newstuff
The Twenty First of June
Midsummer nearly didn’t happen
At least not in our house
Dark clouds threatened to blow it away
Lunch boxes were thrown across the garden
Words were had
A tiger slunk off
Tears fell
Midsummer is almost upon us
Though it was not meant to happen
At least not in our house
Guests had to be warned not to come
Cards and invites gingerly put away
Rites of passage books left unread
Books from church on the windowsill forlorn
Words were had
A lynx curled up
But no tears fell
Midsummer is two days away
No party hats have been ordered
No celebratory ice-cream or jelly
Even the sunshine is staying away
Midsummer wasn’t meant to happen
At least not in our house
Waites
The cream cakes crowd me to the right
A baby cries
And the lady says without smiling
You can stay so long as you aren’t in the way
The loaves stand to attention
The ladies look at me questioningly
Empty plastic trays have tipped
Their contents of buns, almond slices
Eccles cakes and fruit scones
Folk come in and come out
Pronouncing scone scown
Who’s next please?
Strawberries reach out toward my mouth
Jam tarts slide away
Custard tarts smirk
The chocolate éclairs are unimpressed
The potato and onion slices race out of
The shop in high demand
I inch nearer the cream puffs
Keeping my distance from the
Smartie cookies
Gingerbread men cry out
No Big Issue seller on a chair
Outside the door
The reek of sweet pastry
Children in and out
Coins dropping, till shutting
Eyes widening, tongue slavering
The crunch of white paper
Teacakes plopping into bags
Fingers spinning knots into the corners
The sign reads No Dogs Allowed
No Smoking, No mobile phones
A reel of sellotape waits patiently
A lone bread bun on the bottom shelf
Silver and gold metal trays
Yes please, a white twist and a granary
The fruit teacakes yell over at me
The last croissant is mine
The cheese scones are quietly ignored
The till opens again, feet shuffle and slide
Voices voice their requests
Now amongst the steak slices and the meat &
Potato pies, a sausage roll yawns and stretches out
Are you alright for change? She queries
Yes I’m alright for change
Thank you
Stirling
In the eye clinic
poppies tip out of the painting
filling the room
from floor to ceiling.
Through the petals we swim
toward each other
paddling through children,
Duplo, womens magazines,
spiders and eye reading charts.
Suddenly a giraffe leans over
begins to eat up all the poppies
every last one
Until the carpet reappears and
the people stop floating on
a sea of flowers.
Cynthia Buell Thomas
Wed 15th Jul 2009 16:16
Julie, these are terrific - imaginative, well crafted, 'tight', poignant - everything good poetry should be. Each one is complete, doesn't need another thing. Isn't that a great feeling!