new suit, now just a baggy
worn-out pair of jeans
A Lovely Day
The dawn chorus is delayed.
An eerie calm settles all around.
Car headlights cut through the fog.
A Virginia Creeper cascades down a fence,
its autumn red stands proud in the gloom.
Misty spiders-webs cover wire fences.
Spiders in residence await a meal.
The recently trimmed hedgerow glistens,
damp,
covered in tiny droplets.
The rising sun colours the whole of the eastern sky a pale orange,
but fails to break through.
The avenues between the apple trees are just rows of fog stretching into the distance.
Sheep in a field drift in and out of view,
and a train passes,
unseen.
I think it's going to be a lovely day!
(untitled)
Those early risers.
The bleary eyed.Those who really shouldn't be up at this time of day,
but who,
for some reason: are!
The shift workers.
The impulse buyers.
Those who have long journeys to take.
The habitual purchasers,
they always have one!
Those who can't function without one.
Those for whom the day really doesn't start until there's one 'down the hatch'.
Those who are simply addicted,
their cars automatically pull into a garage which sells them.
They can't help it!
They just can't help themselves...
...they all grew to rue that day,
that fateful; fateful day...
the day the 'Costa' machine stopped working!
Saturday Morning Supermarket Carpark
The constant rattle of trolly wheels across the carpark.
A siren 'doppler-shifts' behind me - left to right.
Friends meet - very loudly.
Music pulsing from cars,the occupants oblivious.
Two men finish their conversation from a distance.
A man on mobile talks to his builder - it's gonna be pricey and it's gonna late!
Snaches of conversations float by me on the breeze.
A young girl calls out to her Dad.
An electric car drifts by,
and the only sound is the tyres 'popping' on the carpark surface.
Remote control door locks; 'click' - remotely.
Birds in trees; 'squawk' - incessantly.
Radios 'chatter' - to themselves,
reversing sensors; 'ping' - backwards,
and engines 'hum' because they don't know the words.
Busy parents scold excited children in all the excited 'busyness',
as a car horn sounds - vigorously,
followed by a car alarm - hope they're not related!
I drive off,
adding my sounds to the 'fruit salad' that is the Saturday morning supermarket carpark
Who Am I Then?
When my body grows old,
and it ceases to function.
When I become; 'unable-to'.
When; 'I can't'.
And when; 'I loose' and,
'can no-longer'.
...Who am I then?
Then; when my mind starts to disintegrate,
and my faculties are lost.
When my cognative functions faid,
and my past is eventually taken from me,
and; 'I'm locked-in'
and; 'I'm frightened'.
Who am I then?
Who will I be if I have no past?
Who will I be if I can't live for the present,
in what body and mind I have remaining?
And what of the future?
What future?
Will I know?
Will I care?
Who am I then?
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