Lockdown 3: Day 51

‘Despair’ (after Michelangelo) … WHB Pencil 1958

After the drab-dull morning
The close shift-shadow
Hovered over the remaining day
And grey-clung cloud
Described yet one more of
So many days
Of such undistinguished gloom
So few delights to hollow out this tomb
For when the darkness comes
And with it fading hope
Then amidst the shadows
I calcify and mope
Regrets are worth forgetting
The future lost
Loses meaning
In the tangle of forgotten days
Each succeeded by yet another
Missed opportunity
One more goal-less draw
Reducing the life still left to me

My MoJo

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My MoJo

Please let me have my mojo back,
My passion has abated;
Now faded into lustless life,
All rapture now vacated.

This fractious war’s collateral damage
Has snagged me in its thorns,
And leaving me dispirited,
Has taken other forms.

For all the hurt I now repress
The damage leaves its mark.
What will it take to bring it back
That vital vibrant spark?

 

Stop the world I want to get off

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Stop the world I want to get off

 

Stop the world I want to get off;
Incarceration does not suit me;
My home a prison;
My life is given.
Inertia rules, no remedy.

Four walls do now a prison make
And cabin fever is setting in.
On my study walls
Depression falls
Since holding you became a sin.

It has to be this isolation.
How can I live missing so much?
So please I ask
God speed this task,
I’ll give forever for just a touch.

 

A Secret Sonnet

‘Moonlight Tryst’ – WHB: Pen an ink, Dec.2017

They stressed my heart and bled it
Seeking to find you there,
But try as they could to discover
They never will find out where
You hide in lonely seclusion,
Your impregnable lonely lair.

For you are my cerebral lover,
Living a life in my brain;
We hold our trysts in the moonlight,
Let them look for ever in vain,
They never ever will find you,
For there is nought to explain.

Just a salve to pain and depression,
A caprice with a discreet confession.

The RECLUSE

I am not a driven man
Consumed by purpose
I have ambled along life’s path
No particular aim in mind
I take no pride in not being assertive
For I have let life happen
Not forced its course
Little guidance have I sought
Or been offered
Little forethought have I given
I steered no path between the tides
To avoid the quicksands
Or to avoid being tempted by the Sirens’ wail
Gratefully
I was not confronted with
Scylla and Charybdis
I would have baulked with indecision
And without a philosophy
Religion no longer holding any sway with me
No politics to speak of
An indolent practitioner of life
Without imperative
Perhaps too conscious
Of everyone else’s point of view
For this no doubt I’ll pay a price
And when the final reckoning comes
They’ll say “He never cared”
But they will be wrong.
I cared too much to confront
My irresolution
And now I suffer for it.