~

no fanfare here

no balcony of bedecked

royals a’head a frenzied

avenue of flags,

no cheering heads,

just her distant growl

and grumble overhead,

across my friendly city

bomb doors closed, 

an old girl going 

home once more, 

job done, and I

spellbound, and all 

too late realize 

I should have stood 

to give salute

*

© Graham R Sherwood 05/25

~

we make light of our afflictions  

with hollow wry humour and 

compare the quantity of our 

medications as if they were 

gambling chips, which in many

ways they are,

both of us know we have more history 

written than future planned, and

more memories than expectations,

bitter rivals in sport we have

always laughed at the same things

often finishing the other’s comic

quips, quotes and punchlines, 

but we’ve had our go at life and 

the jury’s still out on what sort 

of fist we made of it,

and when it’s time to part, 

our handshakes last that

little longer than usual,

we might even attempt one of

those embarrassing hugs the

young are so fond of these days,

we could never tell each other 

of the love we share, it just 

wouldn’t do, 

look after yourself is the

nearest we ever come to it 

and of course, a hopeful 

‘see you again soon’

*

Graham R Sherwood 05/25

~

the first sign of mercury 

on the incline brings a tang

of freshly mown grass and

burnt charcoal, which along

with the cuckoo, are rare

harbingers of finer weather,

the aroma of apple blossom

wafts the length of the garden

and the chardonnay is over

bud-burst although not much is 

expected from it this far north, 

salads and early potatoes

have already pushed through,

I’m nursing a new gooseberry

and it’s an oak before ash year 

so water could be tight,

sadly, even though there were

were several early viewings 

the tit box remains vacant,

a queue of May jobs jostle 

each other for attention not

least three pieces of fence to fix, 

but today is for rest with a 

glass of chilled Verdicchio, 

which gifts its own lean grassy 

signature to complete the scene,

this week has been harder

than I had imagined, so if it’s 

alright with you, I’ll make a start 

on the work Monday, 

promise

*

© Graham R Sherwood 05/25

~

I watch you, busy

cleaning a floor that 

doesn’t need cleaning,

I know you didn’t sleep

well last night, 

I did, that’s

how I know,

we’ll go at lunchtime 

and say goodbye to her,

neither of us need it

but rituals are rituals

but we’ll soon be home

with nothing left to

be sad about,

our lives go on 

and we’re together

*

© Graham R Sherwood 04/25

~

it should herald a warning, 

I think only of marmalade

as the colours ripen before

my eyes, the backlit trees

on fire on the horizon,

my city wakes at 5.am

*

© Graham R Sherwood 04/25

~

light drizzle taunts me to step outside

stopping and starting in half-hearted 

chaotic random showers, its laughter 

a mocking feeble hiss on the paths,

the sky is a dour threadbare grey, which

necessitates the kitchen light being on 

for breakfast, a hark back to winter,

a stiff breeze circles around the house 

like an inquisitive, expectant crowd,

my days of denying the elements are

long gone, I am easy meat and settle

for cups of tea, research and writing,

realizing it’s the cowards way out

I sit and sneer at the monochrome

morning like a child hiding

behind its mothers’ skirts, tongue out!

*

© Graham R Sherwood 04/25

~

there should be laughter, 

a joke or two whispered from

behind cupped hands,

old photographs thumbed

some winsome, shared

‘remember whens’,

a celebrant’s appointed

who has no clue of you or

the music you selected,

there’ll be a spread

of flaccid paid-for grub,

that few want to eat, 

all too soon, apologies

taxis, uneasy hugs and 

‘have you got far to goes’,

an exodus, deep breaths

‘thank God it’s overs’

promises to keep in touch,

it’s only then we realize

from within our grey daze

that the sun came out for you

*

© Graham R Sherwood 04/25

~

my personal technologies

tablet, notebook and phone

lie discarded beside me

on the bedroom floor like 

butchered pieces of

armour as the ‘wordbirds’ 

flood in knowing I am 

defenceless,

~

they pick voraciously at my

corpse with the knowledge

that I will remember nothing

in the morning, so cautiously

I play dead and impassively

think up clever rhymes to

help me recall the ones that

inflict most damage,

~

knowing I will capitulate

I surreptitiously allow my

arm to fall in a blind search

for a weapon, vainly stirring

the carpet with my finger as

if disturbing a stillwater,

~

the weight of my notebook

feels like a sword in my hand

as the rabid words, fearing

capture, take flight, as

once again, I am left in a

desert at 4am not knowing

which direction to take,

whilst stoically watching my 

expectations busily packing 

to fly south

*

© Graham R Sherwood 04/25

~

some flames burn fiercely 

to keep you at arms-length 

others throw a warm flicker

serving to draw you close,

fierce flames sport cold hearts

and blue whiplash tongues,

the warmest hearths glow with

soft orange dancing smiles,

as your life’s light burns,

be kind and learn to be

the right sort of flame

*

© Graham R Sherwood 04/25

~

so, this is what it’s like

to breathe in our own

self-made dystopia,

shoaling, swarming in 

this hexed, wired world,

we walk, see, talk and 

listen to myriad hypnotic 

tones, cursors,

blinkpulse algorithms

truthshape a faux benign 

sentience in this counterfeit 

world, where electronic 

bibles preach, fools become 

professors, rich opinions

are duly slain for chat-facts 

revered voraciously and

shared to bake a toxic viral 

stew, we regress without care

stupidity diluting ever further

into an antediluvian chaos

*

© Graham R Sherwood 04/25