If They Only Knew!

Rooms now vacant

Except for….

Empty promises

The old house reverts

back into the hands

of forgotten ghosts

of names no longer

spoken

But he knows, he feels their

presence

Their mute lament

Floorboards speak of

shoe-less feet

Doors close without wind

or human touch

The sound of end of day

Whispers from painted

Shadows

As each room is checked

for living forms

The dubious ethic of working

late

or getting on

If they only knew

They are not alone!

By

Paolo Michell

Swollen

Sky is moving

Swollen

Silent beast

Landscape slumbers

Winter sleep

City train travels

Pricks the grey-ness

With its steel

Trees are brooding

In the silence

Wet with melancholy

Whispers

There is a gathering….

Elemental arrival

Imminent

Hiss and spit

Sun is hiding

sulks

Behind the sky’s breath

By

Paolo Michell

 

They Look Nice….

He’s three years old

at least

And to touch means

everything

His head is level

with the coffee counter

Choc bars and lolly pops

within his fingertips

His eyes wide open

He’s a boy, so resistance

is absolutely futile

As he picks his lolly of

choice

A lick and into the mouth

Then changes his mind

Spies the cakes and the mysterious

bits

Hums, they look nice….

Childhood!

While everybody else

is oblivious

By

Paolo Michell

Waiting at Platform One

Winter sky

Late Sunday afternoon

travelling westwards

Waiting at platform one

Outside the flagman

kicks his toes

Then, whistles go….

Leaving the city station

the evening light is

Jekyll and Hyde

to the left broken blue

With wads of cotton wool

to the right heavy grey

Ancient colours, predatory

Rain is threatening

Devious fingers

Summons the night

By

Paolo Michell

 

Strickly Lean

Brush strokes

Few to speak off

Strickly lean

Bare bones

Or, stones to build

So mind the gap

Life is the filling

So take and give

Remember tbe cycle

Embrace the change

I point in your

Direction

The rest is in your hands

By

Thatcher Doran

 

With a Silent Beat

Day Time passes

with a silent beat

from sunrise to

sunset

Then skips, repeats

Nature ambiguously

ticks

Like the benign sound of

a grandfather clock

but human Time is

segmented

No one  sees the seconds

disappearing

The minutes deserting

or

The argumental hours

playing

hide and seek

Insidiously

eroding lives

Until there is nothing left

Except…..

the notion of Time

and the residue of

unanswered questions

By

Paolo Michell

 

A Candle in the Middle

I sat on the stool

Staring at the quiver

in the mirror

As if it was the analogy

of Time

A liquid pocket

A vertical river

Passage to a secret universe

A simple candle in the middle

Tantalisingly suggestive

A portal to that other place….

Land of the waiting dreams

Lifetime in reverse

The number thirteen….

By

Paolo Michell

Yet, Time is Regular

Reading Larkin on the train

suspicious of life

but, afraid of death

This metal beast

sliders through the landscape

Cow and sheep

mowing grass

Mouth to ground

Indifferent to familiar

sounds

Noise

Filters through naked

trees

While horses wear overcoats

in fields

Brown, black and grey

All of various shades

peeping out from under

sleeves

Today the sky is wide and blue

Clouds layered

puffs of cotton wool

While the writer, stares

deep in thought 

Ponders on love, lust and the universe

especially

The realities men imagine

How change is always slightly

ambiguous

Yet, Time is regular….

By

Paolo Michell

Did You Feel It?

Each evening the ritual

repeats

End of day

The undressing begins

Darkness presses against the

glass

Windows of light

dotted

Across the cityscape

muted audience

Silent echo

Now, the building is

Empty

The day’s events

questioning….

Those segments of hours

before and after lunch

What was achieved?

Beyond the functionary

Let’s disregard

logic or reason

That human touch….

Did you feel it?

By

Paolo Michell