Phil Lucas Poems

Faithful honey melon sun
flickers bullion through lazy haze.
But woe, woe, the FTSE is down.
...

The silence of the suburbs,
ebony still.
Coolly gazing heaven
loosely fingers
...

I see them all the time,
snatching a quick drink
between sales,
meetings
...

A storm is grating the ocean,
but in the café
an elderly couple are warm with now.
They sit mostly silent,
...

I
asked
the
check
...

I joined
Workaholics Anonymous
but found myself
staying late
...

I don’t have to look forward to a Friday
or face the melancholy truce of a Sunday Eve.
No more counting weekend hours
till the dreaded bell of Death Monday tolls.
...

Across the quay
sit
discarded old woman.
Saggy sea-beat sacks of flesh,
...

I’m just the guy eating noodles.
Not much to see here,
except a guy eating noodles.
Not much to consider here
...