Simply Sunday Poem by Richard G Berg

I bought a pair of bamboo socks to compliment the ones someone bought me for Christmas, from a near-nearby shop that appears to be pining for Harry Styles to purchase its owner and never bring her back..

I now have another pair of stripes to mark territory and line my days and drawers..

I returned two cd players that I had been sampling: one new, one old.

The music ceases to play out loud but will always spin silently in my head.  When should I return this music and to whom?

I prepared something for someone special and bought a small gift for them. Do they care that they are someone special? Do they consider themselves special?

I taught a little, walked a little, ruminated about a recent walk through a graveyard in Hampstead accompanied by the same someone whose presence ghosted winter. 

I thought of a poem about random gloves turning up wherever I go. Always just the one: of varying colours, sizes and shapes.

I pondered what clues this offers about 'handling' life.  Is symbolism a played hand or an artificial one?


Richard G Berg
February 2023