Winter in June

Thunderstorms and rain

Below average temperatures

Wind that’s insane

Plants topple over

Flowerpots smash

No need for sunscreen

More like scarves and hats

Umbrellas at the ready

Warm coats on

Dark, sulllen days

What’s happened to the sun?!

Eating for comfort

Soups and stews

Too cold for salads

Need something hot inside of you

The ice cream shop

A barren place

No trips to the seaside

Instead we brace

Ourselves for the onslaught

Gather round the fire

Whack the heating back on

And feel unseasonably tired

Some snuggle up in bed

In front of the tv

No frolicking on patios

Or sunbathing

It’s not usually this miserable

At this time of year

But what can we do?

Except play it by ear?

Wait for the dreariness

To subside

For the sun to resurface

Once the showers have dried

We simply must pray

The end will come soon

Of 2019’s

Winter in June.

The bull in the proverbial

China shop

Threw its weight around

In a major strop

Everyone in the vicinity

Ran for cover

Quaking in their boots

Waiting for it to be over

No one understood

What had vexed the bull so

But it literally ran riot

Putting on a real show

Making a spectacle

Of itself

Whilst bystanders trembled

And uneasy felt

No one dared to challenge

This raging animal

They simply walked on egg shells

Feeling vulnerable

Until the storm had passed

And they were no longer in danger

And the bull had calmed down

And was no longer raging

The problem however was

That this was a temporary reprieve

The bull was a repeat offender

Though still permitted to roam free

Which baffled many

Who couldn’t understand

Why no one did

The bull reprimand

But this was a wild beast

So could not be ‘civilised’

Could not undergo anger management

Like, perhaps, you and I

So why let it loose

In a public place?

If it couldn’t be taught

The error of its ways?

Perhaps it had escaped

And now couldn’t be caught

But it’s antics certainly were

Food for thought

The sight of that bull

Out of control

The way it made people feel

Was a lesson to behold

It wasn’t a pretty sight

Everyone was a wreck

And many of them vowed

Themselves to protect

By staying away from the bull

And the china shop

Indefinitely

If it could not be stopped.

A little exert for a little person named Ethan from a VERY windswept Poets In The Clock Tower @ The Crouch End Festival 2019.

Tomorrow is

A brand new day

Hopefully by then

All this fury will have gone away

I may not sleep

For I seethe through every pore

My blood is boiling

I rage like a wild boar

But I will bite my tongue

For now at least

And to my addled mind

I shall endeavour to restore peace

I gave you the benefit

Of the doubt

But your retort fuelled the flames

And the furnace is yet to burn out

I fear I saw your true colours

And did they I despise

A wolf in sheep’s clothing

Diminished could you be in my eyes

I may have misconstrued

The words that you wrote

Yet I suspect I did not

For on language do you also dote

Thus lying livid

In my bed

Your careless words

Resound in my head

The wound you inflicted

Gaping and sore

Compounded by the distinct lack

Of a shred of remorse

I want to curse you

Proclaim you a c**t

Expletives seem the only

Appropriate response

But I know how unpretty

Unbridled anger can be

The one human emotion

We should sugar-coat, apparently

Shouldn’t we all just project

Sweetness and light?

Hoy realism out the window

Pretend everything’s alright?

Vomit stunning sunbeams?

S**t rainbows and stars?

Not disclose the ugly stuff

Conceal our scars?

Yes, I digress

But despite what I’ve gleaned

I feel certain things

Are better out than in

Otherwise they brew

Toxify your insides

Drive you insane

Or cause you to commit crimes

I never killed anyone today

I simply vented my spleen

Using prose

As oppose to a machine

Gun trained on the object

Of my wrath

Though the red mist did rise

There was no actual bloodbath.

Would you jump

Into my grave as quick?

If I was dead

Would you want a bit?

A piece of the action

Would you cling on to my coat tails

And be a stowaway in my coffin

Or basically into my back fire nails?

Just like with the Ten Of Swords

I am almost dead

Will you now hijack the angel

I fly to heaven with?

Without having the courtesy

To simply ask for a lift

Would you rather be a snake in the grass

Sneak around and hiss?

You’re not the first

And I doubt you’ll be the last

I’ve seen the likes of you before,

Mr Snake In The Grass

And no matter how many times

I’ve heard this expression before

Imitation aint the highest form of flattery

It’s a parasite feasting on you

From behind closed doors

All you had to do

Was be upfront and honest

Tell me what you were up to

Instead of keeping it under the bonnet

Well, you’ve violated my trust

And it will never be restored

Safe to say I don’t need

A ‘friendship’ like yours

To ensure I learn from this

I’ll consign you to the scrap heap

Cut all ties hence forth

For I can do without deceit

And in future ever more

Will I my own council keep

For why should you off the back of

another’s hard work

Such precious benefits reap?!