Moorings
On the rough red-basalt quay,
the heavy rust-flaked iron ring
that wedded land and sea
had left a deep impression.
Anchored in a poured-lead grip,
the chains and ropes of many years
had tested its cussed hold.
How many cast-offs did it take,
of fishers dead and gone,
to scribe this lasting epitaph
of metal upon stone?
Laugh / Don’t Laugh
Canned laughter really is a cheek
that says to me the material’s weak,
so we need to prompt you just in case
there are any awkward……….silences.
Often I find myself corpsing in spaces
between the official giggling-slots.
I’m out-of-phase, - or is it them -
the po-faced guys in designer suits
who press the ‘ha-ha buttons’ on cue?
It takes away the spontaneity -
the freedom to enjoy a laugh
at times and places of your choosing.
All in all, it’s not quite yours -
like one of those annoying sneezes
that just won't come - or go -
but hangs there mocking
in that out-of-focus spot
between your eyes.
