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Betty Boop twerks (Hayes)

Rust never sleeps, Mr Young said,
Corruption corrodes, I said that.

Written in response to Robert Faron’s prompt, Rust.


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Allef Vinicius (Unsplash)

In the Autumn of his life,
light fades,
inconsequentially,
no trace, no track behind.
Spring searing,
leaving him to fearing,
leaving him rejoicing,
leaving him regretting,
leaving him living for
the mystery in her eyes

He sat alone
on a park bench,
consoled by
desolate shadows.
He thought aloud
of frightening grief,
the gripping hand,
the brimming pot
of possibility within
the mystery of her eyes.

To look therein,
the darkened depth,
a fountain of belief,
sentient wellspring,
passion’s home,
confusing thoroughfare,
haunted dreams,
he turned away,
gaze averted from
the mystery in her eyes.

She brought him hope
she brought a purpose
she brought desire
she brought the need
to live, to love
the joy in a blooming flower,
tastes that linger,
delights to savour,
fleeting glimpses within
the mystery in her eyes. …


(Thanks & Apologies to Pink Floyd)

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Hayes

In the beginning, the sky,
the murky gloom of winter,
clouds, obese and ponderous,
virus news begun to linger.

Reading then Wuhan,
gripped in Denial’s spell,
too late, too long,
a living hell.

Friendly jokes,
howls of derision,
latex gloves,
masks’ exclusion

Build some shelves,
paint a wall,
gardens grow,
people fall

Write ten poems,
a story to explain,
how loneliness, isolation
causes such pain.

Stand exempt
deny, defy,
survive, content,
let others die

There is no truth,
believing’s dumb,
condemned to live
uncomfortably numb.

About

Dermott Hayes

Novellist, poet, blogger and ex-journalist. ‘If the cap fits.’ https://medium.com/@dermotthayes

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