Another Morning – Preview

Twenty Second of January Two Thousand and Ten, AM

Get Up you say?
I don’t want to get out of bed.
Aching body,
Tongue of death in a rotting mouth,
Stinking, corpse like feet:
I’d rather be here with them
Than face the day.
Go Away!

A cup of tea?
Will you make it for me?
Maybe later – NOT NOW!

Still there?
Well wait.
I may rise. You can never be sure.
I do not deny the possibility
That at some future point
I may gather inspiration
& grace the day with my presence.

Spring Morning

I stumbled out of the pub.
Outside it was light again.
I groped my way through a fug.
Birdsong above.
There – a little blue streaked grey bird.
Thrush, Wren, Tit?
Hopping about on a branch chirping.
Vivacious and Expectant.
Meanwhile Blackbirds patrol the grass below,
Deliberate, preoccupied;
Testing the ground for worms.
And they hardly seem to care
That a Grey Squirrel bounds between them
in a premeditated sprint violation
of their stamping ground;
only defending their territory for form’s sake.

It’s good to be alive.

The Ash Cloud

Due to a giant Ash Cloud
No planes could fly.

People could not go where they wanted
Holidaymakers were stuck on holiday.
Businesspeople could not attend meetings.

It was very inconvenient.

Passengers sued the airlines,
The airlines protested,
The European courts intervened,
Governments insisted
Hotel bills were paid,
Goodwill was restored.

No one sued the Volcano.
I wonder why.


My Friend Gill.
Caught short in the park,
Went into a bush
and did a poo.

Lounging nearby shortly thereafter
She was slightly concerned
to see a dog
sniffing around the place
and then disappear into the bush.

The owner came over
and followed the dog inside.
When he came out
he had Gill’s poo in a bag.

The next time all I could see was blue litter

A long straight road to the other village.
Cars and vans speed by.

Watching the traffic
A bay adolescent
Tosses herself into a lanky gallop
As I jog by
Casually ecstatic at being a horse.

The drainage ditch,
Banks clad in Autumn leaves,
Reflects a greying sky.

It was there I saw a kingfisher for the second time.
Blink and you’d miss it.
A fluorescent blue bullet
Darting over the water.

Dear R,

I’m writing to you about the day you were concerned
Because I was acting strangely in the library
It was because I was in love with you (I thought)
But felt so horribly unworthy
I spent my breaktimes with Dostoevsky in the quad
Studiously avoiding company
& from such melodramatic and psychological study
As well as a fascination with epilepsy
I had conceived a suitable gesture to express my feelings –
I would prostrate myself at your feet & kiss your shoes
I was determined to do it and was just waiting for the opportunity
And so – after two agonising weekends – the library
But I couldn’t
& instead exhibited the bizarre and conflicted shame you witnessed
& which gave you and Arthur cause for concern
I saw you later on walking in town
You’d gone to Oxford to study classics I think
I was at the Tech on art foundation
Painting pictures of girls
I pretended I hadn’t seen you
As I think I had since that day
I’m sorry for that

The Riverbank Club

I met Bob
Who waited until I had a pasty in my mouth
To say hello.
It’s so relaxing here
He intoned
Whilst I was choking
Words are too hard to describe it
Too specific, to angular – too much effort!
This soft afternoon
Soft splashing from the river
Bluebottles gently tickling
As the sun beams down
Like a giant friendly Turkish masseur.
Old Ted roams over,
deep tan, leathery
& tells me when he meets cousin Lisa in town
She doesn’t recognise him with his clothes on.
The wind in the trees
Children playing
Shadows longer


About hughchapmansblog

Poet and performance maker based in Cambridge and London

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