Sunday, 20 May 2018

A Poem a Day (72): Learning time

A flash poem (not edited) written for JD Mader's 2minutes go writingexercise... It's every Friday-Sunday, so if you fancy writing something - whatever you feel like - head over there, or just read the flash fiction and poetry. This is his blog, Unemployed Imagination:  http://www.jdmader.com/




Learning time

I am here where the lesson begins, waiting
For a subtle cue, a clue to be said.
Here upon the morrow there will be time
For us to understand each and every
Event; what didn't and what did happen;
To pretend to know the cruelty of
Forgetting. Seconds are but seconds,
And they pass; fleeting flaccid papers
Blown into the air, twisted into the ether
Until caught by birds and turned into song,
To be revisited upon the human ear.


Copyright Vickie Johnstone, May 18, 2018




Friday, 16 March 2018

A Poem a Day (71): Look!


A flash poem written for JD Mader's 2minutes go writingexercise... It's every Friday-Sunday, so if you fancy writing something - whatever you feel like - head over there, or just read the flash fiction and poetry.

Look!

Waves, mountains, flowers, rocks,
A set piece we can readily disregard,
Aimlessly wandering our streets with
Scant regard. Mesmerised by our phones,
Nodding heads, muttering beneath our
Breath, never noticing with whom we collide,
Like blind men following; mice racing
Around our little cages, stumbling into the
Gutters over life. This selfie rocks me, this
Total makeover, splice of tune, the shock of
A moment savoured read this news, revel
In this fake news; see this vision, yes shes
Naked. Who are you? Who am I? We collide
Here, not noticing. I graze your hand so close
Yet you dont even look up, so intensely
Following what youre reading, what youre
Staring at what youre not looking at is life
And its passing you by, winning the race,
Leaving you way behind, whistling a happy
Tune, the accompaniment of your boredom,
As you stumble into the road and oncoming
Traffic.

Copyright Vickie Johnstone, March 16, 2018

Saturday, 10 March 2018

A Poem a Day (70): F47


A flash poem written for JD Mader's 2minutes go writing exercise... It's every Friday-Sunday, so if you fancy writing something - whatever you feel like - head over there, or just read the flash fiction and poetry.


F47

It’s breaking, this stasis,
Where we are caught,
Demanding a reckoning
Beginning on an equal
Footing – respect, a full
Consideration of who we are.

We have this right,
As you have always had it,
Despite the way you try
To hold us back, hidden away,
Controlled and rejected. Yet
I pity you, pity this idle need to
Erase us. Are you so weak
That you need to call us so?

We are the same, think the
Same, breathe the same.
Cut us open and you will
Find the same. My heart
Beats the same rhythm.
Yet, in a way I am higher
In not seeking to deflate,
Push you down, demoralise
In conjuring up excuses to
Annihilate your identity.

I am me, and you are you,
And I know who I’d rather be,
Into and beyond equality.


Vickie Johnstone, March 10, 2018

Saturday, 27 January 2018

A Poem a Day (69): The guest

A flash poem written for JD Mader's 2minutes go writing exercise... It's every Friday, so if you fancy writing something - whatever you feel like - head over there, or just read the flash fiction and poetry.


The guest


I am the guest,
The unnamed one who trips and trots
Through closed rooms, opening doors,
Seeking ways to understand whats gone.

I wander with a heart long emptied,
A dying sound is all I emit from dry lips
Unheard of, these gems of dust fly
From myself to you and back again,

Senseless, these things making no sense.
I dream of finding a penny while you die,
And yet I know you have no care,
And for this reason I will not despair

When you are gone. I will not sink.
I will not dwell on past things long gone
Or think to ask you a yard of questions,
All unfathomable, dried, twisted, cold.

Can I still speak when you fall ever silent?
Will you hear me when I rack and wail?
As the walls close in to embrace me cold,
I know Ill remember how all this I sold.

I am the guest
Who wanders in and empties out,
Drifting on these small gusts of memory,
For everything else is long gone, stolen,
And we are but the remnants of our selves.


Copyright Vickie Johnstone, January 27, 2018