Pat Thomas
This collection is from Pontypridd writer Pat
Thomas. Pat is author of "Chasing
The Rainbow" published by Mediaworld/Best Books Online.
(Click on a title to see the poem)
They
Hormones
Reflections
625 Lines
Obit
The Caretakers
The Day of the Funeral
Red Alert - River Taff
The City
Loneliness
The Cold Light of Day
Michaelmas Day
Christmas Past
Fallen Leaves
Jealousy
The Cat
Isolation
Life
They
They talk at you, but never to you.
Syrup of fig coated jargonese
Balloons from their cardboard mouths,
With the same laxative effect.
They hear you, but they don't listen.
You are a small disposable cog
In their five year corporate business plan.
There to assuage the hunger pangs
Of the new technology that dominates the workplace.
To feed the cavernous bellies
Of the bulimic machines
That spew out ream upon ream of paper
Until the rainforests weep.
THEY are the new employers in this take over world.
Hormones
The moment he opened the front door,
He sensed the atmosphere.
She stood in the kitchen,
An aura of depressions surrounding her.
"Your dinner's in the oven," she said.
"What's wrong," he asked
"Nothing," she replied.
After long years of marriage,
He knew better than to ask again;
So ate his dinner in silence -
Whilst she giorously washed the dishes,
Tears streaming down her face.
Reflections
I see my reflection in a mirror.
Or does it see me?
Perhaps the image is reality,
And I am a figment of my imagination.
When I move away, is it me?
Or does my reflection disappear
To lead a separate existence
That I know nothing about;
Leaving me trapped behind a layer of glass.
625 Lines
Fed on a diet of mediocrity
The mind remains a dry sponge,
Unstretched, waiting.
Trivia adsorbed,
Evaporating.
Nothing absorbed,
Untouched, waiting.
A lethargic finger reaches out;
Presses the remote control button,
Mindlessly waiting.
Obit
The pages of life turn quickly.
Days, months, years merge in a blur of waste.
Always tomorrow, yfory, manana.
The Caretakers
Mankind, you stand in the dock
Accused by your fellow creatures.
There is not one who will defend you.
Your toxic waste pollutes rivers and streams,
And dead fish float bellies uppermost.
Where lush rain forests once grew
Stand barren landscapes,
And acid rain decimates our native woodlands -
One more habitat destroyed.
You flirt with nuclear energy,
It's unseen menace a fearful legacy for your children's children.
You have raped and pillaged this earth
With no thought for tomorrow:
And there is no compassion in you
At the loss of one more species.
The verdict of all is guilty
And the sentence is death.
The Day of the Funeral
The eyes of the street are closed;
Hidden behind drawn curtains
That shroud each lifeless window.
Grieving friends and relatives gather,
Mouthing useless platitudes.
The buzz of conversation ebbs and flows
Over and around the bereaved,
Who sit in awful isolation;
Red eyed, unseeing, numb with shock.
"Didn't she look lovely in the coffin."
Someone said to nobody in particular.
Nodding heads greeted this observation.
"Her hair looked nice," a voice replied.
"Had a perm last week she did."
Nimble fingers make more sandwiches -
Just in case,
And the laden sideboard creaks in protest.
The house is awash with cups of tea.
Red Alert - River Taff
Earth and sky fuse into one,
As day after day driving rain sweeps down the valley;
Penetrating the smallest crevice,
And splashing down the few remaining chimneys
That sit astride the red and green concrete roofs;
Beacons of colour in this grey world.
The swollen river rushes in a frenzy
Between rows of terraced stone houses,
Huddled together against the elements.
Soon a trickle of water laps over the bank
And creeps relentlessly across the road,
Inching nearer the sandbagged doorways.
Then, glorying in its destructive power,
The fickle river seeps around and under these puny barricades.
The City
The slumbering city stirs uneasily.
Darkness conceals the dereliction and decay
Beyond her marble skirted facades.
As dawn breaks, sombre office blocks
Blaze into light,
And an army of cleaners descend
To remove the debris of yesterday.
Through the early morning mist,
A milk float glides -
Clanking and echoing along empty streets.
By bus, tube and car, people flood in,
And pavements throb with the staccato beat of footsteps.
The stench of exhaust fumes fills the air,
As coughing and spluttering, the city wakes to another day.
Loneliness
The twice daily walks soon palled.
Now, night and morning
They push him out of the door.
The sight and smell of freedom
Beckons and excites him,
But bewildered and frightened
By the noise of the traffic,
And cursed at by the motorists,
He hurries home.
Each lonely day is spent dozing,
Head on paws, watching;
Waiting for the sound of their footsteps on the path.
With forgiveness in his heart,
He rushes from his kennel
And greets them joyfully.
The Cold Light of Day
The night I couldn't sleep
The alphabet danced on the ceiling,
Gliding smoothly in time
To the swish of passing cars
On the wet tarmacadam.
Helicopter blades of car headlights
Floodlit their performance,
Accompanied by the rhythm of heavy rain
Plip plopping from the leaking gutter.
A kaleidoscope of vowels and consonants
Began spiralling downwards;
Eager to be caught
And shuffled into sentences.
A masterpiece of my twilight mind
That in the cold light of day would be forgotten.
Michaelmas Day
Summer faded into autumn
Through a muslin curtain of blackberries,
Suspended from my kitchen ceiling.
The harvest of crimson beads
Dripped slowly into waiting bowls,
Captured sunshine of warmer days.
My hands and fingernails are stained
With the last juices of summer, for
Today the devil treads on blackberries
And claims October's for his own.
Christmas Past
In a sea of uncut grass, the For Sale sign lists
drunkenly, bent by the force of a winter storm.
The house is empty now, almost derelict, its occupants dead and gone.
How will it know it's Christmas?
There is no one to hand the trimmings, or decorate the tree.
Through the window, I think I see
Gossamer grey ghost of yesteryear,
Laughing and happy, seated amidst a mountain of food.
The image fades, my mind saw what it wanted to see.
Nothing remains,
Only memories embedded deeply within its walls.
The house, in its deathly silence,
Weeps with me for Christmas past.
Fallen Leaves
Outside my window it was snowing leaves.
Red, orange, yellow and brown they descended,
Covering the pavements with a crisp meringue coating.
Childlike, I delighted in the crackling sound
As I crunched them beneath my feet.
Jealousy
Do not possess me my love,
Slacken the cords that bind
And free me,
That I may desire to return.
Your obsessive jealousy frightens me
And I long to escape.
Let me have thoughts of my own
That with you even I cannot share,
For if you do not, I must go.
The Cat
I call your name, but you don't answer.
I know by the twitch of your ears
That you heard,
But you don't come.
Why should you?
There is nothing you need at the moment.
When you do, you will
Entwine yourself around my legs
Until I almost fall.
Then appetite satisfied,
You jump on my lap.
Before you settle to sleep,
You flex your paws,
And I wait apprehensively
For your needle sharp claws
To pierce my skin.
My pain is no concern of yours.
Your comfort is uppermost,
And I am the provider.
As you nestle in the crook of my arms,
Inscrutable emerald green eyes gaze into mine
And I wonder what secrets lie
In their black liquid depths.
Are you a docile purring cat,
Or the cruel hunter
Who shows no mercy to his prey.
Isolation
I am, yet I am not.
I stand bewildered,
A child.
Nose pressed against life's window,
Lonely and afraid.
Is it my destiny
To remain on the fringes?
Watching and waiting,
A prisoner of my own making,
Or have I the courage
To cast aside the shackles,
Before it is too late.
Life
Twixt monkey parade
And the slow walking stick brigade,
Life's one big charade.
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