Melancholy Hyperbole

Poetry about longing.

The Longest Day

One of the placemats has gone missing
and the taxi has turned down a blind alley
never to return.
Comfort blankets are piling up in lost property.

Send out an SOS for empathy
because milk bottles of human kindness
are turning sour in their necks.

Last chances are shooting up chimneys
to be impaled on the stars and
goodwill is way past its sell by date.

The sisterhood has gone out of fashion
and family ties have been thrown out
with the potato peelings.

That phone call he promised
got drowned with the kittens
and your womb is a stone
counting the days
until it cracks.
eclipse 20th March 15

In the summer Winston Plowes is a hare chasing bicycles and winning by miles. In winter he categorises his collection of found jigsaw pieces and tunes his cutlery. Each night he waits with his cat under starlight for his found poems to return to roost from the pages of journals published worldwide to his floating home in Calderdale UK. His website is here.

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