When the Dogs Bite

Thursday 17 October 2024

17th October 2024

sunbright

an on autumnal street

lens flare

He calls it "the weave"

when asked a question,

he talks about something

"tremendously important"

that he dreamed about the night before

and tells us things he saw on television

that he imagines are real:

cannibals and giant insects from Mexico;

pre-schoolers given million dollars surgeries during recess

and healing instantly with superhero powers

but he insists it's all true

and some part of a conspiracy

to stop him becoming

King of America.

Wednesday 16 October 2024

16th October 2024

dark streets

walking the morning dogs

invisible mist

His book of promises

bulging with extra pages

and extra notes taped in

I caught an old note as it fell.

the tape yellowed with age,

the immaculate penmanship

the brown of old blood.

"Mr Albert Jennings, one soul

for the ability to play the piano

like a virtuoso pianist."

I remember Mr Jennings,

a brilliant piano teacher, his fingers

crippled with arthritis.

Tuesday 15 October 2024

15th October 2024

rain forecast

the dog licking my face

to wake me up

twenty quid

on "an invaluable writer's aid"

that turns out to be cards

with the Hero's Journey on them.

I've got something similar on my corkboard,

made of old postcards and mapping pins

but this is Business in microcosm:

getting someone to pay good money

on something they already have:

This poem is written in Notepad,

then transferred to Word for formatting,

otherwise Blogger will add line spaces,

but honestly,

I used to write on actual paper

and just as many people read it.

Monday 14 October 2024

14th October 2013

morning sunshine

Aria's first birthday

cuddlesome dog

There's nothing in the notes, he said,

suggesting you a mad,

but then, I'm not a doctor

and you're probably just sad.

The act of seeing demons,

admittedly a bore ,

to me sounds sane as sane can be

since this is Hell for sure.

Sunday 13 October 2024

13th October 2024

howling dog

as he races down the garden

the existence of squirrels

Things to be Grateful for

The comradery of buddies is a thing I'm thankful for;

the wagging tails of dogs when I open the front door;

a final cup of tea before I climb the wooden hill

a glass of sparkling water with which to take my morning pill.

An early morning walk on which the rain declines to fall

a session of jiu-jitsu (still my greatest love of all).

Fixing Google photos so my phone begins to sync

the splendid gift of watercolours, oil paint and ink.

The sourness of an apple and the sweetness of a grape

scarlet streams of creeper in an autumn gardenscape.

A long walk in the sunshine after several days of rain

the current lack of panic as the world dissolves again.

Recovery from covid as the recent strain recedes

means I can venture forth recounting tales of gallant deeds.

Saturday 12 October 2024

12th October 2024

bright spot

where the sun used to be

post-office van

Oh Mother, make the biscuit that you made when I was wee

it was before I became seven and was for my birthday tea

it was supposed to be a chocolate cake but you forgot the yeast

you also left out chocolate in your haste to make the feast.

Instead of flour you chose to add the ground-up bones of Nan

whose ashes in the cupboard were kept safe inside a can;

you didn't have brown sugar and used heroin instead

prob'ly just as well you'd made the local dealer dead.

In place of eggs to bind it all you added eye of newt

and mixed it in a sack you made from Daddy's favourite suit.

You baked it in an oven in a hollowed-out dog's head

and finished it with sprinkles shaved from soldiers made of lead.

I wish I had the recipe you bequeathed me, dear Ma,

this pleasant police officer has just asked me where you are.

Friday 11 October 2024

11th October 2024

northern lights

reaching south to Chesterfield

migrating geese

Another covid test again reveals

a positive result: no training night for me

with my worldly few jiu-jitsu pals and seals

the kiss of death on Sunday's colonoscopy.

A solitary walk is all I have in store

to burn the calories I need to lose,

reducing weight and body size. What's more

important than my health? I say and choose

an early night or three and watch some reels

of Rickson Gracie's fights in early UFC

or maybe write synopses of my novel wheels

and hone my skill of locks to wrist and knee.

Perhaps I'll test again on Monday's morn

and hope then that an uninfectious me is born.