SAVAGES

As with men, so with nations.

          

CONFRONTATION

The playground tactics I learned long ago

emerge again: that fight or flight response,

the pantomime of swagger, a dumb show

of surliness, the studied nonchalance.

How suddenly we find ourselves again

reverting to the primitive, the brute.

Beneath the suits are savages not men

prepared to fight to settle a dispute.

Now I face you as you face me, enraged

at what we see as stupid stubborness:

two grown men, antlers locked, and both upstaged

by female laughter. Swiftly we suppress

our burning anger, back away a pace,

unhurriedly, so neither loses face.

WASTE NOT ...

We're big on recycling here in Guernsey. 

I gathered up a handful of words that I found lying about and, with them, built this sonnet.

The high point of the week for one retired

must surely be, oh joy, recycling day:

I wake and, from that moment, feel inspired

to gather sundry plastics and convey

them in a plastic bag out to the gate

along with empty bottles, ah, the shame

for, truth to tell, their quantity is great:

just jam-jars, to my neighbours, I explain.

When all is gathered in and taken out

I feel somewhat deflated and adrift

then, frantically, I start to look about

for fresh recyclables that I might shift.

Recycling is addictive as cocaine.

This time next week I’ll do it all again.

For verse of a different kind, why not visit: https://www.facebook.com/richard.fleming.92102564/

  

BACK TO THE FUTURE

Here's a piece of shameless nostalgia wrapped up in a Sci Fi poem.

THE SPACECRAFT                 

The spacecraft, when it landed in the street,

the first of what appeared to be a fleet,

seemed friendly so we all came out to see

what would emerge and what that thing might be.

When the hatch opened we were much amazed,

so much so that we stood stock-still and gazed

in speechless awe at the enfolding scene:

out stepped the children that we once had been.

Down a broad ramp, a group of children came.

I saw Tim, Neil and Brenda Whatshername,

then Ken, the lad who owned the Scottie dog,

and Marjorie, who gave me my first snog.

Out came Jack Burns and Harry, from the farm, 

with Dorothy, that girl who broke her arm

by falling from a tree on holiday

and Dominic, with whom we’d never play.

They formed a group, each facing us and then

I saw myself, a lad of nine or ten,

and felt them slip away, those sixty years, 

then wondered at my unexpected tears.

The spacecraft stood like an immense school bus

as they emerged, those children that were us.

For verse of a different kind, why not visit: https://www.facebook.com/richard.fleming.92102564/

 

THE TRUTH WILL SET YOU FREE

This is a villanelle, a French verse form consisting of five tercets and a final quatrain, with the first and third lines of the first stanza repeating alternately in the following stanzas. These two refrain lines form the final couplet in the quatrain. The repetitive aspect of the villanelle seemed to lend itself to this particular subject.

THE INTERROGATION          

Tell us the truth and we will set you free,

without unpleasantness, you understand.

You are our guest and not a detainee.

Your wife will not be harmed, I guarantee.

Your family? We have them close to hand.

Tell us the truth and we will set you free.

These instruments are sharp, you will agree?

Such brutal methods are not what was planned.

You are our guest and not a detainee.

Pain can persuade. Persistence is the key.

Even the strongest soon will be unmanned.

Tell us the truth and we will set you free.

Fingernails first, then teeth and, by degree,

we will discover what you can withstand.

You are our guest and not a detainee.

You are invisible. Only I see

the bloodied fingers on each broken hand. 

Tell us the truth and we will set you free.

You are our guest and not a detainee.

MASTER OR SERVANT?

With this short poem I'm returning to the topical issue of AI and our growing anxieties about its impact on our lives. 

The Flash Fiction story, My Robot, which you'll find on my blog (9/9/2020) touches on the same concerns. 

This is the link: http://redhandwriter.blogspot.com/2020/09/

THE SERVANT

Companion, constant presence in my life,

my guardian, trusty servant, I rely

on you the way a savage does his knife

and with my every order you comply.

When not required, on standby, you remain

impassive in the corner of my room

like furniture, prosaic and mundane,

then, on command, you waken and resume

your daily tasks but sometimes I detect

a certain stubbornness akin to pique,

an attitude of sneering disrespect,

antagonism when you should be meek.

Some subtle change is happening I fear.

This time next year, will I be master here?

For verse of a different kind, why not visit: https://www.facebook.com/richard.fleming.92102564/