For those
who walked with us
this is a prayer.For those
who have gone ahead,
this is a blessing.For those
who touched and tended us,
who lingered with us
while they lived,
this is a thanksgiving.For those
who journey still with us
in the shadows of awareness,
in the crevices of memory,
in the landscape of our dreams,
this is a benediction.
Category Archives: Poems
Take Your Rubbish Home
Take Your Rubbish Home
He spat it out a blob of white
Our eyes followed its trajectory
It sailed and arched like a sneeze caught in the wind
Before hitting the ground
And glue-like stuck fast there
Beside my shoe Ugh
A sight on the ground
“What the hell”! The others cried outraged
“It tasted bad, in my mouth” he smirked
“Where should I put it?
Under my desk
“It wouldn’t stick under your feet there,” he sneered
“It gets snagged in the cleaners’ hands,” they shot back
Take your rubbish home. Stop spreading filth
He shrugged, uncaring it seemed
Despite their disgust of him
And spat again
I left him there
Too enraged to say anymore
Except
Over my shoulder I shouted loudly
“Take your rubbish home you slob.”
Gemma Hill 2019©
Filed under Art Tickle, Poems
What a Funny Old World
What funny old times we’re living in
Sunburn and barbecues in spring
No teeth chattering no woolly hats in March
Sunshine wall to wall every day we rise
Winter in July
Gales lashing round our ears
Sending us scuttling for shelter
It’s a funny old world
Waiting with baited breath for news of the R rate
Hairdressers and barbers may be permitted
To open up!
Great burst of exuberant excitement
It’s a funny old world
Gardens flowers in sheer abundance
Raise their faces to the constant sunbeams
A fashion parade of crazy paving
Much admired on social media
It’s a funny old world
Magically dinners delivered
A welcome sight on all kinds of doorsteps
Locked in over indulgences expanding waistlines
Surfing the internet for something that fits
It’s a funny old world
A cheesy wave from
The neighbour two door over
I’ve lived beside him for many years
I’m amazed to find he knew my name all along
It’s a funny old world
Masks in place we venture out
It’s a changed world outside the house
Move on.
Don’t loiter
No Talking
No singing please
It’s a funny old world
Grumbling nostalgically
About the good old shopping days
When
Face to face toe to toe
We’d stand and have a
Good old natter without fearing
Pesky particles floating
Carrying little buggers of
Covit 19
It’s a funny old world
Slippery as eels with sanitizing dripping
Playing following the leader on the
Yellow starters’ line
Painted arrows anti-clack wise
No turning back for things you’ve forgotten
No touching allowed unless you purchase
The disembodied voice on the Tanoan thunders
What a funny old time we’re living in
Gemma Hill copyright 2020
Super tramps
Super tramps
The bearded man in his cardboard home
Stared as the flames licked the side of the barrel
He fingered the bottle in his hand
Like a dead man it lay
Empty
Bereft of life
As useless as he felt inside
He threw a look and tentatively spoke
This life is wasting us
Let’s get out
Be super tramps again
Get back on the Telly.
Make loads of money
A house in the country
Holidays in warm climes
His friend sucked in his toothless gums
Shook a dead mouse from his flies
Coaxed the last dregs of booze
From the heel of an old shoe
Swept his tongue round his chin
Captured the dregs that thought to run
A dreamy smile sparkled his eyes
He travelled down memory’s lane
He could smell the scampi taste the champagne
For a while it had been his holy grail
Waving the ragged arm of his coat
He had relieved a scarecrow of in a turnip field
He balled his fists
The drink has befuddled your brain old friend
Become notorious citizens again?
Devoured by the media at every turn
Throat as dry as a gravel pit
He shook his head decisively
Go if you must but leave me be
Gemma Hill 2020©
Filed under Poems
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