—Poetry by Ian Copestick, Stoke-on-Trent, England
—Photos Courtesy of Public Domain
SUMMERTIME?
It's the fifth of June
I've been waiting all
year for this!!
May was really nice,
but as soon
as it became June,
the weather turned
awful.
It's not like there's
snow, or anything.
It's just overcast,
windy, and with
occasional showers.
But not what you
want from summer
anyway.
Especially after going
through what feels like
a nine-months-long
winter.
But living in the U.K.
or Great Britain, or
just England, I don't know;
you are used to nine
months of winter.
A few weeks of spring,
a couple of weeks of
summer, another few
weeks of beautiful autumn.
Then another long, long
winter.
In fact, if you look at
our recent history,
all the times of social
uprising and riotous
behaviour have been
when we've had
heatwaves.
The British temperament
goes along with the British
temperature.
It's the fifth of June
I've been waiting all
year for this!!
May was really nice,
but as soon
as it became June,
the weather turned
awful.
It's not like there's
snow, or anything.
It's just overcast,
windy, and with
occasional showers.
But not what you
want from summer
anyway.
Especially after going
through what feels like
a nine-months-long
winter.
But living in the U.K.
or Great Britain, or
just England, I don't know;
you are used to nine
months of winter.
A few weeks of spring,
a couple of weeks of
summer, another few
weeks of beautiful autumn.
Then another long, long
winter.
In fact, if you look at
our recent history,
all the times of social
uprising and riotous
behaviour have been
when we've had
heatwaves.
The British temperament
goes along with the British
temperature.
THE HOOTING OWL
It's 12:30 a.m.
and I sit here,
finishing my
last drink, before
I turn the lights
off, and try to
sleep, I can hear
an owl.
Well, I think it's
an owl twitt-
toowooing. I'm
not sure, I'm not
any kind of twitcher,
or ornithologist.
All I know is what
I've seen on TV.
But, it sounds like
an owl to me.
I shouldn't be
surprised, since I
moved back into
the country, I hear
birdsong every single
morning, which I love.
I also hear horses, cows,
cats, God knows what
else.
At times I love it.
At times it makes
me want to kill them
all.
It depends on how well I've
slept, usually.
It's 12:30 a.m.
and I sit here,
finishing my
last drink, before
I turn the lights
off, and try to
sleep, I can hear
an owl.
Well, I think it's
an owl twitt-
toowooing. I'm
not sure, I'm not
any kind of twitcher,
or ornithologist.
All I know is what
I've seen on TV.
But, it sounds like
an owl to me.
I shouldn't be
surprised, since I
moved back into
the country, I hear
birdsong every single
morning, which I love.
I also hear horses, cows,
cats, God knows what
else.
At times I love it.
At times it makes
me want to kill them
all.
It depends on how well I've
slept, usually.
I KNOW THAT I KNOW NOTHING
I sit here, on top of 48 years. I get sick
of myself, so God knows how other people
may feel. Sometimes it seems like I
have been here forever, at other times
I feel just like a child.
But, at least I know that I know
nothing. That is the only way
that wisdom comes.
Are the philosophers the ones
to take notice of? I don't know, but
nobody, nowadays, knows who they are.
People get their opinions from
tabloid newspapers, and dumbed-down
TV. If Buddha, Jesus, or Allah arrived
on Earth today, no one would even notice.
Or as Jack Kerouac once said, "If Jesus
tried to walk across modern-day America,
he'd be arrested outside
Altoona, Pennsylvania."
I sit here, on top of 48 years. I get sick
of myself, so God knows how other people
may feel. Sometimes it seems like I
have been here forever, at other times
I feel just like a child.
But, at least I know that I know
nothing. That is the only way
that wisdom comes.
Are the philosophers the ones
to take notice of? I don't know, but
nobody, nowadays, knows who they are.
People get their opinions from
tabloid newspapers, and dumbed-down
TV. If Buddha, Jesus, or Allah arrived
on Earth today, no one would even notice.
Or as Jack Kerouac once said, "If Jesus
tried to walk across modern-day America,
he'd be arrested outside
Altoona, Pennsylvania."
BUT, SHE WASN’T THERE
I was
thinking
to myself,
earlier
today, and
it occurred
to me, or
perhaps I
should say
that I finally
realised that,
since my wife
died, I've never
been truly happy.
I may have had
moments of
joy, here, and
there, but the
last time that I
remember being
truly happy, was
the night that she
was taken into
hospital.
That may sound
strange, but, at
the time,
I thought ;
"At last, she's going
to get the proper
treatment
she deserves."
With her
decline being
in the middle
of the Pandemic,
she hadn't
been able to
see a Doctor
for months.
