If I lived alone;
what of nightime -
the crinkling black
attacks of loneliness that
might creep upon me
feeding off what sleep might come?
I could succumb to daylight naps,
save night for stars and grunting
badgers snuffling through dank leaves,
or read those better books I promised
my sleepier self I would.
I’d say to myself that solitary
life suits.
Who's to care what time I keep
or if I speak aloud when a thought occurs?
I’d wear myself out thinking.
Callers would commend my inscrutable
regime,
while they drank my coffee,
then say “He’s lost the plot”
when they talk about me - and they would!
I’d buy my clothes from catalogues,
dark coloured corduroy and
paisley jumpers, wear cravats,
keep a cat and call it Francis.
What’s the chances
if I joined a lonely hearts club
I’d find a lady – gsoh,
likes staying up late.
But wait- I’m not alone and
I think I only dream when I sleep.
No man is an island - but the causeway sometimes needs repair! Nice thought, James - but some of the mail-order catalogues are quite trendy...
Thanks Steve. The corduroy I can live with but the paisley jumpers...mmmm? Nice of you to leave a comment. J
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Thanks Michael. Yes they are quite up-to-date nowadays but I'm at an age when all they seem to send are discount offers on incontinence apparatus and zippered slippers. Still, at least there is the friendly 'plop' of some correspondance hitting the mat. Jimmy