Inspired by Pooky’s Poetry Prompt 16:
Bomber jacket over navy blazer
black gothic hair and skeleton satchel
conversations about vampires and ghosts
scrawled across feeble exercise books.
Walking north to a religious prison
resistance was met and judged by Fathers
asking about Church attendance on Sunday
and expectations of Confirmation.
School was like society’s theatre
marionettes performing to loud bells
and playground whistles choreographing
a sea of blue polo tops and black shorts.
I stood in the wings, the old science block
was my home for three years, Guildford Rd site
Copying math homework and writing poems
I still can’t believe I failed English class.
The best days were further down this long road
Sixth Form found a brown-eyed girl called Charlie
where love and friendship began its journey
happy in her individuality.
Sitting on the stone steps of Parliament House
in my warm grey coat and snuggly scarf
clutching to my hot vanilla chai latte
as I watch brown leaves floating in the wind.
What a marvellous moment to be here!
To see, the world tick-tocking like clockwork.
Chatter echoes from the crowded cafes
as the trams jingle their morning songs.
Sometimes I stop – listen – and wonder
it’s a funny thing we do everyday
existing and living; playing the game
Is there meaning? And it’s not forty-two.
It feels like a never-ending story
where we’re born in the middle – missing
pieces of the beginning – a puzzle
that we spend our lives trying to work out.
Some say there are three things; life, death, taxes
but I think it’s human architecture
life for me, is Mufasa and Simba
it’s the story of how we all connect.
In a giant globe of activity
this world is an enigmatic story
that happens to feature humanity
and stepping on a butterfly changes history.
Charlie Ann Alford 