~

due to your impending journey

a doleful conversation ensued

over a joyous glass of claret,

where best to scatter one’s ashes?

I thought it strange and said so

that a loving husband and wife

having spent their lives together

would elect different places

for their funereal disposal,

in your case a favourite par three

and her birthplace beachhead

both picturesque true, but miles apart,

was it the wine talking? maybe,

but it gave me the perfect solution,

we could both be carefully decanted

into a copious Marie-Jeanne

corked and stopped with wax

then interred beneath Ausone’s vines

within reach of the Angelus chimes

two sleeping cellar rats

witnesses to future vintages

*

© Graham R Sherwood 16/10/23

~

when I’m in the mood

I edit old poems 

savagely 

I reconsider my thinking

from back in the day

cancelling past efforts

tidying up I call it, 

paring the meaningless

fillers, chaff, strings

until they feel like silk

between my lips

or vomit, bile, venom

spat through gritted teeth

I edit old poems 

savagely

when I’m in the mood 

*

© Graham R Sherwood 10/23

~

dormant memories 

silt lying shallow or deep

need to be stirred,

only then might lost treasures 

appear from the mirk,

it’s a delicate task but

merely swishing a hand

isn’t enough, 

both feet are needed

to carefully rake the dirt,

take care, the problem is 

memories are shared, 

never owned by one person 

no-one’s property, 

they have no title, 

like vulnerable orphans

cannot be owned 

just adopted,

old memories may not age

once beautiful they become 

haggard with an ugly façade 

weighed severely

by the scales of time,

beautiful memories shine

rare like fleeting silver fish

others reclusive hermits

to be left alone, that lash out

in anger at their awakening,

 tread carefully if you venture  

into the treacherous memory silt

all is not as it seems

*

© Graham R Sherwood 10/23

~

I used to look at him, 

fear for him, as

my new world flashed by his

astonished eyes, 

like black and white

fast-forward cine film,

leaving me wondering 

how could he possibly navigate 

the vivid colours of change

as man’s relentless advancements

spilled from the machine like

projectile techno-vomit,

he wore a curious limpid expression

a resigned realisation that quietly

whispered, ‘I’ve had my day,

it’s down to you now son’,

and in that one fragment 

of a second

that unspoken blink

I became him, the parent

and he became me, a child

unable to keep his balance

his self-assured equilibrium

on the oscillating, accelerating 

carousel called life,

cast-off, all uses spent,

responsibilities reversed,

these days I think carefully

before making eye-contact

with either of my sons, 

for fear, they too, will see 

that same look of my father 

reflected there in my eyes

*

© Graham R Sherwood 10/23

~

a rage

a blade 

a moment

a madness

a cut

a second

a blink 

a flash 

a heartbeat

a life

a pain

a darkness

a sentence 

a statistic

a waste 

a rage

a blade

*

© Graham R Sherwood 09/23

~

a dour submissive day

the weather be it sloven or slattern

rules the roost with a diffidence

worthy of Pontius Pilate,

with no blink of light to brighten 

the grey on grey skies,

trees drape witches’ knickers

like tawdry carnival bunting,

flower heads droop across each other

as forlorn sodden lovers do

and birds dart to cover 

from the unexpected chill,

even the turbulence is mournful

rather a bored groan than defiant roar

a drunk yawning before 

taking yet another drink

books, music, crossword puzzles all seem

shallow facile distractions, although

Scrabble on a Wednesday seems to be

the only way today

to make my words speak out

*

© Graham R Sherwood 09/23

~

born a haefest child

an autu boy, watcher of change

patient unhurried curious,

attuned to subtle colours

plum, gold, marmalade, 

burnt lemon, lichen

connoisseur of aromas

truffle, musk, fungi, bark

smoke, rain

maestro of moods

melancholy, pensive, 

wistful

I am the autumn child

fader of light, closer of harvest

bringer of sleep and reverie

*

© Graham R Sherwood 09/23

~

wild fruit colours are on the turn

the last of the under-ripe berries

shining angrily as kicked shins, 

they trampoline sedately 

upon heavily laden boughs

spiders’ webs precariously under-spring

this miniature circus scene,

the dawn air changes too

briskly misting my face,

a sense of unease prevails

a cautious reticence blows 

a chilly breath around my collar

prompting me to half-turn,

 I feel as if a fragile summer

is bidding me an early farewell,

my heart slows, heavy with

a helpless sense of time passing,

time lost forever filed away

never to return,

so, I sit and listen to the dying noises

breathe in the sweet

musky decay of the passing season

and keep watch as summer

reluctantly curls around itself

folding away its rich bounty

*

© Graham R Sherwood 09/23

~

I found this poem, scattered 

in the ragbag dreary smithereens 

of yesterday’s torpor,

it was watching my every move

intent on surprising me, 

jumping up In front of my face

brazen, belligerent 

demanding my scant consideration 

irritably I asked its name, 

‘that’s your job’

grumbled a sullen retort 

lying there akimbo around my feet

trying to shock my sensitivities,

as my interest perked I saw

it needed work, licking into shape

but why me? 

one minute I’m basking in the 

mellow glow of creativity 

and next this disparate creature

this drops into my lap,

I can see there is beauty within

masquerading in gypsy clothes

a desire to be a princess or

dark-eyed sultry temptress

but at this moment neither is

closest to the fore,

so I strip her naked, bathe her

put her to bed, sit there patiently

watching the dreams play

across her mesmerizing face,

intrigued to see what or who will

awaken come the morning.

*

© Graham R Sherwood 09/23

~

compared to recent weather

that’s been capricious at best

today has been somewhat like

Goldilocks’s porridge, just right

warm, light wind and bright skies,

the ripening vegetable patch 

is feeling very bounteous, rewarding

our decision to holiday at home

this year with ample and delicious fare,

plentiful salads, beans, chard, spinach 

all stand erect and proudly display

their ripe and vibrant colours,

tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers and 

fat aubergines also vie for best in show,

but it is the sharing that gives most

satisfaction, the gleam in the eyes

of neighbours who gratefully receive

a box of fresh produce, freely given

or a secretive parcel left on the step

a good life feel good glow in these

straightened worrying times

is worth more than money could buy

*

© Graham R Sherwood 08/23