Featured Poet - Peter Watson

LOBSTROSITY

The world is now your Oyster

That’s what people say

It feels more like a Lobster

I feel just like its prey

I’m swimming in a sea of pain

That needs to go away

I’ll catch that bloody Lobster

Serve it on me plate

I’m feeling rather peckish

Lobster Thermidor sounds great

I might as well eat all the Oysters

They’re great with lemon, on ice

Sod the diet once again

I need a little spice

I’ll drink some whisky with them

In Gallic, the “water of life”

Then I’ll have some chocolate pudding

Well, just because it’s very nice

I’ll turn into a Whale

A monster all can see

A diet may start chasing

But it never will catch me

I’m laying down some blubber

It’s comforting to me

I eat when I’m not hungry

It’s the company I need

I sit here watching Telly

With all my snacks around

Chocolate biscuits, Jaffa cakes

And goodies by the pound

This world is now my Oyster

I’m trapped inside its shell

A Lobstrosity of sorts

My life’s a living hell

I need to get up from this chair

Get my feet on solid ground

Move forward to my new life

Get some exercise fresh air

Live my life in Oyster Bay

With friends and family there.

ABOUT THE POEM: This is about loneliness and comfort eating.

*The Lobstrosity is a Stephen King creation.

A MAN WALKS INTO A BAR

A man walks into a bar. He asks for a glass of water. 

The barman pulls out a shotgun and lets off both barrels.

The man says thank you and leaves the barman a tip.

Why?

I didn’t go into the bar

I didn’t want a drink

The bar was raised above my head

I needed time to think

I wanted a clear head

To do the things I had to do

So, I went to see a shrink

She listened to me carefully

Gave me space and time

She helped me to cross over

A very thick black line

I felt just like the Walrus

But walking on quicksand

Lazy, fat and useless

She came and held my hand

She helped me with my feelings

We talked of many things

Of life and love and Oedipus

Of solitude and rings

My carpenter is helping me

To build a brand - new life

To spread my bread and butter

Alone without my wife

Enjoy the Oysters once again

This time without the spice

Talking always helps you

But it is not enough

You must move on, in your own time

Grief is always tough

My friend, my Freud she tells me

That I am doing well

I haven’t really seen it yet

Only time will tell

If I can find the strength to move

Respond to those around

I might just have 

The chance to find

My feet on solid ground

The man left the barman a tip because he had the hiccups.

By firing the shotgun, the barman had cured his hiccups.

LIFE is full of HICCUPS.

LIVING is about RESPONSES. 

*With a grateful nod to Lewis Carroll. The Walrus and the Carpenter. 

DEATH ROW

Another week has passed

Rolling forward

Moving on

Taking me to places that I don’t want to go

Each day an eternity

The weeks float by in a sea of pain

Misery and loneliness

Going forward inexorably

Into a future

I neither want

Nor care for

Time passes

I grow older

My family grows older

My friends grow older

My love has died

Trapped now

Gone forever

Waiting for me

I hope

All I see is bleakness

Little dots of light appear

Then are extinguished 

In flashes of a dark future

Alone

This is no after life

Just after death

Even Dante did not envisage

Such pain and torture as this

Light, dark, day, night

All the same

A dark shroud clouds my life

Covering everything, enveloping me

Movement has stopped

Except for the clock

Forcing its way onwards

Uncaring, unseeing never wavering

Memories of the past

My future

Intertwined

Two souls lost in one death

Both gone

Empty

Bereft of feeling

This is forever

No end to this incarceration

Only in death

A prisoner of grief

No chance of parole

Waiting on death row

Visitors come and go

They help

Nothing changes

The surety of this cell with no walls

Impossible to escape from

No release date given

Days, weeks, years passing

Waiting

For freedom

So that I can be whole again

To be with my love again

Looking forward to a new life

In death.

ZOMBIELAND

Time is of little value

Without someone to share

Life has no meaning without purpose

or direction

Existence is just breathing

No feelings

Everything tasteless

No motivation

A spell cast

A Zombie

The very epitome of the living dead

Facts, not fiction make this bed

No flowers here, only thorns

Driven deep

Keeping you alive

Constant pain

Cupid’s arrow, shot and broken

Buried deep

No escape from sorrow

Lost in a bubble of wretchedness

No one hears you scream

Alien

Not real

A parallel universe for one

You see

You hear

You move

Out of time with the world

Cold, so cold

No heat is left

No desire

Nothing is here

A black hole

With no escape

Nothing helps in Zombieland.

BANG

I’m looking down the barrel of a very friendly gun

It smiles at me and says come on now

You know what must be done

I’ll take away your troubles

I’ll ease all of your pain

Come on now son, just do it

You’ve nothing left to gain

You’ve lost your love

You’ve lost your life

A bullet through the brain

Will ease all of your suffering

Will take away your pain

It’s easy just take aim.

My gun had brought some friends along

A bottle and some pills

He says that they can help me

Cure me of all my ills

It’s easy if you try son

There’s really nothing to it

Come on now son you know you must

You really want to do it.

I picked the gun up in my hand

And then I pulled the trigger

BANG

I shot the bottle and the pills

And threw the gun away

I told them through my tears and grief

Not now, well not today

There are people who still need me

To help them with their life

And most of all, she tells me

My love my darling wife

Get on with life you stupid git

My life I know is over

But, I’m not ready for you yet

Our son and his still need you

You must get on with life

I’ll be standing right beside you

My love: your darling wife

I still know where the gun is

I look at it sometimes

My Trish she stays my hand and says

Not now it’s not your time

You must go on and tell them of

Things that should have been

The things we did together

Our lives, our love, our dreams

I’ll always be there with you

You only have to call

And I will be there at your side

To love and help you all

I’ve put the gun away now

And locked it in a drawer

The key is kept inside my heart

Looked after by my wife

She told me in no uncertain terms

To get on with my life

She’ll only give it back to me

When the time is right

Looking after me as always

In death, just as she did in life

I’ve stared into the abyss

She wouldn’t let me fall

And so, I’m saying once again

To Trish I owe it all

BANG

ABOUT THE POEM: Bang is symbolic. I don’t own a gun. The bottle and the pills were real though.

DUST

I’ll show you fear, the cowboy said

As we travelled the Wastelands together

I’ll give you a handful of dust

There is nothing to fear from dust, I said

I keep three boxes by my bed

These are my rocks

Ground down by life

Not living now

Just dead

Their life force gone

Washed away by tide and time

Come walk with me, strange creature

We’ll travel in these Wastelands

If you place your hand in mine

There is nothing that I fear from dust

I embrace it

It will pass

Death doesn’t scare me gunslinger

It’s life that I don’t trust

So, take my hand

You walking dead 

With bombadiers eyes

I’m not afraid 

I’ll stare you down

This dust has formed a new man

One who will steal your crown

I will fight you nasty creature

Until my final breath

When it is my time

You can give me my release

It is then I’ll turn to dust

And go into my box

It’s there

And only at my end

That I will find some peace. 

ABOUT THE POEM: 'The Gunslinger' is not my creation. He is Stephen Kings from the 'Dark Tower' series of books. I just took him for a very short walk one day in my own Wastelands. I hope Mr King doesn’t mind.

ABOUT PETER

"Most of these were written in 2018, not long after my wife died of cancer. I was in a terrible place and wrote the poems as therapy."