A sea of backs

Tell us about a time when you felt out of place.

A skill I’ve never mastered

Is entering a room

All those people’s backs to me

What am I to do?


I don’t know how to join a group.

I enter slowly in

I stop at the edge of a random group

And fiddle with my drink.


No one seems to notice me.

How do I join in?

I wish the floor would swallow me

I struggle with the din.


I don’t know who these people are.

I’m not sure that I care.

I simply wish I wasn’t there

That I could disappear.


The circle doesn’t separate.

I hover by their backs.

Pretend like I am listening.

Then seek another drink.


I’ll go back through the process

Try another group.

If by chance they let me in.

I won’t have much to say.


I’m not a natural sharer.

Why’d you need to know?

Some can just talk endlessly

But I’m not one of those.


They won’t find me interesting

I’ve not got much to say.

At least I’ve got a place to stand

Until they drift away.




Of course there is the toilet.

I can take refuge there.

Anything to get away

And spend time on my own.


In a formal setting

I will have no nerves

However large the waiting crowd

I will know no fear.


But make me enter in a room

And face that sea of backs.

That’s a thing I simply dread.

I feel so out of place.

No need to imagine! That’s how we grew up.

Your life without a computer: what does it look like?

No need to imagine

That’s how we grew up!

Saw my first computer

When I was age eleven.


Our famous school computer

They were very rare.

It was so unusual

It made ‘Tomorrow’s World’.


It took a whole science lab

With all its flashing lights

And all it did was work out

Complicated sums.


There were no computers

Growing up at home

What could we have done with them?

Didn’t see the point.


Not that we’d afford one

Expensive piece of kit

They were just for scientists

Not the likes of us.


You wanted to find out stuff?

You’d have to turn to books.

Huge encyclopaedias

Took pride upon our shelves.

There was no social media

Were no mobile phones

Only very few of us

Had a phone at home.


We’d communicate by letter

Or simply face to face

You’d have to make arrangements

Re when and where to meet.


There’s no such thing as GPS

You had to use a map

Or rely on friends’ directions

And hope you got it right.


The world has got much smaller

Communication links

Those days if you were abroad

A letter could take weeks.


There weren’t that many channels

Assuming you’d TV

You’d have to just watch

what was on.

Or maybe read a book.


We’d get news from the papers

Or radio twice a day

Not the constant coverage

That you enjoy today.


But news we could rely on

We knew where it came from.

No one spewing lies or hate

Divisive claims online.


Travel was more difficult

Harder to research

You’d need a travel agent

Too hard to book yourself.


Finding shops and restaurants

Was pretty hit and miss

You’d have to go in person

And simply take a chance.


There is no Tripadvisor

You can’t look up reviews

There is no buying things online

You trek around the shops.


I worked in a library

The catalogue on cards.

Each book had a card in it

They’d all be filed by hand.


No easy way to look things up

We’d thumb through books or cards

You’d come in to a library

And there’d not be one PC.


It’s hard now to imagine

To think of where we were.

Computers have their downsides

But I think it’s better now.

I wish I could write obscurer

What skill would you like to learn?

I’ve read other people’s poems
And they don’t much look like mine
I wish I could write obscurely
Be done with silly rhymes.

I’d like to shroud in mystery
But just say what I mean.
I wish I was better at writing
And could write obscurer lines.

I’d dab words round my canvas
Pluck metaphors from the air

Obscure what I was saying
And leave you crying for more.

I’d like to have you scratch your head
And wonder what I mean
But it seems to come out
In just plain words
No hidden meaning at all.

Maybe I’m just shallow?
Don’t have hidden depths.
There are other, cleverer writers
And I’m just way too dumb.

Think where I could take this
If I didn’t say what I meant?
Fathomless conjectures,
Museful meandering,
Pensive pontification
Big words,
extravagantly constructed sentences?

But would that still be me?
My tired and torrid attempts
To twist, turn and complicate
My communications for the benefit
Of audiences immune to the
Innocence of my simplistic doggerel
Are condemned to fall on fallow ground.
Seeds ungerminated
Failing to come to fruition.

I can’t be doing with that stuff.
I’ll just say what I mean!

Handyman

What skill would you like to learn?

I’d like to hang a picture up

And not have plaster crack.

Maybe have a shelf or two

That sits straight on the wall.


I’d like to hang a door straight

Replace a broken hinge

Knock up clever cabinets

That make great use of space.


I’d like to understand what’s broke

And think that I can mend.

Know how to replace a fuse

And make things work again.



Mend a leaking gutter

Unblock a smelly drain.

