I should have rushed outside

in that bullying storm

with the ludicrous name,

to embrace your ravaged girth,

it wasn’t a fair fight

and I worried for you,

later we spoke, quietly,

I would turn out to be

your assassin,

full thirty years and more

in splendid summers

bleak winters,

boughs bearing grandchildren

perched like chattering gibbons

hidden in your foliage,

you breathed on me, shaded me, cleaned me

shared my space, hid my tears

rugged sanctuary, beacon,

it is time

I become frail, as do you

both know our destiny

*

© Graham Sherwood 02/2021

I admire authors

they cradle their creations

like newly-born babies,

proud parents swaddling offspring.

I am consigned to be childless

lacking both the discipline

to birth a book, or

the ability to devise

one compelling storyline.

I am Tantalus, thwarted

forever dissatisfied,

my heart’s desire

perpetually out of reach

starved of literary sustenance.

So I make do

with these crumbs of verse

sprinkled before me,

such minute tasty morsels

that when laboriously gathered up

do not make a hearty meal,

so I sit and I starve.

*

© Graham Sherwood 02/2021

it’s a windy day

after yesterday’s freezing fog

that tantalized an eager sun,

this wind deserves no title

it’s not constant,

being neither friend nor enemy

to warrant a name,

we mustn’t honour storms,

a name confers a character

builds a voice, a shape, a picture,

this wind deserves nothing,

do not fear

it will roar and be gone,

faceless, formless, nameless

until the next time.

*

© Graham Sherwood 02/2021

you said 

I was talking again

in my sleep, 

you said 

the words weren’t clear and

they made no sense.

I said, I know for

it was words that woke me,

the strange thing is

I can remember the dream,

vividly, every detail

but never the words.

I remember hearing birds

and holding two fish

I had been asked to bring,

a half-smiling man, a sensei

declines to shake my hand

but kindly directs me to a lift

over which I have control.

each floor encapsulates

 different levels of understanding,

encyclopaedic tableaux

pamphlets, lessons of

spectral communications.

a beautiful student arrives

I ask her what she has learnt but

unworriedly, she refuses to enlighten me,

I am immersed in questions

that wake me.

*

© Graham Sherwood 02/2021

we will be changed,

at the end, when this is over

we will be different, 

in an altered state, where

damascene emotions will be sewn

onto our skins like worn patches,

like pert worry buttons 

mindlessly fondled

in subconscious conversation,

we will be different, for

our recognition of space,

our own personal spatial awareness

will expand with the universe

and its myriad microbes, as

the defunct and broken rhythms 

of our comfortable lives

having changed, 

will compose strange new chords 

to massage our redundant reflexes,

we will be changed, 

re-birthed

to look, to hear, to smell, to feel

to breathe a brave new life.

*

© Graham Sherwood 02/2021

in the clock patience game of my life

I finally turned up a king

a year ago, to the day

in the afternoon, the fourth card clockwise 

on a Friday, breathless as a summer evening

a mitral valve malfunction, game-changing

now an unwanted anniversary, me

a sour-faced celebrant medicating

each day playing out, a nervous game of chance

I have made my peace with King Charles

Alexandre, Cesar and David

are yet to visit the table

long may it be so

*

© Graham Sherwood 01/2021

23/1/21 [Messenger Video]

Papa, there’s a sixty-percent chance tomorrow

a sixty-percent chance of what?

A sixty-percent chance of snow, tomorrow

that’s great to know! Let’s hope so

but don’t be disappointed if it doesn’t turn up

I won’t but I hope it does 

24/1/21 [Messenger Video]

Papa, Papa, it’s snowing in my garden!

that’s great, it’s snowing in mine too

(we live only one hundred metres apart)

can I come over?

what would you like to do?

have a snowball fight, build a snowman

of course, I’ll see you soon

in one shake of a mouse’s tail

*

© Graham Sherwood  01/2021

once more the order changes

newly dealt cards are played

half the world breathes easier

others feel dismayed

the futility of anger

fuels prejudice of race

vengeance reconfigures

to reveal a different face

the citadel stands fractured

a hairline crack appears

now flags wave instead of people

cold snap instead of cheers

get ready for redemption

make ready the battle drum

a skirmish wasn’t all out war

revolt must surely come

gold plates heaped full feel warmer

fast-food boxes cool

your father must have warned you

never underestimate the fool

once more the order changes

the new cards take a crease

assassins circle boldly

to eye the golden fleece

the populace must decide their fate

sing the anthem dream the dream

re-learn the message of the past

and let the eagle scream.

*

© Graham Sherwood 01/2021

it’s best to skirt around the lake

on a Sunday

too many nuclear families

lockdown captives

who can’t shop

need to get out the house

before they kill each other

I veer off quickly 

make a shortcut 

through the silent trade estate

 eerie as an old film set

litter an unwanted surprise

but no need for Time Team

to research its provenance

top prize goes to the 

deftly captured Eastern European

lorry driver’s piss

neatly deposited in a plastic bottle

though poorly secreted under

an ornamental hedge

energy drink cans 

pancaked in a line 

along the kerbside gutter

glint like cat’s eyes

all spaced a car’s length apart

hoorah! there’s a new kid on the block

new detritus set to shock, 

abandoned medical masks

littered like blue and white 

bikini briefs,

filthy g’string slingshots 

matting the pavement

akin a stripper’s dressing room

stay safe, always wear a mask

they say

better still stay indoors!

*

© Graham Sherwood 01/2021

we are different, 

you and I,

not the colour of our skins

deeper than that,

our needs differ, our wants too

the hopes, wishes, dreams fandango

our secret searches, our Eldorados

so don’t feel guilty 

I don’t see why you should

me neither, it’s not my fault

you haven’t reached your destination

I don’t blame you for my lack of achievement

we just tread a different path 

along the same road

you see different scenery

I hear different birdsong, 

you feel different rhythms

so let’s agree on one thing

there’s little we can do

we are different 

you and I

*

© Graham Sherwood 01/2021