Blockhead

'No-one but a blockhead ever wrote except for money.'

                                                            Samuel Johnson

OK so I'm a blockhead.

What makes a piece of writing into a poem?

If there isn't any rhyme

or at least repeating rhythm,

it's just pretentious shredded prose

and not a proper poem.

Why does it have to be so difficult - dying ?

Why does it have to be such a grind

trailing the trials of sad old age,

impaired mobility of body and mind

foiling escape from life's prison cage ?

With hearing failing, sinusitis,

regardless whether pleb or royal,

limbs being tortured by arthritis

pain encouraging quick withdrawal.

And dreading some sort of cancer or stroke

leaving one incapacitated,

an animal vegetable bitter joke,

living but incarcerated.

Why not some sort of fixed term contract

knowing in advance when we're going to die

but staying healthy till the final act ?

Come on, God, let's give it a try !

HOARDER

For some decades I hoarded things

that must be useful before long

but the passing of decades brings

the realisation I was wrong.

Dozing

Before I sleep I review the day

searching for anything I did well

hoping a sense of achievement will quell

the worries and keep depression away.