life

Calm

I welcome the storm 
         she’s                an old            friend
kissing 	     fire                      into my lungs 
until  I'm   breathless 
they          blame her                     for destruction 
but I simply offer thanks
for 	breaking 			down 			the clutter
                 in my mind
	giving me 
                          focus.

Thanks for taking the time to read my poem. It has been a while since I’ve posted however I’m squirrelling away working on a couple of projects.

Let me know what you think in the comments.

Take it easy,

Paul

Crime Writing Class

For Christmas, my wife bought me a Crime Writing Class from CityLit.

I’m just over halfway through and it’s fantastic. I feel like I’ve learned so much already. It’s weekly over zoom and we receive peer feedback on our writing. 

One of the pieces of homework was a 250-piece monologue from a villain’s perspective after committing a crime. It was to justify their actions. I chose to have a corrupt cop who’d just killed a drug dealer for not paying a debt. 

Below is his internal monologue;

He had to die really. I had no choice. If I’m honest with myself, I was going to have to kill him sooner or later. At least I had a good excuse, no not excuse, a reason to do it now.  He disrespected me. The little smackrat weasel. Who did he think he was? He was getting too big for his boots. Plus, if I went down, who else would control this dogshit of a town. My arrest record speaks for itself. I get confessions as well. Sometimes they require a bit of incentive I admit. Like threatening to break a wife’s kneecaps if they didn’t admit to what was it again? Oh yeah, affray. What was I thinking of again? That’s right. Who’ll clean up the sludge and filth in this cesspit of a town? The DCI and his Conservative club friends? That new DC who’s feeding info to the police corruption unit and thinks I don’t know about it? Do me a favour. They’re not fit for the frontline. I am. But if this little junky rat gave them what he knew – well that would be it. I couldn’t cover that up. Too many handshakes. It’s right that he’s dead. And he died with the love of his life. Heroin. End of the day, one more dealer and junkie off the streets is a good thing. Burglary will fall a couple per cent. Bonus. I just need to make it look like I found him. Little weaselly scumbag.

I’d love to know your thoughts and welcome any constructive feedback you may have. 

Take It Easy

Paul

Morbid Voyeur

The sneering wind 
flays the sycamore tree of limp,	 weak-willed branches
and their 	lichen tapestries  -		pearl and straw-yellow
while I stand		 watching,
a voyeur 			of death and violence
the wind doesn't want me to watch
howls at 	me 	to 	turn away
                        howls of 	shame
                        howls of 			embarrassment 
                        howls of 						       guilt
It ramps things up 
tearing down 		an elderly fence
that's been 	grey 	and withered 		for a while
Shock tactics.
But it doesn't shock me.
                         I’m still standing. Still watching.

Thanks for taking the time to read my poem. Did you like it? Feel free to leave a comment below or any constructive criticism.

Take It Easy

Paul.

A Lament

The   sky   shows   no   blue   today
	only        the 		dullness 
                 of     burnt     steel
                          brittle   cracks   form
       drizzle falls 
                    lying static       in        the      air
tears    to mourn  an unwell world
         even the gulls are silent in respect.

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Thanks for taking the time to read what is a sombre poem. 
I hope you're well and having a great January so far. It feels like it has lasted forever. 

Take it Easy,

Paul

8:12 AM

The schoolchildren seem happy 
chattering as they skip and walk by the front window
	a raft of ducks navigating 
a concrete river littered with outgrown hedges
 	their parents seldom looking over their shoulders
- early lessons in personal safety.

Thanks for taking the time to read a further adventure in imagist poetry. I’m finding the practice and method quite liberating.

I hope your January is going well so far.

Take It Easy,

Paul

The Commute

The platform is wet from last nights rain
          but this morning
the sun has wove threads of gold
sewing itself to the soft cloud
a handful of people smile at tiny escaping strands of light
         the look of hope on their faces
scores of others turn away looking down
              cheekbones rigid with anguish
a reminder of the darkness in their life
and I’m people watching
wondering what type of person
          will sit next to me on today’s journey.

Thanks for taking the time to read this poem. It’s my first piece of 2022, I’ve been mega busy.

Take It Easy

Paul

Celebrating Being Published!!!

Today I’m celebrating  being published!!!

I recently submitted a poem to ‘Flight of the Dragonfly’, an amazing quarterly journal, and got accepted!

The poem is about a rite of passage for me and my brother growing up in rural Northumberland and I am very proud of it.

When my work is published, especially something so personal, is always a great feeling.

To read ‘The Lambs’, please click the link below;

https://flightofthedragonfly.com/paul-adam-short/

I really hope you all enjoy it.

Take It Easy

Paul

Advent Calendar Haiku #8

Where is the time going? It’s day eight of the Haiku Advent Calendar and I can’t believe it’s Wednesday already.

Today’s haiku was written in annoyance that no matter how hard I try I am sometimes (actually oftentimes) clumsy such as breakfast today.

So without further ado…

My Nordic jumper
is stained with clementine juice;
sleet flurries outside.

Have you had any mishaps so far this December? Let me know.

Take It Easy

Paul

Feeling

He sits with sadness in his eyes,
mercury-blue and moist,
no light shines on his face,
apart from the moon,
who cups his cheek,
from her perch in the sky,
she understands melancholy,
but he ignores her offer of help,
turning away from her slender illuminating fingers,
instead he pushes the pain down,
burying with the rest of his misery,
he shouldn’t show emotion or cry,
that’s not what men do,
how many times does he need to be told.

He takes a breath,
agitating the mercury with woollen sleeves,
he sweeps away the tears,
then paints a watercolour happiness over his face,
just in time, for his wife has returned to him,
and when she asks how he is,
in reply, with all his strength,
he let’s a tear fall and tells her how he feels.


Thanks for taking the time to read this poem. I am big supporter of men’s mental health and this deals with men being able to open up to their partners.

Take It Easy,

Paul

(image courtesy of Nik Shuliahin on unsplash)

Bobby’s Wake

The pitmen gather around the empty hearse,
standing like Davids around Goliath,
some with roll-up cigs burning,
a glowing tobacco-fuelled pyre for,
another brother lost to history.

The colliery band are gearing up,
it’s good to see them still looking strong,
a shame some of the brass looks dull,
but the sapphire and gold thread of the banner,
is still resplendent in the tender summer drizzle.

Bobby’s family give their thanks to the vicar,
with a handshake and bottle of whisky;
his widow unsteady from grief
– and a brandy she’d drank for his honour and her nerves –
is weightless in the arms of her daughters,
the sorrow they’re carrying is a heavy enough burden.

Some of his friends from the village,
wander around the nearby graves,
hunching over the headstones and fading flowerheads,
making empty apologies they aren’t there more often.


Everyone congregates at the roadside when the band begins,
ready for the march to the pub;
tubas and trumpets blowing out the tune to
‘The Bonny Pit Laddie’
a reminder of the man,
just returned to the earth;
close to the coal he used to dig.


At the pub – we all raise a ‘Percy Special’ in toast,
and the tales and tankards come thick and fast;
like pick-axes on silver-black mine walls,
did only a couple of years ago;
the only hush comes from the opening of the buffet table.


These ageing men who’ve fought the police and government;
legends in their own lifetimes;
know that they’ll be together again soon enough,
wondering if they’ll be the missing face, lying in the dirt;
some have a fleeting sadness on their hard faces,
quickly burnt away by the furnace behind their eyes,
and then songs break out with soft smiles

– this is a celebration.

Thanks for taking the time to read this poem.

I really appreciate all your support.

Take It Easy

Paul