hours went by.

You came home happy and drunk.

I looked out into a sea of parents

wiped my make-up off

and walked home alone.

On the eve of my Wedding

you spent the night at your boyfriend’s.

My bridesmaid helped me into my dress the next day.

When my daughter was born you went shopping

for something suitable to wear for photographs.

I held her close with a full heart.

Now you view my work on gallery walls,

return home and watch from your window.

 

child at window

It’s Napowrimo Day 4 the challenge today was to write a sad poem using simple words. I love this style, plain and direct and leaves the reader to elicit the emotional impact.

 

Tinned People

I enjoyed writing this one, the concept amuses me.

Napowrimo Challenge Day 26

The Prompt:

Have you ever heard someone wonder what future archaeologists, whether human or from alien civilization, will make of us? Today, I’d like to challenge you to answer that question in poetic form, exploring a particular object or place from the point of view of some far-off, future scientist? 

My Response:

Tinned People

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Little tins of people drive by;   

some are big, some are small, some long.  

At all times of the night and day,  

little tins are moving along.  

bee

Some are packed and chattery.

Others contain a single one.

Where are you going tinned people?  

Tell me, where did you all come from?

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From left to right, a constant stream  

of shiny black and silver cars.

What do you know? What have you seen?

Do you think there is life on Mars? 

b;og7

My questions fall on deaf tinned ears, 

as the tins keep moving on. 

Not a “hello” or “cheerio” 

From a single, solitary one.