Round goes the gossip

(written in coffee house, one quick edit at home…)

Round goes the gossip,
north country accents machine gunning in a southern seaside town,
reshaping body shapes for coffee charged window-wishing dress buying,
Christmas decorations crisis early exhorted,
texting daughters rapid reply replayed,
head-nodded knowing,
proud envy sigh-shared;
make up base colours cross-checked,
creamier cream over beiger beige,
promised swift swap of free freebies,
vicious visits to inviting in-laws quick-chatted,
shops right rated by cross counter intercourse,
a sex of dancing words;
roads flash flooded in drenched downpours,
washing unhung as stair rods descended;
faded curtains charity shop listed,
husband’s lazy languidity sigh head-shook,
life’s quirky queries countered in ten minutes
girl-buddied word volley.

 

 

 

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Market marketing

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Stallholders stalling,
watching,
waiting,
breakfast burger half devoured,
publicly chewing,
publicly watched,
eyes staring like a fisherman’s bait,
catching eyes,
a caught contact the first line of a contract;
hands back grasped,
nervous fingers counting empty,
in empty palms,
coffee cups dreg dredged,
cold liquid for comfort to a body belt lightweight in cash,
buggies one handed push by,
screen hypnotised mother’s see no market,
only messages of nothingness,
pensioners wander pleasant smiling, morning greeting,
pleased to interact in a lonely world of absent work and offspring, non-buying,
false hope to enduring stallholders,
the young work weaving,
drink and food finger-balanced on speedy sprint to waiting desks,
ignorant of table merchandise:
flowers, books, clothes, teas, breads, organic milk,
fast flying by;
the sun lifts cloudy shades,
warming bodies bring warming words,
smiles and jokes bring clicking wallets,
a sale,
a sale,
a sale from precarious futures.

 

And wow! Quite a ‘medium’ coffee in Costa’s…

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Coffee House Rendezvous

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Late middle age agitation,
beige colour-washed in clothing and mind,
early morn coffee,
ciggie seated,
eyes wandering,
recapturing youth tho’ wrinkled and pilled up,
vacant hopes as damp as the drizzle falling around the wet washed smoking zone,
outcast and outdated,
out of step with youth fast passing whose screens quick-flick with lives sped read by,
their days long spread ahead,
minutes like hours slow passing,
mealtimes the office bells of a life rapid passing slow to a rolating highway to a homeless Home,

offspring long gone to hours wage-tied,
lives child-chained,
TV schedules their timetabled replacement for school routines
secret revisited in daydreams
of a future once more glittering in hopes,

elders sit grouped in playground reminiscence,
roles replayed,
carrier bags and walking sticks,
not satchels and cricket bats,
talks of prescriptions and missed appointments,
of customer service and missing buses,
not gossip of TV heroes, friendship breakups,
the sweetest tasting sweets and sticker swapping successes,
cold dregs now swished,
stubbed stubs ground,
they depart all ways west to window shop and bus stop dawdle,
till the hissing coffee machine recalls them,
the next nameless day.

 

Second thoughts from the coffee house

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A third poem I scribbled down while sat in the coffee house yesterday. Said shop has an attractive frontage as you can see from the photo above.

Cigarette lip dangling,
jeans overtight on a body overweight,
bacon sandwich ill-consumed,
chatter-gossip seething loud,
TV channels daily gazed with reality stars withdrawn from reality,
loud voiced nothings fill her space,
words of make ups and break ups,
cheerleader T-shirt slogan embossed,
evenings twirled in girl gossip and tumbling batons,
a life full-lived short and meaningfully empty.

In the afternoon I went book hunting. Nothing in Waterstones made me want to open the wallet but a browse in my favourite second-hand bookstore quickly resulted in the purchase of three quite ‘dark’ volumes. All three are in good condition and I look forward to reading them, possibly in the coffee house, although I do find it hard to concentrate on books in such places, I find them more conducive as locations for making notes on writing or people-watching.

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A long walk along the seafront at 8.15 this morning, two people were swimming in the sea and the usual dogwalkers and cyclists were around. The seafront cafe I visited twice over last weekend was just opening up on my return walk but I resisted the temptation for yet another coffee. Tomorrow is Writers’ Group at a local hotel so a latte or cappuccino or two will be consumed there.

 

Home thoughts from a coffee house

Early morn in a coffee house, watching the passers-by, a few thoughts quick assembled into poems…

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Lives criss-crossing,
dreams and hopes interwoven with shopping,
and appointments,
and moneyless window-gazing,
downcast eyes of the unconfident,
Heaven-stared looks of the life-shallow affirmed,
all wondering if today is the day,
the day they meet the one,
the day their numbers roll up,
the day life marks them special,
the day their life explode sense,
the day the gods reveal themselves.

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Turret grill can just be seen through the window.

The turret grill,
bun entombed,
condiment enfenced,
one windowed world view,
no contact ‘cept ordered mugs and baps,
poster barred and sold down-rivered for £3.95,
a life sandwiched twixt greeting and farewell,
smile-filled thin and quick spread,
long moments solitary,
fiddle-filled,
eye stared at lives passing imagined fulfilled and full,
new order disrupting daydreamer errors,
how many years butter-spread ahead.

 

 

 

Darkly imagined

(poem written a few years ago)

 

Chains suspend  and swaying shine,
Lacy restraints lay bundled loose,
Creased leather corsets hang unthreaded,
Stilettoed patent boots glisten in rows,
Flayed riding crops parade erect,
Soft satin hoods disguise reality,
Candle wax frozen in cascading flows,
Water droplets echo forlorn hopes,
All awaiting cries of pleasure,
And desired pain.

She breathes in deeply and feels alive
as the mistress of her mind approaches slowly
and the darkly imagined world bursts forth.

 

 

 

I want chocolate

(for World Chocolate Day)

 

I want chocolate

I want a woman called Chocolate
who takes me to the heights of
ecstasy
with one tiny lick

I want a woman called Chocolate
who can excite me even when still
wrapped up
in her coat

I want a woman called Chocolate
who can transport me to Heaven as she melts in
my mouth
so slowly

I want a woman called Chocolate
who can come in so many
varieties
white, dark and milky

I want a woman called Chocolate
who can be bought for so little yet is always
my princess
lying naked in my hands.