~

even now, there’s still 

some gold to be found 

in the nearby trees,

a few scant leaves

cling desperately to the 

flailing wind-stripped 

branches and glimmer like 

jewellery on skeletal fingers 

all lit by weak November 

sunshine,

the bony branches seem

to grasp desperately at the 

chilly air as if clutching for

some measure of salvation,

this brief frisson of light

amongst the fading

seasonal palette, will

all too soon be quenched 

by the icy monochrome

grip of winter.

*

© Graham R Sherwood 11/25

~

it’s how I manage

one day to the next,

days become weeks 

become months,

making almost five

years of trepidation

in all up to now,

others won’t believe I   

think about it every day,

they tell me how lucky 

I am, how well I look

lies cloud their eyes, 

their  invalid sympathy is 

the last thing I need, 

but then again I’m forced 

to consider whether 

I also use it too,

honesty usually arrives 

in the middle of the night

like a prodigal that you 

never thought would 

ever come to stay, so we 

always argue and fight, 

the result being that 

any semblance of truth 

doesn’t hang around long,

leaving me to gather up

the shards of blame that

have been thrown around

during our all too brief but 

recurring scraps, 

my stipend for all this is

five pieces of medication 

that I stare at cradled in my 

palm as another day begins.

*

© Graham R Sherwood 11/25

~

when a child falls down

we pick it up,

not just our own child

any child,

damage is damage

after all, 

we dust clothes

dab cut knees

wipe bloody noses,

when a child grows

to adulthood the damage 

is not as easy to see,

self-pride having

bandaged the wounds 

and threadbare humour 

used to mask the pain,

our children will 

always be our children, 

no matter what, keep 

them close, watch them,

damage is damage

after all

*

© Graham R Sherwood 10/25

~

shocked by news, yet

another name is called, 

a musician this time

an actor the last 

thus, we shuffle one more 

step closer to the edge,

the bright stars and heroes

from an age before our own

have passed and faded from 

the whimsy of our memory,

now our own heroes and icons

are falling fast, we in turn 

shuffle closer to oblivion,

we feel its tender palm

brush our heavy cheeks,

its friendly arms curl around 

our bent shoulders,

in the tontine of life another

dice is shaken, now’s not 

the time to throw a six

*

© Graham R Sherwood 10/25

~

within the weird geometry

of insomnia,

skewed door frames

are lit by street lamps

that knife through slatted 

window blinds,

harsh corners form

snagged in the mellow

glow of a bedside clock

and flicker on each turn, 

angular numerals gleam

in recurring palindromes

at 323 and 414 and 505,

spikes slits cracks and

arrowheads are thrown

together like the cover of

a cheap crime fiction 

paperback,

all these shapes one seen 

cannot be unseen within the 

weird geometry of insomnia

*

© Graham R Sherwood 10/25

~

I watch you

hold out your hands

and cup your fingers,

what you hold there

is invisible, with no

discernible weight

yet I know it’s there,

a handful of life, the 

air we both breathe,

I notice your stare

with eyes wide open

in disbelief,

(it reminded 

me of the first time you 

plucked a ripe raspberry 

from the garden canes), 

before slowly letting 

your fingers fan out

as if releasing a fairy

or a butterfly from your 

grasp and with it that 

brief fragment of magic

*

© Graham R Sherwood 10/25

~

my mother bless her heart

would have said

‘they’re both as bad 

as each other’ 

or 

‘its been going on since

that bloke writ the Bible’,

and

‘tribes always fight 

other tribes, always 

have always will,

they just have a rest

now and again before 

the next scrap’,

politics never meant much

at all to her way of life,

although if she went 

shopping for fruit and

veg at Dingy Underwood’s

shop, she would take the 

trouble never to buy an

orange stamped ‘Jaffa’,

come to think of it,

she wouldn’t buy one 

marked ‘Outspan’ either.

*

© Graham R Sherwood 10/25

~

a man must decide

one way or another

and early on in his life,

is he for himself or

should he be there

for his fellow man,

a choice, not easy,

and often made too

soon, too hastily and

with scant thought,

that once made,

becomes a rubicon,

a normal life shares

the way with many,

fame and notoriety

both beckon greedily

from a lonelier path

*

© Graham R Sherwood 10/25

~

under a rare pale grey, 

sky, so thin it appears 

translucent, we scurry

about our deliberations,

its feeble pallor cast 

meekly down upon us, 

like the oceans, we too

reflect the colour of the

sky, taking our moods 

and mindset from its

random offerings,

on this ambivalent day 

we shy away from levity

knit our brows and 

procrastinate, hoping

something will turn up,

surely there will be

better days ahead

*

© Graham R Sherwood 10/25

~

if faith is thought

and exists unseen

why do some think 

thought to be obscene,

which part of thought

irks some people so

they think it right to

cast a blow,

is it thoughts

that are thought aloud

to help the thinker

feel justly proud,

that others think wrong

to spread such thought

and think to stop it

with violence wrought

so, if faith is thought

and exists unseen

just let it be

and think again

*

© Graham R Sherwood 10/25