~

slowly attitudes cure and

the unspeakable becomes

the subject of debate, thus

with such precious oxygen, 

opinions begin to flourish, 

take flight and become 

forthright possibilities,

which harden into options, 

the foot soldiers of choice 

and before long we are

locked in a war of words,

choices like human beings

present in many different 

guises, speak myriad tongues

most predicated on the living,

common civility plunges

as we begin to consider the dying

*

© Graham R Sherwood 11/24

~

I woke slowly to sunlight seeping

beneath the curtains like spilt water,

on the radio they were speaking

solemnly about remembrance and

in that split-second it made me think

perhaps that was enough,

it was most likely all those 

boys would have asked us for

*

© GRS 11/24

~

read between the lines

a peculiar expression

make of it 

what you might,

be it clear intuition or 

words on a blank wall,

once found they become 

harder to ‘un-see’,

lines begin to blur and

one becomes unsure 

where the lines end 

and the spaces begin, 

do not become lost for 

words, it is cold out there

*

© GRS 11/24

~

we never met

four thousand miles

apart, an ocean

between us and

somehow more than 

twenty-odd years 

blinked on by,

words and pictures

were our bond, 

food and fine wine 

a passion shared,

why it stayed the 

test of time who 

knows? 

him: what fancy claret

are you drinking now? 

me: your beloved

‘Arsenal’ played crap 

this week?

Inked-In morphed

to Facebook

friends, and two old

buggers began 

shouting at the moon,

farewell old mate

stroke your many cats

drink fine Latour

rest well!

by the way your team 

are still crap, they lost

to Newcastle today!

*

© GRS 11/24

~

~

vague mist wraiths fade

and gradually skeletons appear

as if woken from beneath their 

threadbare golden sleeves,

they look skyward, confused,

haughty, muscular, 

dark knuckled hands with 

elegant fingers that slowly flex 

shivering in the new cool, 

one or two, rail at our presence 

whilst another leans to point our 

way home, so we acquiesce 

laughing, but kick our way

through their discarded clothing 

as a feeble token of our defiance

*

© GRS 10/24

~

leave the past

in the past 

where it belongs,

cast in stone

inked on paper,

the past now, is still 

what it was back then

both good and bad

things happened

nothing will change

what’s gone before,

you can tear up the 

history books

pull down old statues 

rename buildings 

roads and colleges

give sorry money

by the million,

when it’s done

it still all happened,

you and me

both know that,

stop looking back

stop wallowing in

yesterday’s swamp

of darkness,

walk into the light

use the lessons learned 

as a beacon in your head,

leave the past

in the past 

where it belongs

*

© GRS 10/24

the lower mountains 

look warmer today,

a friendly pale maroon 

flecked by richer orange 

that seems to have been 

scratched off the setting sun,

yesterday they were prouder,

more erect, a starched collar 

godly grey spanning the 

horizon like a crudely ripped 

paper tear, a strip of untidy 

jagged tips and angry 

misshapen severe folds,

locals say it will be cooler 

tomorrow and the ‘picos ‘will 

recline decked with white 

pillow-cloud plumage like

a sedentary corps of old

retired generals in their

best ceremonial uniform

*

© GRS 10/24

~

tragedy is keeper of the watch,

abruptly waking people from their 

self-satisfied slumber,

tragedy is a rapier blade 

conscience prick, 

a librarian of sentimental, rich 

untimely spluttered platitudes,

tragedy is a grief detective 

spilling guilt like alms given 

tardily to the poor,

tragedy waits at the wellhead of

crocodile tears, giving succour

to the bereaved who crawl 

from every crevice, their pockets 

crammed with worthless hindsight,

tragedy, once the hot news has faded

into frozen history, readily takes

its place in the crowded pews of the

‘church of seen it all before’

to gorge on the ripe flesh of hypocrisy

*

© GRS 10/24

~

in a faraway dark corner 

of this fickle universe 

a lifetime from here,

a decree is signed, a

decision made,

that yet another star 

must fall to earth, 

its once stellar brilliant 

light all spent out

*

© GRS 10/24

~

~

part of the process

is the knowing,

accepting when it’s 

the right time to 

move forward,

to let go, without a 

backwards look,

it can be like bidding 

farewell to a favourite 

child leaving home

dressed in her finest 

dress, coat and hat,

a sublime rich palette 

of burnt reds, golds, 

russets, deep maroons 

and marmalades, 

the secret is not to feel 

sad or sorry for oneself,

share the optimism

of renewal, of strength,

of change, of course it will 

be different next year but

you are sure to recognize 

the subtle signs, remember 

children grow very quickly

*

© GRS 10/24