cynicism – Simon's still stanza

Sick Man’s Stroll: A Kind of Rehabilitation

Sick Man’s Stroll: A Kind of Rehabilitation

Sick man’s stroll

Variations of

An ambling gait

And a staggering shuffle.

The slow stroll

Moves along

Like a metronome

On easy tempo

Gradually

Bringing breath

And circulation into

A kind of rhythm

But oh,

To cross the road,

Turtles could pass by

As try, we do

To gather a little more pace

Into the race

To the pedestrian island.

All that is now needed

Is a dowdy hat

And a shabby old cardigan

With turned up cuffs,

Buff or beige,

And with pockets

All sagged from

Hands, hankies and

Whatever else,

With traces of lunch

Lurking between the lint

On its surface.

And we amble on

Willing the legs

To return home

To their former vigour.

Can we handle the rigour?

Of this new metered life?

Calculated, paced, slowed

Oh, who knows

Where this stroll

Will go?

What of tomorrow?

Forecast of a shower,

Some shuffles between

The sleep.

You know what I mean?

The slow creep

Of the stroll to rehabilitation.

Simon C.J. Falk 10 November 2017

We Are More

We Are More

Another response to reading a very good post on depression from Inside the Life of Moi yesterday. There may be times we feel unwell, having a bad day, or, are beset by maladies or pathologies. But we are more than our symptoms or our passing circumstances.

We Are More

(i)

He sits on the kerbside

With a cardboard sign,

“Please help,” inscribed

on its pulpy surface,

and, in the lines around

his eyes, and in them too,

darting side to side,

“Need more money”,

continued the message.

For while he medicated

His ‘voices’

With cheap plonk,

A desperate user took

His last dollars.

His schizophrenia controls

His happiness and habits,

Yet

We are more

Than the pathologies

That pin us.

(ii)

She shares half her sandwich

With him,

Then hears

TOOT!

An idling car awaits,

In readiness to take

Her where

She will ‘work’

This night.

Later she breathes in,

As the barby point

Of the syringe

Also enters in.

Morning sees

The ambulance there

To take her away.

“Another overdose”,

we overhear

someone say.

Yet

We are more

Than some

Of our habits.

(iii)

He takes his “Please help” sign,

Turns it round,

And with

A texta he found,

Begins

To sketch,

Feebly at first,

Then

With gusto,

A portrait

Of her,

That Toulouse-Lautrec

Would be proud of.

Yes

We are more

Than the symptoms seem.

Simon C.J. Falk 13/14 July 2016

Flight UB181/182 or IC777

Flight UB181/182 or IC777

It is sad to see destruction in our beautiful world. This biting verse uses imagery to grapple with how some people pillage their ‘conquered land’ and others, by the bombings and other attacks, create a ‘Hades’ or place of underworld and death. The final words seek a ray of hope.

Flight UB181/182 or IC777

Paging

Customers for flight

UB181 and UB182

Can you come through.

Flight UB181

Will land first

On ‘Conquered Land’.

Flight UB182

Will descend to

‘Hades’.

You will arrive

On your ‘dead-line’

If you choose UB flights

On ‘Death Culture Airlines’

For those

Who wish to indulge

Their fetish

Of fury.

Those interested in ‘Horizons of Hope’

Are called to board

Flight IC777

To land at ‘New Dawn’.

No return flight

From there

Will be

Desired.

Simon C.J Falk 10 July 2016

When – a Diversion of Desires

When – A Diversion of Desires

In some ways this poem is a playful, even cynical, swipe at our human life and our discontent. It can also be read on a deeper level. A longing, to linger, to be more present. More present to ourselves, to each other and to the vicissitudes that life gifts to us in the here and now.

When – A Diversion of Desires

When we are

empty

We hunger

to be full.

When we are

Full

We wish

To be empty.

Just another bit

I’m sure I can have more

The recipe is a hit