Micropoetry No.8

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It is eight thirty
The zombies join me
I wait for them never to appear
But they hardly disappoint.

Beautiful blue skies
White gulls far away
Green seas calm
Before the winter foam.

Not enough ...
Concrete stance
Frail and lacking
Formless
Puzzling
Saturday?

Why should I see a stripped down universe?
Did you strand me here?
Too much
Too young
Until the end
For something so ancient.

Amongst
Hard working
Little thinking
Too tinkering
Fools
You sit beautiful
And reclined
I sigh
For youth
Love for youth.

A labyrinth is the complex ways
Our seldom easy to plan means
NHS can only slowly rattle
A poisoning tail at the end of a path.

Physiological, tick.
Security, tick.
Belongingness, no.
Esteem, no.
Self-actualised?
Improbable.

Being aware of awareness
Inner peace and stillness
In the face of the hurricane
Of humanities farce.

Location: Wetherby, Wetherby

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