Last Judgement

She sits in judgement like mayonnaise setting.


‘Mog!’ she utters with eyes of reckoning

slant with questions

dull with doubt


We held together

clung close and tearful

but the worlds we built

were arid

mouthfuls of discontent


Hereafter let dreamscapes guide you to perfection.

Let panoramas pulsate with fury

at the perils of being



After all, the world ends not with a bang but a whimper… and so do many relationships.

I’m linking this to that wonderfully supportive group dVerse Poets Pub, which has become a much-loved second home for me on the web. The prompt was to write a poem in precisely 55 words. I only had to add the first line and this poem became just the right thing.


Glass Fishbowl

Construction siteI sit dainty at my table,

Plate and finger poised just so,

When I notice workmen pausing.

From across the mud-drenched garden,

They lift their bottles, put down baguettes,

And contemplate this middle-aged white woman

In a house far too big, eating alone.

Their wave of raw appraisal hits in fluxes,

Till I rush to close the shutters, hide

My morsels in the dark.


fishbowlSo the pebbles clatter roundly

To fill the base of your fishbowl,

Stinging scarlet your scales of gold.

Disapproved, disproved, smirked at,

The woman sits and scribbles wildly,

While we pile our judgements up in mounds.

Ragamuffin she seeks flotsam

Debris of a human life

To make up stories

No one wants to read at all.

Inspired by the workmen, crane and building site just opposite my living room and study. Noise, dust and curious eyes have accompanied me for a few weeks now… I am almost hoping for REALLY bad weather, so that they have to stop work. [The last 3 days of pouring rain were not enough to dampen their enthusiasm.] They are not there now, it’s the sacred French lunch break.