normalness

wanting to write
is not the same
as actually writing

and the longing
to fill the empty page
does not fill it

my mind remains
obstinately blank

all I have is…

how about a nice cup of tea
or maybe a few
and when can we watch
doctor who
and how I’d like
to snuggle with you

and though it rhymes
and represents myself
it’s hardly poetry

just the ramblings
of my mind
far too content
to wail and moan
or grandly talk
philosophy

just the lovely
normalness
of you and me
and quiet days
that pass so soft
and yet so swift

Advertisements

On typewriters, of romance

 

Today we have forgotten
whose shoulders we stand
 
On typewrites, the greats works have been produced
but on occasion, mediocre sequels too
let us not be an unkind sequel
 
Typewriters were the combination
of engineering meeting out romance and the mundane
Love letters producing the most careful of tears
“My dearest darling”
 
Letters to mothers and wife’s
tears of such loss – “we regret to inform you”
Your son/husband was lost
 
There were Clanks and Clunks
of success and failure
a smell of correction
liquid paper to cover
 
I cannot produce great works
of love, but I can lease my heart
for an undisclosed time
 
I can stand on the shoulders
of Shelly or Byron
and tell you
 
That the shore in no longer lonely
‘so lift me as a wave, or let me
bleed as a cloud’
 

Let me type this romance
on a keyboard, though lifeless
with no typewriter action
it can still produce, thus
 
‘face the thorns of life
together, pricking neither thumb
nor forefinger’
 
Let us carry it as one


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bruce Ruston 2014

Indeed standing on the shoulders
of Shelly and Byron

Guest Poet