Poem for the Day

A poem a day by Arthur J Plant

Posts tagged poetry

Oct 20

As The Sea Is

I will not be a fair-weather friend to you
I want to see as you are,
however you are
roaring at the winds that scream at you
rolling beneath violent skies
that rage onto your blameless body
your hands cracking themselves against the wall
raking the stones back and forth
your tears spilling onto my coat.

I will love you under blue skies
I will stay with you beneath clouds,
I will visit in the night and in the storm.
I will not send pictures to my family
that tell them your sunny days are the correct ones,
hot and cold you will have my passionate attention
while I sit on the bench to listen
to your roars, your wails, your gentle purrs
however you are, you are.


Oct 19

People In Dark Houses

Never trust people without opinions
they are dark heads living in dark houses
often hiding dark hearts
ready to swallow the good people whole
because nothing fills them
nothing ever comes out
nothing is given,
they will sit in the middle of the world
watching it shrivel then die
with everyone screaming on it
before ever making any effort
to create and to love anything truly
beyond the walls of their dark houses.


Oct 18

Strange Skies

There are strange things in our skies
predators with sharp eyes and keen ears
waiting for the whistle from their masters
or simply enough movement in the brush
to strike,
high still wait the black angels
spiting the face of god
hiding in different flocks
whispering to the ground
but no one will admit to listening
and no one can say why.


Oct 17

Losing Sleep

I’ve been losing my sleep
little pieces flashing cheekily
as they scamper out my hair
escaping my pocket
to the dim places beneath the bed
glinting in the thick carpet
or hiding right underneath the door
to the closet we don’t use much
and I am searching
because I need my sleep
gathering back every tiny piece
from the floor, out a drawer, in the hoover
slowly gathering it together
until I can finally go to bed.


Oct 16

The Dump

After the wrong sort of day
the shitter is the only place to be
bad attitudes, poor foods, lousy weathers
letting the damage all fall out of you,
all the shit taking itself away
until all that’s left is yourself again
drained out and ready to get back up
(just as soon as you’ve taken a dump).


Oct 15

Scrabble Hour

It’s scrabble hour in the library,
the olds and the old olds
shaking up the letter bag to keep it fair
clacking words together like a mail train
occasional friends peering through glasses
at the official game dictionary,
they’re not close
they don’t meet outside competition
but they’re all here now
because they can be
always playing to win.


Oct 14

Trash Tomorrow

Do they take out the trash tomorrow?
I don’t know.
I sit with it a while
watching the rain run down it’s plastic
wishing I smoked.
Was it every week
or every other week?
I wish I was more organised.
It is three in the morning.


Oct 13

Coffee Mornings

Coffee is wasted in the morning
as if anyone needs that ejector seat
into the horrid brightness of day,
why not snort a line
and really rev it up?

You need to build carefully
otherwise heads falls apart
bitter faces squeezing each other
because they got up too quick
all in the wrong order.

Coffee is for the afternoon,
your boost to the moon
after easing up above the atmosphere
meter by difficult meter
one dark cup will get you there
wherever, all before sunset.


Oct 12

Bring The Rain

Enough rain can cool the earth
filling the air and arresting it,
the shoppers cowering behind windows
waiting for it to stop,
it’s always sunny in the ads,
there’s no work to be done now
enough rain will sabotage the ways
we wind ourselves up,
bring the rain
and I shall sleep.


Oct 11

The Immigrant Devil

Ah yes. Immigrants.
The perpetual devil
stripping nations bare
of jobs schools, roads, rail and hospitals
or so everyone tends to hear
but are always just around the corner
from wherever this is happening,
they’re like that.

I’m not racist
but I moved from there
because there were too many blacks
and now I’ve moved here
there are too many polish
I don’t know how many but too many
though I haven’t met any
but you hear them, sometimes.

When I was young
everything was fine.
When you were young
everything was perfect.
No immigrants then
not that I remember
when I was young
or when you were young.
Lets go back to that.


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