Off on my hols tomorrow for a week, So I thought i'd chyck in a few poetry bombs and catch the buss to Santorini

Walkergate

Me and the misses went regularly for walk before you struck
We’d sit by the river having a picnic, giving bread to a duck
Those hazy lazy summer days seem to be fading more of late
You’ve put pay to those walks thanks for my crisis, ‘Walkergate’

At night when I lay down to sleep think of the gift you gave me
The latch lifts and I pass into dreamland a place where I am free
My dreams can be a bit strange of that there can be no debate
I walked wobbling down this road looking down my legs, a gate!

My dream more unhinged on a scale of 1 to 5, a whole 5-bars
I had to swing down the lane I got strange looks from passing cars
My wife turns up with me, which turned out to be quite fortuitous
We had to cross this field and she was a ‘kissing’ gate, nice for us

This dream state got stranger by the minute, totally unhinged
My children were little side gates “want to go home” they winged
The dream state was suddenly brought to an end we’re all tirin
I woke up my legs feeling stiff they had turned into wrought iron


A slightly unhinged poem?

Phil