A good night’s sleep

You wanted a new bed.
I saw red, stamped my feet, shook my head.

You slept on the floor instead.

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London Morning

Grey and the traffic’s bad.
No time to put the kettleonandhaveacuppatea.
Racing with the rats,
pulsing city not even awake.

Blank bus driver stare.
Not even a goodmorningmissywelcomeonboard.
Squeeze on, squeeze down,
stand zombie, stand.

Inky fingers dark like the sky.
No good news, no sharesgoupandhousepricesdown.
Sharpen elbows and turn pages.
Eat the news for breakfast.

So, the whole idea of this is….

Years ago, when I was at school, I wrote. I wrote and wrote and wrote and the stories and the words poured out of me and they couldn’t be stopped. I was pithy, humorous. I was romantic, gregarious. I bared soul and bone.

Then somewhere along the line, I grew up. Started work and stopped writing. Put the pen down. Picked up the wine glass.

So welcome to my challenge. Poems. Lots of them. Posted on here, for people to see. First drafts, raw thoughts, whatever. All here. I was going for one a day, but well, we’ll see.

And if anyone reads them, I’d really like your feedback. Just be a little bit gentle.

Please…?!

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No more blank pages…

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