Have you ever been flung
off the face of the Earth?

One phone call did it.

I had my day mapped out;
wall to wall jobs pushed
against a deadline.  

The pin-pulling persistent summons
tumbled into the room,
exploding in all directions.

My day disintegrated.

Jigsaw scattered, it defied my
limbo-minded effort to rebuild.
I could find no straight pieces,
let alone corners to guide me.

Scrabbling, chaos shifting,
I caught sight of one piece…a face…
a treasured face…dependant.

The day took shape.

© Marion Sharville


and the dog creeps under thr piano stool.

Missing the faded beauty of Autumn
we look for more colours as we step
into the murky mists of November.

Duffle-coated aginst the cold, we watch
the burning effigy of the man
whose memory is rekindled, every year.

Historic drama put to the torch.

Catherine wheels and sparklers
entrance the young. Squibs and jumping
crackers provide the edge, Echoing
sounds and sparks fire the sky.

A bombardment to delight.

Rockets send clusters of stars bursting
into their own beautiful but fleeting galaxies,
expanding to nothingness.

Is our own planet just part of a firework display,
wondrous but short-lived?

where will WE find a piano stool?

© Marion Sharville

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