So, when her
strength finally
gave out, and
the poor, poor
woman couldn't
get up anymore,
I was happy.
I thought,
"At least, now,
she'll be looked
after properly."
Unfortunately, it
was too late.
Within 36 hours
of her being
admitted into
Hospital, she died.
I don't think
that I have
ever really
been happy
since.
I've felt the
odd flash
of wellbeing,
but I know
for sure, I've
never again
known real
happiness.
When something
good happens,
like my second
book being
accepted for
publication, my
first thought
was of telling Karen,
and how
proud she
would have been.
But, she wasn't there.
When something
awful happens,
when my Dad
passed away
from cancer, the
first person I
wanted to turn to
for comfort was
Karen.
But, she wasn't there.
If you've never
been through it,
I don't think you
can possibly
understand just how
strange it feels when
the person whom you
talk first to about
everything, your best
friend, your lover, your
soulmate isn't there
anymore.
I hope you never have to
go through it,
but the odds are that you will.
I was
thinking
to myself,
earlier
today, and
it occurred
to me, or
perhaps I
should say
that I finally
realised that,
since my wife
died, I've never
been truly happy.
I may have had
moments of
joy, here, and
there, but the
last time that I
remember being
truly happy, was
the night that she
was taken into
hospital.
That may sound
strange, but, at
the time,
I thought ;
"At last, she's going
to get the proper
treatment
she deserves."
With her
decline being
in the middle
of the Pandemic,
she hadn't
been able to
see a Doctor
for months.
So, when her
strength finally
gave out, and
the poor, poor
woman couldn't
get up anymore,
I was happy.
I thought,
"At least, now,
she'll be looked
after properly."
Unfortunately, it
was too late.
Within 36 hours
of her being
admitted into
Hospital, she died.
I don't think
that I have
ever really
been happy
since.
I've felt the
odd flash
of wellbeing,
but I know
for sure, I've
never again
known real
happiness.
When something
good happens,
like my second
book being
accepted for
publication, my
first thought
was of telling Karen,
and how
proud she
would have been.
But, she wasn't there.
When something
awful happens,
when my Dad
passed away
from cancer, the
first person I
wanted to turn to
for comfort was
Karen.
But, she wasn't there.
If you've never
been through it,
I don't think you
can possibly
understand just how
strange it feels when
the person whom you
talk first to about
everything, your best
friend, your lover, your
soulmate isn't there
anymore.
I hope you never have to
go through it,
but the odds are that you will.
A NOSTALGIC NIGHT
A nostalgic night.
Looking back at
some of my old
poems that have
been published a
long, long time ago.
Well, 3 or 4 years
ago.
It feels like a long
time to me.
I can't even recall
writing more than
a few of them.
I've always preferred
writing when I've had
a few.
Alcohol has usually
been my muse, but
that makes it a lot
more pleasurable
to come across a
poem that I don't
remember writing,
and to think to myself,
"That's pretty fucking
good."
At these times, I think
I may be a better poet
than I thought I was,
and my ego, it grows.
But, there's plenty of
shit there too.
In my loftier moments,
I see them as the
fertiliser to feed the
roses.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
“The owl,” he was saying, “is one of the most curious creatures. A bird that stays awake when the rest of the world sleeps. They can see in the dark. I find that so interesting, to be mired in reality when the rest of the world is dreaming. What does he see and what does he know that the rest of the world is missing?”
—M.J. Rose, Seduction
_____________________
—Medusa, with thanks and welcome back to British SnakePal Ian Copestick for his introspective poetry today!
A nostalgic night.
Looking back at
some of my old
poems that have
been published a
long, long time ago.
Well, 3 or 4 years
ago.
It feels like a long
time to me.
I can't even recall
writing more than
a few of them.
I've always preferred
writing when I've had
a few.
Alcohol has usually
been my muse, but
that makes it a lot
more pleasurable
to come across a
poem that I don't
remember writing,
and to think to myself,
"That's pretty fucking
good."
At these times, I think
I may be a better poet
than I thought I was,
and my ego, it grows.
But, there's plenty of
shit there too.
In my loftier moments,
I see them as the
fertiliser to feed the
roses.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
“The owl,” he was saying, “is one of the most curious creatures. A bird that stays awake when the rest of the world sleeps. They can see in the dark. I find that so interesting, to be mired in reality when the rest of the world is dreaming. What does he see and what does he know that the rest of the world is missing?”
—M.J. Rose, Seduction
_____________________
—Medusa, with thanks and welcome back to British SnakePal Ian Copestick for his introspective poetry today!
For upcoming poetry events in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
in the links at the top of this page.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
in the links at the top of this page.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
