A shell of a man
To all intents and purposes
Gone through – and – out – the other end
of all things most disconcerting
A brain if ever there was one
But pilloried and disposed of
Unappreciated and sidelined and
Overruled and misconstrued
Over-the-top isolation and fault finding
Buffeted from side to side
From plane to plane
Bullied in the most predatory manner
Yet coming through it all –
And still ready for the fray
So why the ‘shell of a man?’
It took it’s toll – it left it’s mark – it cost him something – emotionally drained – morose – and disquieted within – with only steely resolve remaining intact.
His shell most abused
You will search long and hard to find the withered personality within
But he was told he is ‘still here’
By a friend who added: ‘Living to fight another day…’
And who may I ask…?
Indeed pray tell me…
Who was that man?
That was The Lone Ranger!
“faithful friend or trusty scout.”
With a hole in the middle
What to make of this?
Found on the street
It fell on a downward spiral
Into the deepness of my pocket –
Living on the street up to now
Now I imprison it
in the dark recesses of linen.
The hand went deep to
on returning home
I’m told –
This Danmark Kroner?
So back into the pocket you shall go
Why have you come into my life?
You only pose questions.
And the hole in the middle?
Hi Diddle Diddle
(there’s a hole in the middle)
the cat and the Fiddle…
Cows jumping over moons –
I mean…come on?
Dishes and spoons animated?
Running away with each other?
No – just a hole in the middle
Hang it around your neck –
liberating it from the cell
of your garment and once again
into the light of day,
amidst the dirt and grime
exalted and exultant in
full majestic view,
joined to a handsome chain of gold enthroned on the neck
for all curious glances
made a fuss over
as the story unfolds:
‘I found it on the street…’
No longer homeless – adopted – a permanent child with a father…
Kroners with holes
I at last have seen and obtained
LG 1995 Jp with hearts and crowns
for exposure and PR.
If only holes could speak.
If only Kroners could smile.
And yet I can sense it’s satisfaction
See it’s silver glint
All washed up – on display
an all-washed-up existence.
“Oh Kroner attached to my person swinging on a permanent swing of gold.
I know little of your life or background – I have never been to your birthplace.
But you will remain my friend, my companion, my little muse.
I might even grow fond of you”.
Just another man walking down the street
Just another man walking down the Avenue.
Inside – body particulars –
in all men
made the same
Inside – a mind that ticks with time
– ticks with the clock
“What makes you tick?” –
the question is often asked
the heartbeat’s journey through time,
That’s what keeps me ticking.
Keeps the mind alive
In meditation’s ponder
Looking to the left – looking to the right
He crosses the road of the street of the avenue
Not taking enough care in concentration
But he gets there
To the other side – I mean
His mind ticks over and he realises his mistake
So he ventures back the way he came
A long enough journey – he strides to return
To the newsagents – where he’s already been
Yes thankfully – he did leave his umbrella there
And yes – no one else took it.
“While I’m here give me another packet of
those Fisherman’s Friend’s.
You know the one’s that help you breath-easy”.
He returns the way he came before he returned
the way he had come
He crosses the street of the avenue
with great care and concentration.
And disappears into the crowd with his Friends.