on deaf ears

no longer
wanna be informed
so don’t tell me any more
I’d like to maintain the fantasy
that life’s the way it was before

don’t care to be
conversant
when the air’s this thick with hate
go along to get along
maybe the schisms will abate

breaks my heart
to watch
d’you think you can show less?
the tears that mingle with my own
leave my mind in a helluva mess

copyright © 2020 KPM

habitual solutions

she does her best
to come to grips with this pandemic
so she’s developed 2 new habits
now second nature – endemic

once a devotee
of total silence
now she finds she needs noise
else her thoughts turn violence

when she first awakens
she needs to hear another’s voice
certain movies work quite well
some films just make her heart rejoice

she needs loud music
old rock ‘n roll works best
she can close her eyes ‘n dance
in time with the heartbeat in her breast

then there are the days
when the black dog is near
sucking the air from the room
staring at her with a hateful leer

days when she’s so depressed
she can’t bear any sound
beneath the duvet she hides
she’s safe here, underground

copyright © 2020 KPM

every penny counts

see the woman in the garden
on a hot ‘n humid day
chain smokin’
guzzlin’ pinot
tryin’ to chase the black dog away

seated at an iron table
with steno pad & favourite pen
wonderin’
worryin’
‘bout how to pay who when

watch her with her calculator
her tablet, her spreadsheet
broadband
electricity
pay the council tax or eat?

three hours spent online
at G-O-V dot UK
feelin’ helpless
ashamed, defeated
at havin’ to ask for help today

copyright © 2020 KPM

sunset gin

it’s my own special concoction
utilised on those days
when I waft from room to room
in an unthinking daze
mornings when I feel unsettled
afternoons when I feel blue
after evening tea
when I don’t know what to do
made especially for those days
when I simply cannot win
a magic remedy
that I call sunset gin

no, I’m not gone tell you
what’s in the recipe
just believe me when I tell you
it restores your sanity
a quirky tri-coloured mix
of orange & pink & yellow
all angst disappears
one glass of this & you’ll feel mellow
it’s no antidote for Covid
though troubles it will drown
love me some sunset gin
it’s my solution to lockdown

copyright © 2020 KPM

sunset gin

depression confession

is that my black dog talking?
or is that the way I truly feel?
with the death of normalcy
sometimes I can’t discern what’s real

recently I had a birthday
which – surprisingly – was swell
thanks to my partner, my friends & neighbours
I dodged a lockdown birthday hell

so it’s hard to understand
why I now feel so bemused
why I’m so desperate for sleep
why my heart feels sorely bruised

it could be that I’m homesick
God knows I miss my family
perhaps I hurt because my homeland
is now a total calamity

I admit I’m worried about money
I imagine others are, too
living off my overdraft
is never a thing I wanted to do

the daily headlines are horrendous
too many innocents are dying
what with folk with fucked-up priorities
‘n racist politicians lying

or maybe I’m just worried
about what is yet to come
for the many marginalized
who’ve yet to hear the freedom drum

I give a shout out to those folks
who tune in here each day
but when I’m sad or fearful
all my words just fade away

so apologies for my silence
I do not mean to be a jerk
writing is usually my solace
but just now, it does not work

copyright © 2020 KPM

depression confession

needy

I need a day off

from the odd destructive thought
& the awful trackie bottoms I impulse bought

tryin’ to convince myself that everything’s “just fine”
when it’s obviously not; or why that 3rd bottle of wine?

I need to get away

from Daily Sun pics of people in breadlines
the BBC’s panic-inducing headlines

lyin’ to myself that everything’s “okay”
when fat-faced so-called leaders still hold sway

I need a hero

a person I trust to rescue me
to bolster my hopes with a firm “wait & see”

to laugh with me at my new lockdown girth
to hug me, to kiss me, to tell me my life has worth

I need someone
to help me defuse

these festering
these fiery
lockdown & protest blues

copyright © 2020 KPM

droplets of joy

a heart still fragile
a week after the protest
a soul that remains
in a state of unrest

so when the unexpected knock
hits the door
1st instinct is to wonder:
“is it time to hit the floor?”

black dog has been biting
crazy thoughts inhabit the void
what’s that’s noise? what’s that sound?
the word of the day is paranoid

eye pressed to keyhole
2 smiles floating in the hall
the solid flesh of love
come to bust depression’s pall

love that takes the form of food
burgers & potato salad
plates made up, drinks poured
the melody of friendship’s ballad

thus today there’s laughter
something not done in a while
an alfresco brunch with friends
beneath the summer sun’s warm smile

copyright © 2020 KPM

captive

locked down
locked in

in her head
a tumultuous din

guzzling down
chardonnay or gin

half-assed poems
consigned to the bin

watching lyin’ newscasters
spewing daily spin

hidin’ under the covers
contemplating sin

locked down
locked in

copyright © 2020 KPM

tossin’ & turnin’

thoughts run rampant
in the darkness of her soul
they splatter on blank pages
words that fill a hole

in the dead of night
when she’s rendered blind
images unfurl
on the screen that is her mind

a snow covered road
on a cold winter night
fish in the shallows
shining summer bright

an aimless drive
down Fairmount Boulevard
planting rows of impatiens
in her well-loved backyard

mistakes, missed chances
remorse that burns
the good old days for which
she frequently yearns

copyright © 2020 KPM

rules for wraiths & other lost souls

no one knows you’re a ghost
your body they can’t see through
they wouldn’t believe it anyway
so there’s still stuff you hafta do

you gotta get up in the morning
get dressed, make the bed
put your smiley face on
quell the voices in your head

you gotta go to work
cause there’s always bills to pay
pretend to be a “normal” person
despite the grief that darkens each day

you must interact with people
though from society you’d rather retreat
& at certain times of day
you force yourself to eat

you’ve no need (or desire) for food
there’s no wish to dine or sup
cooking’s such a waste of time
when all you swallow comes back up

so you work & cook & clean
feed the fish & watch TV
& every show awakens guilt
from which you cannot flee

you’re a ghost of who you were
the old you has been erased
who is this crazy woman,
by memory constantly chased?

forward the time goes
marching through a winter gray
take it one step at a time
things just might turn out okay

copyright © 2018 KPM