Poem a Day for April – 8, 9,10

I’ve committed to writing a poem a day for the month of April as part of National Poetry Writing Month.

Previous days’ poems are in the earlier posts.

10th April

Another slightly weird, right brain piece

Desire slinks slyly down suburban streets
slithers between crisp white sheets
leaps brazenly from billboards


bares itself to innocent and sinful alike
surges through high school classrooms
sweeping aside the national curriculum


rushes through university cloisters
pushing aside carefully crafted lectures
hammers at office doors


disrupting the painfully planned agenda
burrows into bars
imbibing sweat and alcohol


slips into shops
shaking the shelves
awakens old men and women on park benches


with memories of lost lust
stands upright
wanton when unwonted


demands attention
demands to be recognised
demands to be sated


______________________

9th April

A sad little rhyming poem.

The Girl Who Chucked Me

I saw the girl who chucked me

in the checkout queue today

in her basket were two chicken breasts

and a bottle of Beaujolais


my God she still looked gorgeous

such lustrous hair and skin

her cheeks gave off that special glow

that new love always brings


Perhaps my restraining order

kept me from joining her in the line

or shame of my tinned spaghetti

and my cardboard box of wine


I shot through the express checkout

and shuffled off for home

to eat my processed pasta

and drink my wine alone


__________________________________________

8th April

The Corridor of Uncertainty

Tentatively, they inched down the Corridor of Uncertainty. Tempted by the first door: the sign No Entry. But they were unsure whether to comply. Eventually they moved on. At the second door : This way out, they did a double take. Too obvious they decided, dismissed it. At the third door, Authorised Personnel Only, they tried the handle. Locked. The fourth door was green. From under the door came the sound of laughter, glasses clinking, the smell of cigarette smoke. They thought of an old song. To go in might be gatecrashing. They weren’t like that. The next was a heavy oak door. Music came from behind it: Light my Fire. The sound of a bed creaking, low moans. They didn’t want to intrude, and tip-toed on. A pair of steel doors were next. The sign: Automatic Doors. They stood for what felt like an eternity, but the doors did not move. Eventually, they gave up.  A hotel room door was next, with a plastic sign hanging from the knob: Do not disturb. They complied. An office door, announced Meeting in Progress and a list of names. Their names were not on it. They felt rejection. Then a red door, with a glass case embedded in the wall: Break Glass for Key.  Somebody had already broken the glass. Only a frayed piece of string remained. At  the end of the corridor was a dirty, black wall. A sign Wrong Way – Go Back. They etched another mark in the paintwork. There were several hundred similar marks. They turned around, and walked back.

all poems and text copyright Mike Hopkins 2012