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Richard Chetwynd


Autor tekstu: Richard Chetwynd
Ilustracja: Filip Chetwynd

Centuries Go by in a Flash


Centuries go by in a flash, then they crash
Into clichés. I recall reading about today’s strife

In a book from caveman times. Can it last?
Is the first thing you think, can it thrive?

Seven days a week the drunkard ups his drink,
While machines wear themselves out, sink

Into abuse. Looking forward is looking back,
Since for trouble, we have an old, natural knack.

When I’m asked about what will happen tomorrow
I tell the asker yesterday’s tomorrow’s sorrow

Unless it isn’t. But you have to put the drink down
And commit to a different path, you have to drown

Your love in an instant, and keep your head high
Above the water until you reach a side that’s dry.



Coffee With My Wife


There’s a lot of sad stuff
To get beyond if you wanted
To live a life that’s unhaunted
Coming and going’s enough

Tough surrounded by fluff
To ignore in the passing
Like spurned upturned lovers
Hearing songs from shore

Calling without promise
While whoever wherever lights
Up like a star on a moonless night
Deaf and dumb to process

The heart’s feeding protocol
One morsel at a time crumb
After crumb until psyche’s fall
Is fast enough for a run

At scaling its mindless heights
And moving beyond the sum
Of its daily lethal delights
And all that sad to overcome

When finally back at home
To work the tiny tasks of life
A cup of coffee with my wife
Heartpain plenty of her own



Short Order


A baker’s dozen dozen
Before nine o’clock,
Over-easy, over-hard,
Scrambled, poached,
Sunnyside, omelets,
Ten plates in the dock,
Four frying pans—life
Has no time to intrude
On such high-volume
Breakfast at Joe’s;
Three meals at once,
Brush the pan with butter,
Crack ‘em, flip ‘em,
Slide ‘em on the plate
With homefries dusted
By paprika, and toast
Popping up and going down.
On the mat
Two land yokes up,
Slide between the slats,
Boss sidles over: pay
Attention, he says,
Try to be the best cook
Breakfast ever saw.



Tragicomedy in Three Stanzas


the queen of feeling
& the king of thinking
& the prince of doing
saw the princess die—

sensible knaves wept
& knave-wives pulled their hair out
while the country
petted its pedigree dogs

the queen of sorrow
and the king of mourning
and the prince of grief
took theirs for a walk



VIP Envy


I wish I could be a billionaire’s friend,
Pose for shots with the caretaker natives
And test my mettle on the tradewinds
Out beyond the turquoise shallows
In a cherry billionaire’s boat with a billion
Horsepower personality, and a big smile,
A smile that can chew up its own tracks
As he and I motor out among the kingfish
And tiger sharks, out where the current
Carries news of submerged civilizations;
Oh my God, to have such a windswept
Friend, owner of islands where the sand
Per cup costs a million dollars—copters
Of all sizes swoop in, hover, wait their turn
Unloading VIPs to hug on the helipad,
To share a drink and the chlorine clean
Of a hot-tub as the endless pirate sky
Settles on pink and purple and fishbone
Blue with my billionaire friend’s friends,
To relax and simply forget about the losers
And the crybaby bullseye saps waiting
To be bombed, the poor, uncool hordes,
Forget about them and just be happy
With your billionaire friends and think
About the boat you just gotta have
And the golf game you gotta work on
And all the awesome that money can buy
And be glad you got a billionaire friend;
Something to grab if it ever goes down.








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