Poems about people

Five poems. Two about two different people I know, one about a stranger and two about people in general

People.

I’ll admit, for the most part I prefer animals.

Always feels like people disappoint, doesn’t it?

But humans fall short because we continually disappoint ourselves don’t we? It’s a mirror.

How can we expect other people to be what we ourselves cannot be?

As far as relationships go, we are either accused of having unrealistically high expectations or the opposite - of being willing to settle for any old shit.

I’m sure there’s a middle ground. Of being compassionate enough to be able to forgive someone for their human fallibilities yet still demanding high standards for yourself.

These poems reflect on individuals as well as relationships and people in general.

Fill your boots with my takes on their complexity.

And then do yourself a favour.

Go stroke a dog.

The Old Man

He stood queuing in front of me

With a dumpy wicker basket

Brown paper bags and folded cloths

I felt inclined to ask him

If living in this kind of way

Quaint, practical and sturdy

Erased the pace of modern day

I’m not sure that he heard me

His picnic eyes were tortoise old

A land of back street washing lines

When word was bond and love was gold

Simpler, happier times

I caught sight of the goods he bought

Fresh bread still warm for eating

He probably gave me little thought

But I felt wiser for our meeting

The Fence

We can’t seem to get back there

To that ‘once upon a time’

When eyes rowed lakes with lashes

When every fruit was lime

I’d lose myself in songs you wrote

The notes of love’s young dream

Each pause, a lawn on which to play

We’d linger on the green!

But vines of life they strangled us

Dark thickets grew too dense

The rose I chose is dead

And I must scale the towering fence

Living Dead Museum

I saw a corridor of candles

Their flames could not be seen

Parade of jaded snuffed out wicks

Stooped, black-necked waxing dreams

Plonked on the ground without a point

For nobody had told them

Their purpose was to be the light

And for a hand to hold them

.

And once, I saw a flower

Cowering inside a potting shed

Without a chance of sunshine

She’d surely soon be dead

But some people treat tender stems

As things that no-one needs

Why bother nature nurturing

When tech will supersede?

.

Some of us are hidden flames

And some of us are flowers

Festering in some baggage claim

Wasting away hours

Honey glows and scented blooms

Are already gone if no-one sees them

Talent rots in empty rooms

The living dead museum

The way to you

I used to think the way to you

Was through a burst of words

To heat them on a stove like milk

You’d drink me in, be warmed

I went from mute to harp to flute

An instrument of love

Sentences flowed, they knotted, bowed

It still wasn’t enough

Emotion roared, an untamed choir

I guess that I was wrong

The page was hot but now it rots

Seems you didn’t like my song

Rice

Happens to the best of us

You’re handsome as fresh cherries

Funny, endearing, interesting,

Then suddenly you’re nothing

You have the stories, charisma

Until novelty wears off

Shiny cherry day is over

And you feel dull as rice

Chipped and greying

In a sack of similar others

.

I think the trick is

To find a person

Who likes bland things

A rice person

Someone who doesn’t care

If you lack amusing tales

Have no money

Bore them

Look rough as shit

.

Because

Some people like rice

.

And at first, you might think that person

Is funny, endearing, interesting

That you’ve found a shiny cherry

Until one day they’re not

When you’ve heard their every story

Seen them grumpy in the morning

One day you look

And you see a swell of rice

.

But there comes a time

You’ve had enough

Of the bruising flesh of cherries

You crave anything that fills the void

To tend your hunger with……just….something

Any plain, plentiful staple

.

Or maybe you’ll be lucky

Find your twinning cherry

Never lose those big red feelings

Soft, sweet, sensuous forever

Never having to settle

For a sticky mass of white nothing