Poetry

If I only had a…

The scarecrow hops his way along,

uncaring hands and sharp-tongued jokes,

hushing the crowd beyond a whisper,

until they realise the fun he pokes.

 

His purple jacket torn to shreds,

wicked grin and moss green hair,

singing the golden bricks back to attention

not caring if the way is fair.

Poetry

The Gnawing

I don’t know when it began,

this gnawing at the back of my mouth, bloodying my tongue

with words that spoke only

of how my body, the vessel of everything that is me,

was not good enough

for the rest of the world.

 

It haunted the silence after meals,

wriggling, worming its way deeper

until it lodged a solid nest

and grew so much that it took over my brain

with thoughts of

how many calories are in a slice

of bread,

that apple,

those deliciously rich cherry tarts.

 

It spurred my limbs to work overtime,

even when my muscles screamed

that they hadn’t had enough nutrition that day

to function at just a normal level.

 

I tired, unable to keep up

with its demands,

unable to know my own self.

But of course, the sleeping me

did not go unnoticed by the faces I knew.

 

They dragged the gnawing from me,

gave me ambrosia to wake me

and told me it was okay.

Yet they didn’t exorcise it completely.

It had made its mark,

and now lingers on eternally.

Poetry

Story time. Discuss

The queen saw, pointing at,

while tears dripped

freely from her eyes.

 

They led her over

to him, helped her kneel

beside. As an afterthought,

 

piled leaves over his lower

half in an attempt

to preserve his modesty.

 

‘It’s over. It’s finally over.’

‘No. It’s just beginning.’

Poetry

The Button

I see it. The button:

press in event of emergency.

Go on, then, press it.

But I don’t know what will happen!

Ah, that’s the fun of it.

Press it.

If…if you insist.

I don’t insist on anything.

You’re the one insisting.

After all, you’re talking

to yourself.

There’s no-one else left here

now.

It’s just you.

Press it.