Morning Walk (A Pantoum) 30/30

Life spills out into the park,

I head out for the day

and spring is heavy in the air,

sunlit trees leave shadows.

 

I head out for the day,

blossom bursts from branches,

sunlit trees leave shadows,

petering out with the day.

 

Blossom bursts from branches,

casting spells in the wind,

petering out with the day,

magic enchanting the world.

 

Casting spells in the wind,

the park is brimming with beauty,

magic enchanting the world

overflowing into the lakes.

 

The park is brimming with beauty

Life spills out into the park,

overflowing into the lakes

and spring is heavy in the air.

 

-A.Webb (first draft)

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Brewing. (29/30)

I’m sat in the local coffee house

getting ready for my artisan drink

birthed from the guest ‘beans of the month’.

It’s going to be delicious,

I can already taste the pretense

dripping from my lips and it is fabulous.

No, it’s so much more than that,

it’s… unique, breathtaking and, most of all, independent.

The idea of it makes my body shiver.

 

The music at this place is magical;

a fast-paced symphony of harmonious clicks.

The instruments? The latest Macbooks,

standard models to my right,

the ‘airs’ to my left and in the centre is me,

leading the orchestra with my ‘pro’.

We are all sat there, drinking our coffees not even realising

what we are in the process of crafting:

the 21st Century’s answer to ‘Flight of the Bumblebee’.

 

The bearded barista observes from behind the coffee machines,

wipes a tear from his eye,

thinking of the story he can regale his family with.

How he witnessed the rebirth of creativity,

the simultaneous act of dismantling and rebuilding

what the world knows as masterpieces.

Today, we didn’t just create art,

we single handedly blew the concept out of the water,

smashed expectations and became legends in the making.

We are not simply artists,

oh no no, darling, we are better than that,

we are artistes.

 

-A.Webb (first draft)

Buy One Get One Free (27/30)

You’re out at the shopping centre,

ready to try on something different,

looking for new clothes to fill out,

thinking, dreaming of how great you could look.

You find a  jumper four sizes too big,

it’s perfect! Just like the one in the magazine you read every week.

You climb in, a home too big to house your belongings

promise yourself to grow into it

make plans to renovate, expand yourself

be something different, something more.

You leave happy but unsettled.

 

One day you gaze in the mirror a moment too long,

see yourself swallowed up by the ocean of expectations you’ve given yourself

take off the jumper defeated and regress.

 

Confidence knocked you take shelter in a charity shop,

desperately ransack clothes racks for something familiar,

find clothes that reek of childhood.

Tell yourself you could be comfortable in them.

Pull it over your head in hopes of a better image,

even though it took 10 minutes to get on you smile,

pass the money to the cashier, it’s your’s,

you might be limiting yourself to old trends,

at least you know you look great.

 

You look at old photos to compare

cringe that the jumper-phase was ever a thing,

you’re much  more comfortable now.

It’s like you’re 15 again,

it’s like you never grew up,

nothing ever changed.

You look in the mirror again, reality lumps out of your body

bursting under the pressure to keep your adulthood under wraps.

This isn’t good enough.

You aren’t good enough.

 

You rip the clothes off and start the process again.

 

-A.Webb (first draft)

Throw down the gauntlet (26/30)

I look outside my window and stare the sun down with suspicion,

I make sure it knows this isn’t a friendly meeting,

Oh no, Sun, this is your interrogation

‘I know you’re game, it’s good that you’re here but…

are you really gonna stick around?’

I look around and everything tells me yes,

the sun shines even harder as if to prove me wrong,

I can smell sun lotion in the air,

strangers are ravaging ice cream cones,

friends have already posted pictures in their summer clothes

celebrating summer’s supposed arrival so hard

it’d make the other seasons jealous.

 

I want to believe the evidence;

‘don’t get me wrong, Sun, you’re a decent fella.

I’m a fan of your work but your commitment to England?

It’s been questionable at best.

I’m not sure whether you really want to be here,

does keeping us warm motivate you?

Is it what gets you out of bed in the morning?

I’m not convinced’.

The sun keeps on shining – a move of arrogance

I’m going to stay shining and there is nothing you can do about it.

 

I give in, during my 22 years

I’ve realised that arguing with giant flaming balls of gas is a fools game,

a futile effort and a waste of my time and the sun’s.

I congratulate it on a job well done,

concede and go to my room,

race to put my shorts on, snap my sunglasses on faster than ever before,

run outside and bask in the sun.

It’s warm, it’s beautiful and I,

well, I love it!

 

I head over to my mates and they look confused

‘have you checked the weather?’ one says.

I load up the app, smile on my face,

staring back at me in big, obnoxious font is

‘60% CHANCE OF THUNDER STORMS’.

 

Well played, sun,

you win this round.

 

-A.Webb (first draft)

Face Crack (25/30)

You might be surprised how tiring smiling can be.

I’m not about to tell you how hard it is to be me,

this isn’t a self-loathing poem about life as Alex,

smiling is just something I’ve taught myself to do.

 

It’s a recipe for success:

when the sun comes out and I’m left to be myself again

take a deep breath, ready yourself for a long day and

crack a smile to maintain expectations.

 

It’s time for the performance of a lifetime

or a lifetime of performance I haven’t figured it out yet.

I rely on smiling to avoid disappointment,

although I’ve never figured out who I’m disappointing.

 

Regardless, work your fingers to the bone for them,

these people have paid for the show after all!

You are the light entertainment at the end of the day,

give them what they came to see.

 

-A.Webb (first draft)

Mute. (24/30)

Pack away the sun,

block the doors and lock up the key,

turn off every light,

shut windows so the world can’t see.

 

Let’s draw in the clouds,

separate our night from the day,

welcome the darkness;

shelter to keep the world at bay.

 

Record all your hopes,

things that you too foolishly sought,

spend your time writing,

keep hold of every single thought.

 

Cancel your future

give up and go back to square one,

destroy all your things,

burn the evidence and then run.

 

-A.Webb (first draft)