Saw a piece of wood in two

And not mess up the grain.


I wish I didn’t panic

When faced with simple tasks

Occasionally being useful

Is that too much to ask.

Can’t find it

What details of your life could you pay more attention to?

You say there’s a place for everything

And everything has its place

But the trouble with that for me you see

Is I don’t know where that is.


I know it goes here or hereabouts

And this goes over there

But I still don’t know the exact right place

Though I really try to care.


My wife does cares, cares very much

She’s driven mad by me

Everything I ever touch

Goes where it shouldn’t be.


It could be a man and woman thing

Or perhaps a missing gene?

I’ve looked for that gene all over the place

But it’s nowhere to be seen.

Attention to the details? That would be a start.

What details of your life could you pay more attention to?

Attention to the details??

Well that would be a start!

I kind of blunder through in life.

I don’t do details much.


I find it hard to concentrate

To finish what I’m doing.

My mind will be on something else

Or simply getting finished.


In consequence things don’t get done

I miss those little details

The little things just don’t get done

The task will be unfinished.


Even worse there’ll be no start

I don’t see what needs doing

Or I might forget what I said I’d do.

I don’t do it on purpose.


Worse than all the household chores

I miss those little cues

I’m focused on my selfish thoughts

And might not notice you!

Shed this cold

What’s your #1 priority tomorrow?

All I want’s to shed this cold

And just be well again.

To clear my nose,

Be able to breath

And feel myself again.


Tomorrow I’ll be resting

Just as I am today

And probably I’ll be sulking

I hate to be unwell.

Once I really liked to dig…..

In what ways does hard work make you feel fulfilled?

Once I revelled in hard work

I really liked to dig

But now I am a convert

And kinder to the Earth.


It’s really good to labour

I like to toil and sweat

Too many years behind a desk

Just staring at a screen.


I like to feel adrenaline

And know that I’m alive

I get that through hard exercise

But also through hard work.


I love to dig and work the earth

Rejoice, enjoy outside

But better to work with nature

And get her on your side.


Digging dries the soil out

It’s structure gets destroyed

You mess up micro-organisms

Sadly worms get sliced.


I’m a recent convert

To the principles of ‘No Dig’

Better to add compost

Than to just disturb the earth.


It’s better to work intelligently

Than eye-bulgingly and hard

Work with Mother Nature

And get her on your side.


We’ve been to see Charles Dowding

Been learning what to do.

Don’t just put your head down

You have to think things through.


Check him out on YouTube

Or maybe get the book.

It’s all very well to work real hard

But better to get it right.

I rub along

What’s the trait you value most about yourself?

Oh God I hate these questions

They really are the worst.

I find it quite a struggle

To be kind about myself.


I’ve always been self critical

Is that a positive trait?

It’s an ingrained habit

And one it’s hard to drop.


I think it makes me cautious

I know I can be wrong

I’ll look for a consensus

And try to go along.


I’ve had to be adaptable.

I had that kind of life.

I pick up on the folk around

And learn to just fit in.


I still do what I want to do

But maybe on my own

If no one else is interested

Then I’ll be fine alone.


So guess that’s it ‘adaptable’

I rub along ok.

Didn’t really like this prompt

But did it anyway.

Poet, athlete, gardener… does that sound bad to you?

List three jobs you’d consider pursuing if money didn’t matter.

I’m lucky enough

to be pensioned off

Living out retirement.

I have the money

I need to live off

So money‘s not an object.


I don’t know what

you‘d call a ‘job’?

I needn’t work for others.

The ‘work’ I do’s

To please myself

So money doesn’t matter.


I had to make a living once

When money was an issue.

If that hadn’t been the case

What would I do different?


I guess it would be

much like now

But have happened

much, much earlier.

He’s three things

I might have done

Or maybe I’d do

All of them.


The first thing that

I’d like to be.

Perhaps a full time athlete.

Preparing myself everyday

to compete around the circuit.

There’s no way I’d be good enough

To ever make much money

But I’d find it so satisfying

to be the best I could be.


Then of course there’s writing

Penning silly poems.

I could entertain myself

But there’s no money in it.

I’d maybe write a novel

Maybe I still will

But since I’ve never started one

It’s doubtful that I will.


The last is the most practical

A life I could have had.

A life outside and gardening.

Growing our own food.

We grow so many fruit and veg

We can not eat it all.

Give away to neighbours

Whatever we can’t store.


That would be a good life

We could feed ourselves

Have fresh air and exercise

And time for other things.


I am very fortunate

For these three things I do:

Poet, Athlete, Gardener.

Does that sound bad to you?