it starts like this,
and it goes from line to line,
it gets itself into a verse,
in this little poem of mine,
changing gears,
before it comes to a full stop.
releasing the clutch,
on an upcoming word clot,
dancing with the cats,
who insist on eating,
even in the pouring rain,
they can’t wait to get that meat in.
the people’s people study poems,
looking for answers to their daily ordeal,
searching for a reason to live,
or maybe how to make their evening meal,
the comma is overrun,
and the full stop does no better,
someone insists on darkness,
and not another endless love letter,
maybe they want some suspense,
well I’m not bridging a gap,
maybe they want something funny,
and the ants they start to clap,
somebody shouts “make me laugh”
well that’s harder that what it seems,
hold on to your heart and your ass,
we’re about to enter into your dreams,
bouncing from one nightmare to another,
threatened by a bullying big brother,
getting stuck in a lift,
in the council flats, crown street , Preston,
or your reliable Ford breaks down,
same town, level crossing, strand road,
and the big eye is looking at you,
it makes its return to the verse,
sometimes my poems can be a curse,
and the words bounce around this booklet,
like rain pours from a mere droplet,
a little puddle becomes a stream,
and the stream it finds the ocean,
an encyclopedia of never-ending words,
whilst the weaklings have let go,
and have not read this far,
they’re already onto the next message,
which I find so bizarre,
what’s the point of sitting down to a meal,
of words and healthy sentences,
when you only want a stand up snack,
that lasts thirty seconds,
like I prepare Elisa, a meal for a queen,
plates full of delicious offerings ,
just like the words I write,
and if it is not long enough,
I will carry on some more,
if this was a one paged poem,
I will unfold it from the seventh floor,
and the words keep on coming,
like annoying repeats of Sex and the City,
that Elisa now knows off by heart,
so readers, please pity me,
and a word turns to a question,
a mirage of dots an idea,
a verse slams backwards into reverse,
and gave me something to fear,
and as we come to the end of this epic,
the flow of words starts to dry up,
like the filthy water on tap, sometimes,
in this once proud, now shanty town Velletri,
so once upon a time has been put to bed,
and a serious play on words is now dead,
they lived happily ever after ,never really happened,
and the full stop insists on being the final word,
not this time mate! says the exclamation mark,
I see a question coming.
so what is the question?

© D.Hobson April 2014