Ouch, sore eyes!

Preamble, preamble, preamble... Essential Background Context for this poem: The Weather.

Sunny intervals 

Sunny intervals,

Said the BBC weather forecast,

Without giving a clue 

To how long these would last,

Or what in between.

I suspected the weatherman

Not of lying, per se,

But of optimistic euphemism;

What he didn't want to say

Was, that kind of grey day

When the sky looks worn out

And it seems quite cold,

But it's not (nor hot either),

The rain will probably hold off

But the sun, truth told,

Can't really be bothered,

Though it may just pop out

In the intervals

(So schedule your loo breaks

For during the acts)

Though today, in fact,

'Sunny intervals' turned out

To be strong wind, intent

On filling my eyes

With sharp bits of nature

While the sky changed colour,

Unnoticed.

22/5/11

HAHAHAHA (moan moan moan)

It's Shrove Tuesday. I've eaten lots of pancakes and frivolously decided to 'give up moaning for Lent'. So, in the spirit of getting it out of my system, here are some hitherto-repressed-from-the-public-eye Moany Depression Poems. (HAHAHAHA they shriek, we've been released.....)

The light evening sky

The light evening sky

Said it was time for change.

It lied.

The trees were still bare,

The air

Was still cold,

I still

Felt

Shit.

The prematurely lit

Street lamp

Glared at me

Across the railway lines,

Like an unfriendly

(But honest) eye.

I wrote that about this time of year, two years ago, at Teddington station.

Burnt out

Friday night,

Ten to nine

And high time

To be home.

No

Second wind tonight;

Feel my soul clenched tight

Against anyone who comes between

Me

And a deep, long sleep.

19/11/10.

Sundays

About a quarter past four

She got around

To removing the mascara

From the night before.

Now, she thought,

I must get out,

Get some daylight, and-

Oh

It's already dark.

Sundays, she thought,

Are hard work.

28/11/10.

Now that wasn't actually so bad was it? (I am still sitting on the worst offenders...)