22 May 2005


It's Sunday. It's a real family day, and having done some planting, mopped lino, changed sheets, sorted school uniform and now being 'treated' to a family movie on TV, I am buggered if I can think of anything to write.

So have a poem instead.

Oh, and shoot me if you've seen it already.


Life is too shallow, straightforward, simplistic.
We live out our moments absorbed in the mill.
This hurrying humdrum, so animalistic
Not real but surreal, like the world took a pill.

I'm living the downer, the first recognition
That something important evades my recall.
So horrible, hollow, this nagging suspicion
That life on a knife-edge is ripe for a fall.

What is it, what is it I cannot remember?
Some mind-numbing truth I am yet to be told?
The wind whistles viciously, sings of December
And suddenly life seems so terribly old.

I feel like a triplet whose siblings are dying,
Miles from my view and yet etched on my heart.
Indefinable panic, my synapses frying,
Ice-river blood, am I falling apart?



Badaunt said...

I love your poems. They have an EDGE.

Cheryl said...

Tuts, gonna blush.


CafeRg said...

this is really a great poem, cheryl ..you need more sundays like this..

this a good line "Miles from my view and yet etched on my heart" for anyone that has had a online love.