What will we wake up to, tomorrow?
Can the sun bear to shine on a new, fresh sorrow?
Where will be hurting?
Who will be crying?
What breed of hate will make sense of the dying?
The Running Bug
I lost my Parkrun newbie badge
At Oakwell Hall Parkrun in Birstall
It was the day before my birthday
So I was looking forward to cake
I Am Being Haunted By Cake
I am being haunted by cake.
In the morning when I wake,
I can taste it on the tip of my tongue
I’m woken to the smell of coffee and toffee cakes,
of lemon drizzle, chocolate puddings, red-velvet, ice-cream, battenberg…
A Letter To My Future Self
In Biblical terms three score and ten, is our allotted span.
Six decades gone already, so I have just one more to plan.
I often write to do lists, but this time perhaps I won’t.
Risking negativity, I think I’ll write a list of don’ts.
Because Today Is Just Another News Story
Every day we turn on the news at 8
Every day brings another heartache
Bombs of the battlefield are now placed
In the offices of our elected officials
Intended to turn their bodies into a bloody paste
Though from our warm living rooms and plush armchairs
It doesn’t seem all that bad.