~

the table is long,

a chair at each end

in one sits an ogre

in the other a fool,

one wears a grimace

one wears a smirk

which seem to change

places now and again,

both speak different

languages translated

by an educated parrot,

the ogre flies a kite

shaped like a diamond,

the fool holds an over-

inflated red balloon,

in the centre of the table

a large golden bag marked

hypocrisy is emptied by

the handful by both, who,

if the deal is good, might well

yet salvage peace

*

© GRS 12/25

~

night wears on

strange things 

happen in the sky,

angry bruises form

briefly stare down

then gently dissipate

indolently, insolently,

leaving charcoal and 

paler smoked grey,

planets and myriad 

stars pulse, vying for 

attention before

losing interest 

in my audience,

daylight dressed

in pink marbling

heralds dawn, a 

sorely inadequate 

name for such a 

scintillating event

*

© Graham R Sherwood 12/25

~

just two lines is all I ask

two simple, perfect lines I 

could be remembered by,

twelve or so clever words 

that might happily sit there

side by side and selflessly

hold each other to the light

and will prove my worth,

two lines that will make a 

reader envious, stupefied,

that I may lay down my pen

knowing I had made a mark

that all this was worth a jot,

just two lines is all I ask

*

© Graham R Sherwood 12/25

~

caught on a distant wind

portent beneath a sombre moon

the feint rattle of Janus chains

bids this year to end too soon,

faces smart with such a bitter chill

urgent children pray for snow,

sloe gin is bottled, mincemeat made, 

and pickled walnuts soon on the go,

choristers practice carol hymns

decorations once more hold centre stage

poets conjure worthy lines of verse

and hope to grace the Christmas page

*

© Graham R Sherwood 12/25

~

I am cautious

I like to know what’s

going on, I’m risk 

averse by nature,

it’s how I am and 

have always been,

a pessimist, I cover

every angle if I can,

it’s the other side of

sleep when all things 

go awry, all control 

walks out the door, 

I’m in a world I do not 

recognize and feel

lucky to escape alive,

strangers, beasts and 

unreal situations swirl 

around my head, I’m 

either unwilling hero 

or villain, victor or 

victim all the same,

I am the alien on the 

other side of sleep

it is not a happy place

*

© Graham R Sherwood 12/25

~

I wake at seven and give

thanks for another day,

after emptying my bladder

I make tea, it’s not a ritual

just a daily happening,

my aches and pains report

for duty and I curse them

whilst I regard the weather,

which gives the day shape

and also curates my mood,

after tea I take a shower

or a quick soldier’s wash

if I need to be punctual,

on a good day I can tackle

muesli and fruit, most days

its toast and marmite

no butter,

I drink one coffee a day

so it needs to be good,

fresh beans half ground

poured through an old

tea strainer into a mug,

I greet my pills with a

‘good morning chaps’ doing

all five in one swallow,

as I say, no rituals, just

daily happenings

*

© Graham R Sherwood 11/25

~

provoke a sleeping beast

at your peril, it won’t 

let you do it twice,

stealing its food may go

unnoticed only once,

when careless audacity

impersonates bravery

usually blood gets spilt,

some governments

misinterpret enthusiasm 

for actual capability,

this miscalculation is 

the preface to bloodshed 

on a cataclysmic scale

*

© Graham R Sherwood 11/25

~

they all arrived 

delivered as hoped

boy girl boy girl, with

me guessing wrong 

four times,

we gave them sensible 

biblical names that we

knew they would thank

us for later in life,

how different they are 

from the same stock,

it’s fascinating 

how mother nature has 

her own way of moulding

shapes and sizes and how

one’s love for a child

easily expands to serve

four without any change

in its depth or potency,

now fully grown and with

broods of their own, the

perpetually infinite wheel 

revolves once more,

new names, shapes and 

sizes and best of all, new

sources of love, created

from who knows where?

*

© Graham R Sherwood 11/25

~

may I call on you again 

come the springtime, 

when you are reborn

in fresh cloth, bright eyes 

shimmering

like an emerald sea,

will you see me amongst

 your many suitors, each 

eager to hold your tiny hand,

I’ll keep steadfast watch 

from my lonely window 

for your deft arrival, 

subtle clues and covert signs, 

hoping you’ll take me back 

once more come April or come May,

if I promise not to keep you long 

from your beautiful path

*

© Graham R Sherwood 11/25

~

wild poppies feign weakness

appearing frail, content to thrive 

in splendid isolation, 

tentatively, they bow and wave 

as if to timidly hail a stranger,

from a distance en-masse

their colours bleed across the

dark earth, a blurred image of

blood red crimson cloth, 

faux fragility belying an 

earnest resilience,

a man might give his true love 

the gift of a rose,

I would give a poppy

to my one true heart.

*

© Graham R Sherwood 11/25