Poetry of Quarantined Mind

Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled?

            I am feared in field and town.

            On the ground.

            Thus to make poor females mad.

Where art thou now?

            And here will rest me. [lies down] Come, thou gentle day.

            I can no further crawl, no further go;

            Steal me awhile from mine own company. [sleeps]

[Squeezing the juice on Lysander’s eyes]

And sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow’s eye,

Going for a break now but I’ll be back later.

Goblin, lead them up and down.

We need some color, I need some color.

Three ballet dancers, 1879.

Many years ago I found in a charity shop a book with paintings by Frederick Cayley Robinson    

     (1862-1927)

I was in need of a short local walk down to the lake to catch fresh air and enjoy the view.

That’s the way the world goes round.

Morning break in the garden.

I cycled to Mum’s to fill the bird feeder.

I looked through the French windows to where she sits,

but she wasn’t moving,

the paper scattered around her.

“Mom!” I said, knocking on the window, “Mom!”

           

            And she opened her eyes and mouthed

            “fooled you.”