Without You
Through the mist the sun’s stocky and yellow;
there’s little traffic in the town.
Each veiled day floats past unrecognised, unremembered.
Yet travelling back to a deeper remembrance
the days whizzed along with us carelessly hurtling after.
But now an hour is an age, a day is an aeon.
The morning is only half-filled with words or work,
the afternoons mooch across the fields aimless as cows.
This day-long solitude is the tariff paid for temporary closeness.
John Rice
Please note that the poems are copyright John Rice 2014 and cannot be reproduced without the express permission of the author.
Random Poetry!
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Balloonery Buffoonery!
I hate balloons in packets,red ones are the worst.
I hate them being blown up,
it scares me when they burst.
They’re nastically plasticky,they’re ballistically blasticky,
they’re drastically nasticky,
they’re bloodthirstically bombasticky!
I hate balloons at partiesif they’re in the hands of boys.
Or if the magician twists an animal
and there’s that squeaky balloony noise.
It’s excruciatingly nauseating,it’s frustratingly abominating,
it’s gratingly penetrating,
it’s inflatingly aggravating!
I hate balloons at Christmas
when they’re dangling from the tree.
I shove my fingers in my ears,
in case they pop and scare me.
They’re ponderously wonderous,they’re plunderously sunderous,
they’re murderously blunderous,
they’re gunpowderously thunderous!
(I’m the only balloonophobic in the balloonophobicphonebook!)
John Rice
The author encourages parents, teachers and librarians to read the poems to children and young people. However, the poems are copyright John Rice 2014 and cannot be reproduced without the express permission of the author.
