Productivity
Straightforward
curves belie the conventional
ace of clubs no
longer suffices this journal
criminal being
indoors, sapping the cool breeze
recognisable
figurines stand to ceremony
the abrasive
sentinel halts the candle.
Fighting for the
gist of another brilliant mistake
acres of
literature pass on by, ejecting histories
to find out
naturally the death of an associate
counting the
tears to be classed as genuine
rejecting
socializing for an unknown cause.
Defunct extensions,
a current remains different
rummaging
through boredom a bright misdeed
down the lower
rung on purpose, loving one’s own
walking under
sweat, classes in the open air
a paltry tan
qualifies the burdened laughter.
Controlled on
one page, hardy credentials,
walking under
umbrage, exercise a close second
the polluted
paradise looks through the shop window
ascertaining a
singular beauty, gone postal
palming off case
to a deserving cause, for once.
Very productive,
now sit down and be quiet.
Some advice over
one’s head, sagging for the penury
loving the work
assigned, breathing the portrait
not knowing who
to back, a dog worth chasing
godliness
surfacing, lilies festering, staid.
Cutlery
Very little to
do with jewellery, cutlery will do.
Weighed down by
misspent seniority,
returning to the
world of promise, abortive streak
watching the
waitresses ply their trade guiltily.
Gone with the
wind, and to the moon, unrepentant,
the respectable
going for a fix before work
whiskey clerics
composed the insurmountable
burning an
aperture through expensive dates.
So much for the
circular saw, taken clean away
composing this
infatuation with a bleeding situation,
calling for tea
for sake of propriety
freshened
flowers disgrace the otherwise.
Pictures on a
latter feat, burning over literature
fearing the
best, beaming through this dross,
the incorrigible
notice confuses us all
the blood group
heartily dispenses its wares.
These obsolete
candles, boiling outside
waiting their
turn to pay fairly and squarely
overpowered by a
tight sweater, a prize declined
chatroom failure
nestles in its stares.
Class downed,
pawing someone else’s stewardship,
Walking tall,
falling short, singing through hardship
opening windows
to get past the pleasantries
passible penny-dreadful
brushes past the ceremony.
This Median Age
Probably dead by
then, the bleeding orange
sifting through
the savage breast, beholding
picking apart
the jewellery rendered obsolete
dancing on the
street under cover of profession.
At last, under
cover of a comedian’s gaze,
hand-tooled
jokes come fast and thin.
Appropriate
radio stations on the correct track,
the sleeping
anatomy of a dog gone berserk.
Interrogated at
notice, harbinger of food,
a private guest
steals home, overweight, as you like
the cast-off
papers yellowed by the weather,
wild weeds on
inheritance promised on hand.
Classed as fresh
meat, flavour of the week
this luxury
unwanted till it’s too late,
swinging through
the trees, laughing at the curse
No indentured fashion
can save you now.
Feminism has its
limits, not yet tried,
Colour-coded
literature hits at the silverware,
prizes given for
availability, misspent friendship
transactions
declared for advantaged assets.
Condemned by the
scales to a life of inadequacy
looking up to
the hapless, the derelict song,
same rhyme and
metre cross the unfortunate task
posthumous
growth shaming the primary class.
Burned Fort
A goodly
sickness pervades the night sky
productive
hangover sidesteps into trouble.
Displaying effects
for these eyes only,
scoring highly
on the relative, ball rolling
dogged photos a
cause to betray many.
Bespoke number
plates go past swearing
raising funds
for the vague, kept busy,
not beating the
feeling a confused order
poisoned repression
doing its bit happily
squirrelled past
relatives, fearing the inevitable.
Eating teeth,
being around for a long time,
remembering
foibles in place of employment
applications in
writing to the god-blessed
indefatigable
pain, pervading the beloved
apportioning
blame to a lesser notice.
Dancing though
luxury, sexualised applications
wiping the floor
clean with other sensibilities
famous where
once bereft, hunted like a demon
devastated in
translation, to a higher calling
losing money in
trouble a precious study.
Psyche Asylum
Shattered to a
fault. A consummate job well done,
timetabled to
perfection, hugging corners,
compensating for
sleep, a notable aberration
sampling turgid
wares from a smorgasbord of shame
in no company to
declare a faultless pitch.
Ashamed of past
achievement, scintillated recognition
growing up in
the same environment goes off-kilter,
deserting your
post for sake of a record,
washed clean of
affray when occasion demands
the basic seat
for preferment runs through type.
Almost a
betrayal, slipping tongues casually
a bigoted bile
starts at a hackneyed tattoo
the intelligent
mastering of a distant forever
the well-worn
satchel does a proper job
heavier the
better, perdition remains key.
Comfortable
through statistics, shredding incrimination
the butter’s
innocence too much to declare,
vitamin drinks
on the quiet, telling no one,
reaching behind
the counter for your prize
laughed at, a
vantage point in the pub next door.
A perfect diary,
peppered with concatenations
scarcely
believable through the mundane life,
hung out to dry,
a punishment going amiss
bastardised
editing comforts seal the deal
sleeping on
gifts a choice made complicated.
PATRICIA WALSH
PATRICIA WALSH was born and raised
in the parish of Mourneabbey, Co Cork, Ireland.
To date, she has published one novel, titled The Quest for Lost Eire, in
2014, and has published one collection of poetry, titled Continuity Errors,
with Lapwing Publications in 2010. She has since been published in a variety of
print and online journals. These
include: The Lake; Seventh Quarry Press; Marble Journal; New Binary Press;
Stanzas; Crossways; Ygdrasil; Seventh Quarry; The Fractured Nuance; Revival
Magazine; Ink Sweat and Tears; Drunk Monkeys; Hesterglock Press; Linnet's Wing,
Narrator International, The Galway Review; Poethead and The Evening Echo. She has also published anovel, In The Days of
Ford Cortina, in August 2021
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