A Pig Of A Cliché Day Poem by Michael Shepherd
A Pig Of A Cliché Day
One of those days.
Do I need to tell you?
Like some invisible burden
to do with humanity or something
personal, imagined, no clue,
pressing down, tensing the back,
can barely walk a straight line,
face full of repressed anger
about what I don’t know,
then yawning with the weariness
of doing nothing
so how to deal with it
if you don’t know
who laid it on you
or why
opened the paper
almost too bored to do that,
read the story of how
he won the VC, top honour,
very rare
and what it’s been like since
reckoned if I can cry like this
something must be alright
somewhere
I’m OK now. You?
Is the V.C. the one awarded for bravery in battle, being wounded? I am not as familiar with this one as I am our Purple Heart, but suspect that it is similiar...and then again, it might have gone to Sir Mick Jagger? Sir Elton John? I just need to know, don't I? Would make a difference in the way I read something, wouldn't it? ?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/7/2024 12:37:59 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Yes, thank you. And glad you are too... and did you need to tell us? No; but you did so, eloquently. The ability to cry suggests indeed a feeling of emotion which is 'better' than the vacuity and disinterest cleverly built at the beginning of this well-crafted piece, M. t x