3 poems by Anthony Ward

Clock Work

My line of country’s now an island.

My days a series of patterns woven into weeks

Wearing me down to the bear threads

Entwined into a cosy existence

That blankets me from the world outside,

Hiding from expressions

That come at me like trains of thought.

 

A knock on the door is like a punch to the stomach,

An invitation a custodial sentence,

A smile aggressive towards my self esteem.

While I watch them going about

Their lives-

Like clockwork,

Never having time to themselves.

While I remain here,

With all the time in the world

Having nothing to do with it.

 

Ordinary

I once thought myself a genius,

Before accepting the notion I was anything but,

 

Deluding myself that I was wise,

Although it wasn’t to anyone’s knowledge,

 

Determined to think myself as talented,

Before realising I wasn’t even skilled,

 

Reassuring myself with the fact I was intelligent,

Which turned out be a stupid fiction,

 

Happy to think myself as interesting,

Until I was aware that no-one listened,

 

Merely content to think myself ordinary-

Though I suspect I’m not even that.

 

Killing Time

You’d think time would drag when you’ve nothing to do.

But it tends to fly all the more,

Reminding you of how little you’ve got-

How little you’ve done.

 

You wait and wait for something to happen,

Then when it does you’re aren’t ready,

Letting it run by you-

While you sit it out.

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Published by

Jeremiah Walton

Jeremiah Walton is wary of writing a bio.

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