I Can’t be Buggered

IMG_20180922_155900

I could go for a walk but I can’t be buggered.

I could check my Facebook status but I can’t be buggered.

I could cut back the bush near the letter box so the postie can chuff past more easily on his motor scooter.

But I can’t be buggered.

I could put more effort in getting my next manuscript together — the editor is interested — but I can’t be buggered doing that either.

I almost can’t be buggered writing this poem about not being buggered.

Would rather curl up in the sun out the back with a good crime novel and lose myself in the plot.

to Stand Out

stage

 

I was reading about Miss Jean Brodie

About her being in her prime

her ‘owning’ the stage

Of the classroom

With the forty girls sitting in rows

Looking and listening

 

& I thought

How much blogging is like this

How each of us

Performs on the platform of the page

Seeking to impress

to stand out

To make our ‘mark’ upon

The rows and rows of readers

 

& how one day

Perhaps

A fellow blogger

Will remember our performances

And memorialize us

As Muriel Spark did Miss Kay

 

 

 

Sexual Predator

everythings_eventual

 

“No rest for the innocent”, she sighs —

As she looks out the back door.

 

“Looks like he’s raping her again.

He’s as randy as Harvey Weinstein”.

.

“For fuck’s sake, they’re blackbirds,” I say.

.”How anthropomorphic can you get?

 

And anyway, all things being eventual.

The act might well be consensual.”

On Reading Jilly Cooper

IMG_20180918_101705

I do not much like her novels.

They are crammed with characters like clowns jammed in jalopies.

But I like her epilogues.

They are lean and succinct, sinewy.

A bit like you, Bev says with a chuckle.

I may not have a novel in me but I have a draw full of epilogues.

And when push comes to shove I can pump out prologues at the drop of a hat.

It’s the in-between bits I’m not good at.

I could leave them to someone else.

Jilly Cooper, for instance.

On Cannibalism

Cannibals.23232

Montaigne wrote an essay on Cannibalism

But he was not thinking of the literary kind.

Lately, having been ravaged by an uncontrollable

Hunger for poems to post, I have begun feasting

On a number of my haiku, being both salubrious

& delicious, not to mention efficacious. No one else’s

poems were hurt during the making of this poem.

The proof, they say, is in the pudding, which

I will set out before you to decide whether

Such a practice should occasionally be condoned.