The Poetry Website

All This Rain

A wet Sunday in February.

Rain drops streak down the patio doors to the terrace,

which wait

locked shut - longing for spring.

The washing machine shudders to a halt

with another load that certainly won't see the washing line - it'll have to hung it up on the on the 'dolly' in the kitchen!

Water drops fall from a gutter unable to cope.

In the drive,

puddles gorge themselves on yet more rain drops

which

gang together to catch out those brave enough - or foolish enough

...to venture out!

We wait

longing for the days of summer

with games and barbeques

maybe a 'Pimms' or three!

Almost lake like

the lawn is now unable to absorb any more rain

and now has huge oceans forming across it - should we get the dingy out?

And still it rains.

The dreams of a Sunday morning

trimming the shrubs

mowing the lawns

then

after lunch

taking tea - have simply been washed away

by all this rain!

Such Detail

With a repeated sharp 'crackling' sound

followed by a small - 'pop'

then a 'rattle'

my wife

sorted out her latest delivery of tablets.

The crackle was from the plastic of a tablet slide - rows of transparent bubbles in which tablets were held prisoner,

safe,

clean,

uncorrupted,

and specifically proportioned,

waiting to be taken - as prescribed by her GP!

So; as each bubble yields to the pressure of her thumb

with a crackle of its plastic,

the tablet slide being expertly positioned

over the required section,

just one of seven sections

with their lids open

waiting to receive

'Monday to Sunday' written on the lids...

with a 'pop'

the shiny silver foil

a coating on the reverse side of the tablet slide

full with printed information about the tablets...

fails,

submits to the applied force

realising the once captive tablet,

this released tablet,

then drops successfully into the first section of the row of clear plastic containers

with a rattle,

which,

are designed to take that days allocation of tablets

and so will be joined by other tablets soon.

This routine is continued until each daily section

has the correct amount

of the correct tablets within it.

This is a routine my wife undertakes each weekend

those long plastic containers each with seven sections

one for each day of the week

the weekly containers that people use

to make sure they have taken the correct tablets

on the correct days

at the correct times.

...it is then I remember!

It's only because I've put my hearing aids in...

...that I am hearing such detail!

(Haiku)

I have a pen. I

have a note pad. All I need

is an idea!

Nothing If It Wasn't For Us

The country ground to a halt

yet another rail strike had been called

not involving the train guards nor the drivers

...they were both equally appalled

The rolling stock had a disagreement

it turned into quite a fight

they all thought they were most important

so they argued deep into the night

The wagons said the carriages were lazy

but the carriages said they'd so much to do

"We wagons carry lots of dirty cargo

you carriages simply haven't got a clue!"

A snooty locomotive then chipped in

with a fact that the group had sadly missed

"if we locomotives didn't pull any trains - then

all of this would simply not exist!"

Then a little voice was heard

a voice whose anger grew and grew

it was the metal rails and the concrete sleepers

both keen to deliver their point of view

"There'd be nothing for anyone to run upon

if it wasn't for us here on the ground

you would all be sinking in mud

how on earth would anybody get around?"

It was then somebody heard a distant shouting

and everybody turned their heads and found

it was coming from the station and getting louder

there were many angry passengers stood around

"You are here to get us to our destinations

to get us to our friends and to our work - thus

if we didn't buy the tickets

you would all be nothing...

nothing if it wasn't for all of us!

In The Graveyard

After our deaths - when we're laid to rest

...no-one in the graveyard will care.

No-one will care that we thought ourselves 'the big cheese' of something - there's no power to wield in a graveyard.

No-one will care about the grandeur of our tombs

the family mausoleums in which we lay - leave that to the living!

No-one will care about the words carved onto our headstones - as touching as they are!

No-one will care about fresh flowers

regularly placed on a tidied grave.

No-one will care that you've chosen to leave no mark

to have your ashes scattered...

anonymously

feeding the deep lush grass of the crematorium gardens.

No-one in the graveyard will care!

Death comes to us all

Be we black, white yellow or brown.

Who will we be in death?

No-one in the graveyard will care!

But...

who we were in life is more important.

Think about it!

Who Are We?

Who are we?

Who are we if not just the culture in which we were raised?

Are we our lineage

our ancestry

are we just our DNA - maybe?

Are we the sum of our own experiences?

Are we our family's traditions?

Are we the music we were exposed to

the TV programmes they

watched - they watched them

so we did.

Did the jobs our parents had define us?

Did the wisdoms they passed onto us

their religions and their beliefs

in a kind of subliminal inherited wisdom

of rights and wrongs

how things should be done

how to carry yourself

how to be in this world...

did that define us?

Were all these elements imprinted onto us by our family

our people

our culture

our upbringing?

Growing up you may not have realised this

or - if you did

you might not have liked this

how they did things

their choices

their ways

but these ways were already instilled in us.

Growing up you might have felt the need to rebell

but you would only have been rebelling against what you were destined to become

or we're already

these standards which had been instilled in you

which you in time

will pass on to your children.

After all...