By DJ Tyrer

Apparently

Apparently
(It’s always ‘apparently’
As a straight ‘yes’ or ‘no’ is never given)
Our block is no longer recycling
Perhaps because the residents never bothered
To sort trash properly
Mixing recycling and rubbish together
Perhaps because the workers were too lazy
To put the bags out for the van
For recycling collection
Perhaps because the council has stopped
The collection from being made
As intended
Or, maybe, the recycling is still being collected
As it should be, unseen
Its demise just rumours
Who knows?
Not me!

Brushstrokes

Brushstrokes visible
Ridges and ditches of paint
Fossilised in time
Curled patterns within patterns
Step back to see whole image

Growth

Zigzag of probabilities
Going wherever they will
No clear destination
Anathema to order
One step out of line
Disorderly, untidy
Perfection on its own terms
Truth undelineated

Love Flame

Two lovers
Stutter affection
Nervously reaching
Like desperate, drowning men
To grasp the flame
Kindle desire
Replace chill loneliness
With burning desire
Become one

The Hug

(A Pandemic Poem)

Official advice suggests two metres / six feet
Separation from one another, social distancing
Social intercourse to be kept at a distance
No touching, smiles hidden behind masks
Shielding and sheltering prevent meeting
Restrictions, restrictions, restrictions, rules
All combine to deny intimacy
Essential to comfort, relationships
Darkening of the soul, distraught
Reach out in a tiny act of rebellion
Embrace, hug, relish a moment’s touch
Contact of flesh, souls
Held tight, breathing as one
Willing to take a chance, risk it
Regardless of rules, restrictions
There has to be more to life
Than merely existing.