I rarely write poetry, mostly because I’m not very good at it and rarely enjoy it. Here’s one I found the other day that I wrote a while ago though. I can’t tell if it’s any good or not by any standards other than my own, but I would say it’s ‘alright’ if nothing better:

Bank Holidays

I don’t think many people die on bank holidays
leastways, they probably don’t have funerals on bank holidays.
Rain excites me on those days, but mostly the clouds
seem too bored to drop it, or even move aside for the sun.
I wish the shops didn’t close; I wanted some tea.
I wanted rose tea, because of the soft petal-taste
and the bitter black after-taste.
Cathode Ray pixels brand my eyeballs when I close them,
so I look out the window and the trees look back,
forlorn now, since the wind took their feathers.
I mean leaves. It’s not a day for poetry.

Read Part One

“So there’s this girl,” Matt said suddenly, having taken a sip of his tea and now clasping the mug with interlocked fingertips.

Wondered why he was quiet so long. Here we go.

“She works in Sainsbury’s.”

Her.

“You wrote a story about her.”

He nodded. He always gave Viccy his stories to read. She liked guessing which bits were real and which bits he had made up.

“I gave her a rose.”

February. Valentine’s Day. Bunch of roses from Jack. Dinner out. Chocolate mousse for desert. No more or less than a girl could expect. Some time between the sheets afterwards. No more than a boy could want. Wish he was. But I get too snappy at him this time of month, always can’t keep his hands to himself. Can’t blame him. I would too, if I wasn’t. Talk to him later. See him in a couple of days.

“Oh.” (more…)

Sometimes she wanted to beat her fists against it. But how could one beat one’s fists against life? She threw the puzzle across the room and it splintered against the wall, sending shards of transparent plastic flying and minute silver balls skittering across the floorboards. Her stomach was cramped and it agitated her. She picked up her digital pen and drew another few lines, almost haphazardly. The window went blank. Frozen again. Need a new computer. She growled and hit the keyboard. Processor’s fault really, or the graphics card. Maybe just a new graphics card would do, cheaper. Birthday at the end of the month, could ask Daddy, or Mother.

(more…)