Lockdown 2 poems

end of day

Nightfall. A day quickly over. Curtains closed on a cold and inhospitable world.

poems poetry

The tea is mine

The tea is mine. There is no room for unfounded spurious claims of ownership. Time darkens, purposeful brew. The fire flickers, roars, shouting at the hand that feeds. My attention is grabbed, enlightened. Background noises comfort. There is peace.

57 Varieties poems poetry

leaves me alone

Leaves leave my lawn alone
Grass killer compost fodder
Unwanted dead wind drift

57 Varieties poems poetry

In the wind beaten garden

In the wind beaten garden, birds hide, branches fall and words scatter. Collars pulled tight on bent head daffodils.

Then the rain; incessant bird bath fill, deafening inside the conservatory.

Later skies lighten, snow is promised. Wind drops and peace descends.

57 Varieties poems poetry

Homeward bound I am

Homeward bound I am, fleeing city madness and the battle against the office worker tide

Homeward bound I am, to recover from an opulent week of self indulgent excess

Homeward bound I am, to a smile and a kiss and a nice cup of tea

Homeward bound I am,

Homeward bound I am.



The world in which we live is blowing up
Brexit looms
May has failed spectacularly
And my late train, with broken toilet
Continues to evacuate itself
Returning every few minutes
Behind it’s locked facade
To a cycle of self expurgation
Oblivious to all around it
Who must seek elsewhere to find relief
And yet somehow it seems
To provide a commentary
Appropriate to this moment in history

By Bob Sleigh

poems poetry

twilight time

Not much light left in the day.
Systems entering night mode.
Hibernation acceptable strategy.
Conservation of energy.


I sit here jivin

I sit here jivin’ in chair
my fave sounds
the world is in front of me,
go where I please
cap sits comfortably
autumn falls outside

I am alone the girls have gone out
walked to town for a celebrity
followed by gin and tonic
float the boat and down your throat

occasionally I line up the music
don’t leave that to chance

volume increases

political classes commit suicide
on everyone’s behalf
taking us with them
guitar solo kicks in with drum support

next morning it rains
breakfast over, back in chair
leaves litter no lawn left
quiet house



Autumn has well and truly arrived. The lawn is green with a mottled brown counterpane of fallen leaves.

Rain falls gently as I gather the last of the greenhouse tomatoes and carry them to the house in the fold of my shirt. Tonight they will be put to good use.

Rose lingers beech hedge shimmers water droplets.

Noises off kitchen industry Anne pops her head through door welcome smile cup of tea.

Inner stillness.


I mountain

I mountain constant noise,
Stream dances, rivulet in a hurry
Random butterfly fluttersby,
Doesn’t wait for me
Sheep scampers over
Breeze bent grasses
Lichen rock scattered stones
Breathtaking measures pace
Relax and stare
Clouds sleep


Awake in bed

I lie awake in the darkness, listening.
The constant rhythmic flow of my breathing.
Still alive.
No traffic noise.
Anne stirs and gets up.
She doesn’t realise I am awake.
Feels odd without her there.
No touching of bodies, no sensing her presence.
Hours later she returns, shuffles, falls sleep.
The pre-dawn chorus lures me back to dreamland.

poems poetry

Flight to the Isle of Man

UK is covered in cloud.

2 worlds

Above the cloud

Below the cloud

We are descending

Gradually approaching the cloud

What lies below?


Frozen Arctic wasteland

Ordinary people leading ordinary lives

Is such a thing possible?


Bit of a disappointment I can’t see the Isle of Man. Maybe we aren’t there yet?

Strange to think that below the clouds might be the Irish sea





The cabin attendant goes about her business. She is prepared for landing

Now I can see the sea. It looks calm

The plane banks and Laxey comes into view

Followed by Doolish


walk time


Walk time
Screenshot brain
Needs break
Warm coat
And socks
Buy bread
In Bail
coffeeshop lifestyle

poems poetry

whisky bottle full

whisky bottle empty

Whisky glass, once full now almost empty, sits there in front of me on the kitchen table. There is no music. Only my thoughts. Thoughts of nothing in particular. No memories. Only a sense of being. Warmth. The level in the bottle has gone down. Someone else must be drinking it.  No thoughts. A spinning mind full of imagery. Colours swoop in and zoom out. Hypnotic sounds. Wide awake eyes see everything. Amber clarity. Empty bottle…

poems poetry

Today I bought

some crumpet

Today I bought some crumpet, rhymes with trumpet
I like a bit of crumpet, me
Almost too hot to hold and dripping with butter
To be eaten quickly so you can move on to the next one.

Today I bought two packets of porridge, 39 pence each
I’m not a porridge lover, me
Stifflingly tasteless, whatever you add to give flavour
To be eaten by others whilst you have something else.

Today I bought some bog roll, luxury, pack of nine
Bog roll is something I find essential, me
Unless you have one of those posh Japanese loos
That clean you up afterwards, which we don’t.

Today I bought some smoked salmon, it wasn’t on the list
More than she bargained for, Anne
But that’s what you get when I go to the shops,
Spot a “bargain” and assume that someone will eat it.

We did:)