A Poem a Day (119): Off!

Well, it's been a while. Hello everyone in 2020! It's a strange year, to say the least, a difficult one, a tragic one, something we could never have imagined happening. One where I dread to read the news, but need to know what is going on in the world, while feeling powerless to help. Keep safe, everyone. I hope you and your loved ones are well and keeping safe. 

This is a poem I just wrote for JD Mader's 2minutesgo writing exercise on his blog, Unemployed Imagination. If you'd like to write something, or read and comment on other people's writing, head over there. He's open every weekend, or at least his website is! 

Off!

The world stopped, but I didn’t want to get off.

It stopped turning. But I still had things to say.

“Don’t loiter in the throughway.”

My fingers caught the rail tighter lest it disintegrate

To nought, like the globe around me and below

Where the cities stood silent, emitting solitude

While the cherry tree blossoms wilt to grey.

This window contracts, ever-decreasing my view

Of the things I used to do, the faces I used to

Know. Where are you? I spoke to you yesterday,

Yet I can’t see you in my memory of the crowd.

Are you down there, sitting mute behind your view,

Keeping your fortress closed, breathing stale air?

I remember moments sewn in a patterned quilt,

And you, you providing the voiceover to each

Scene. I recall some, but I know some are gone now.

“Don’t loiter in the throughway!”

It’s my turn. Someone is urging me, pressing soft,

Steadily insistent. I know I have to take the step,

This leap into the unknown, the gap between

Here and the below, embrace the nothingness.

I wonder where you all are, every one of you.

It’s been two weeks, but it seems so much more.

I feel time ticking, even though it stopped dead.

The conductor nods his head and I know now:

I have to get off.

Copyright Vickie Johnstone, March 27, 2020

A Poem a Day (58): In the time that we were thus

If we dance here a while in waiting

Remembrance may come a-baiting

I’ll trace a line in this fallen snow

Tie a pink ribbon into the neatest bow

Wrap my fingers in and simply twist

As the begging bough begins to list

I remember this

In the time that we were thus

In the making I am one

Of this memory I am done

Do you falter between walking

Blissfully ignore me while I’m talking?

I wish upon a single scented rose

Though mentioning it I suppose

You might remember this

In the time that we were thus

A cloud of passion in the air

Dare to ever stop and stare

As I post you the cheekiest smile?

Ever stop to wonder a while

How I am ever almost so near?

Is it intimacy you most fear?

Will I always remember this

In the time that we were thus?

Are you slowly cottoning on

Or should I say I am finally done

With love, this idle stupid thing?

Of sanity I can never hope to win

In an endless search for perfection

Amidst this moral dereliction

May you remember this

In the time that we were thus

So I shall go on my idle way

Without a hint of I might stay

Yet I fathom not a blink from you

Though I never doubted you true

Tomorrow stretches out its hand

And upon my two feet I shall land

I may not always remember this

In the time that we were thus

copyright Vickie Johnstone, August 12, 2014.

A Poem a Day (14): Looking back

5-minute flash poems to keep the hamster wheel rolling...

Pink worm wriggles up

The rancid apple's core, so

Turning green to grey

Looking back

In the grey places where we once played

Life now stands still and empty;

A basketball hoop bends this way

The split black net having met its day

In my mind I wander down these streets

Where we used to hang and chat

In a bid to kill time that lasted too long

Laughing and singing to some 80s song

These days I sit and count the hours 

As sweet blessings I do not deserve

We treated things lightly like a feather

Yet a chance event changed us forever

It's funny how innocent we all were

Larking about in the midnight hour

Now I watch life pass outside my window

As this sand of mine nears the end of flow

Copyright Vickie Johnstone

A Poem a Day (8): The lady

Five-minute poetry...

The lady

She walks in the sunlight that burns

She trips in the moonlight that yearns

Time sears its hard-earned tracks

Skin deep, the memories gush forth

Dancing in thought, she remembers

Faces, mornings, aches and minds

Munching meals in fancy restaurants

And half-eaten chips in dank diners

She mentions things long forgotten

She reads these lost pages long torn

Time waits for her in the darkness

Around the corner of ninety nine



Copyright Vickie Johnstone