Vacant eyes hidden behind chicest Ray-Bans

a snow crystal heart that now beats out of tune

she studiously ignores the song of the skylark

spits feathers at the weeping blue sky egghead moon


No hiding place on dankest heathlands

no ‘touch wood’ good fortune there to be found

just a carpet of late bloom purple heather

masking what once was a freakish merry-go-round


Her shortcoming, a reason for being

her advantage, that she cares not a jot

her shelved quandary that unanswerable question

that of the ease with which he untied love’s flimsiest knot


Deep in thought she turns back the pages

scours the snapshot album stored inside her head

Fujifilm captures of illicit tryst’s in Paris; in Brussels

of making love on Napoleon and Josephine’s hush-hush bed


In her path, not that she will notice

a cross-legged ghost plays just for her the mandolin

yet as with the sweet birdsong, a gift from the heavens

she neglects all things without and within


For this ‘been around the block a few times’ girl named Britannia

her ex-lover, a charmless chameleon, nothing more

she should be drowning in the tears of her own sorrow

for her enclave can never be as it was once before


42 thoughts on “OF A GIRL, A CHAMELEON & A GHOST

    1. Just the musings of a ghost Ms S. How the devil are you by the way? Seems an age since I asked that of anyone. Buy the way, I made the mistake (in hindsight) of buying a great big table tennis table for the garden. Son and chum have been playing (on a fitness drive) for 4 hours now and I swear they are using my brain as the ball.

      1. Well done re the book. Splendid stuff. A little like the Michael from Peter Pan who lost his marbles I am searching for my sense of humour. Even the passing thought that on the nights when Andy Murray reads bedtime stories to his child it must sleep like a log didn’t really do it for me. And just now when I found my dear Shirley upon the floor in paroxysm’s of laughter at finding within her bathroom cabinet a tin of ‘3 in 1’ oil I had inadvertently (God knows why or how) placed there when oiling a squeaking door barely raised a smile. Upwards and upwards. You and yours have a great week.

      2. Mike you have just lost the joy right now with all that’s gone on. But it will return. You have a great week too. May something happen to lighten the load and make you smile x

      3. Crumbs Ms S. I have penned this day a satire upon the lovely Nicola. Shirley, independent of me thinks you’ll love it…I worry still. Yet my gals always win in skits…he says with hope in his heart. Off to France for a day on Wednesday to spend euro’s not spent on a curtailed holiday…shopping therapy and a few apologies to café owner chums.

    1. Cheers Paul…penned this this morn with the conclusion of the poem ‘Parallax’ from your new book ‘Human Waters’ fixed within my mind for reasons I’ll never know, yet am pleased that wonderful poem of yours lingered on.

    1. If it helps Jessie, I’m the ghost, Brexit is the chameleon and the gal Britannia represents a nation I no longer recognize. We are not a nice country right now, in part or at all…sad old times.

      1. Oh ok, I don’t watch the news so I wouldn’t really know what’s going on there. It rained the most in 75 years last night and was the first night of no sleep for me in sheer fear of the end of the world. Frantically looking for earplugs, I decided to give up and woke up to an alarm, so obviously fell asleep at some point

    1. Ripe smelly French cheeses, a pain complet loaf, a worthwhile bottle of red upon the beach at Le Touquet followed by a decent pavement café coffee at a little place I know in Bethune. That’ll do nicely.

      1. Indeed, have just booked a swift day trip to France (bit of lunch; shopping; son’s birthday and all that) for this very Wednesday. Will be good to be in the EU as it were!

    1. Thank you. Means a lot…my heart on my sleeve re Brexit with this one. I was, myself the ghost (never tried that in writing previous). My thanks once more.

    1. You are correct; of course you are correct yet presently an ‘incorrect’ me cannot rid himself of an anger aimed at perceived stupidity. It may go away, yet it some ways I cannot let it…it is the pinch of racism within the Brexit recipe that irks.

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