perfect alibi

how much should one take?
the belittling, degrading, bullying,
before enough is more
than enough?
is it even something to be
written as a poem:
the most appropriate
of mediums?
how much should one take?
made to feel less every day
shrinking, cracked
as dried-out clay;
is this where the self-destruct
comes into its own,
a tether thinly stretched
to breaking point?
how much should one take
when there’s nothing left to break
when you see the hatred
spilling from their face,
where everything you say
and everything you do
is torn to shreds and trampled
through and through?
you’ve no excuse
you’ve no defence
you stand accused
of incompetence,
here’s your shovel
there’s your soil
here’s your grave
may you rest in turmoil;
stand up!
back down!
stand up!
back down!
take control
but only what
today you’ll be allowed;
how much should one take
before the bridge against the sky
becomes a welcome refuge
a perfect alibi?

© 2018 robert greig

is this where

up upon this burning bridge
which way should I go
a pilgrimage
of open air
an in between
a distant stare
up above the overhang

let go

watch the last few seconds flee
if as long as that
flowing free
unravelling
trains of thought
unsettling,
watch it from below?

let go

a long way to the ground
how dignified’s a fall
not a sound
taste the wind
like a bird
like a sin
that never learned to skim,

let go

bravery or cowardice,
foolishness or
simply just
another blink
sinking feeling
shedding skin
no regrets and no reset

let go

is this where there’s nothing more
nevermore
let go

is it all just  one more step
disconnect
let go

is this where I wandered in
wandered and
let go

© 2018 robert greig

how to trap a poem, not

I’ve tried
to write a poem
for the solstice
for midsummer
for the longest day.

the beginning of the end;

I failed
to find a start
carve a middle
coup de grace
weave a wordy way.

the beginning of the end;

I set my traps
the night before
made all the best laid plans
I chose the bait
and lay in wait
and all seemed well in hand;

patience
that’s the key
so it seemed
but easy said
is rarely easy done.

the beginning of the end;

as light became
less light
my eyes
shuttered wide
to closed
and into sleep
I dribbled deep
from yawn to drowse
to doze.

the beginning of
the end
came when I woke
and found
nothing much to find
but pins and needles
muscle cramp
a spider hanging
from my hat
but not a rhythm
not a rhyme
nor any useful line,
nothing fine
that could be used
to light a fuse
or bold enthuse
to glean a verse
to break this curse
not epic,
blank,
not villanelle,
not idyll,
even terse.

I’ve tried
to write a poem
but despite
my best attempts
I wrote
a shopping list instead:
coffee
tea
turnips
tomatoes
crackers
crisps
and cheese.

© 2018 robert greig

(note: … a not-poem for the summer solstice)