• Further Reading
    • About My Poetry Blog

Bob Findlay Poetry

~ Poetry from Tasmania

Bob Findlay Poetry

Monthly Archives: March 2017

Perfectly Hiding

20 Monday Mar 2017

Posted by Bob Findlay in Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Hiding

Not enough time has gone by
Since you treated me badly.
But I can’t write a breakup poem
For it would bore you.

I have met nobody else
Nor am I looking.
Perhaps if somebody knocked on my door
I might consider a friendship.

Innocence is gone.
Lack of resposibility went with it.
I am no longer living somebody elses life
I am living my own.

All of a sudden I woke up an adult.
It totally sideswiped me
But do I have to take it seriously?
That is totally my decision.

Who was I once?
Why & what am I holding back?
I guess the laughter in love went away.
Maybe I’m still heartbroken. I doubt it.

The more successful you become
The smaller your life becomes.
How can people enjoy me
If I’m living a small, mad life?

Having said this
I would rather be around people
Who will say “No” to me.
Rather than mindlessly agree with me.

When the pressure is on
There’s further to fall.
Where have I gone?
I am perfectly hiding.

So Far Away

20 Monday Mar 2017

Posted by Bob Findlay in Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Aeroplane

I knew it wouldn’t be for long
But she’s so far away.
She’ll be back soon.
Not soon enough.

It has made me incredibly sad.
I can’t see her.
Hear her.
Even read her.

My only solace
Is knowing that
She is enjoying herself
& is in good company

It has only been a few days
But the nights have been long.
I miss our daily chats
More than I think she is aware.

Burning Toast

20 Monday Mar 2017

Posted by Bob Findlay in Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Toast

Talking walls.
There was a fine thing.
When they started talking
An all in brawl ensued.

I was straight out the talking door
Only to remember I left the toaster on.
I tried to get back in
But the doorknob broke.

I was trapped!
“Trapped!” I yelled to nobody.
Hang on. How could I be trapped
When I was outside?

I barged my way inside to rescue my toast
The housse was ablaze
How could it be?
The talking walls were made of brick

But the talking walls were cunning.
They rubbed themselves together around the toaster
To set it ablaze.
This in turn set the curtains & ceiling on fire.

I rescued my toast with barely a crumb to spare.
I rushed back outside with my toast and ate it.
“Well done, toast,” I said
Because it was indeed well done.

My Wandering Mind

19 Sunday Mar 2017

Posted by Bob Findlay in Poetry

≈ 1 Comment

Bob 50th

My father woke me up one morning
At 3am
He said, “I’ve never shot a tiger
And had to tell someone.”

The very next morning at 3am
My neighbour knocked on my door.
He was naked and asked,
“Do you know where there’s a good tailor?”

What would a small child rather hear?
A boring truth or an exciting lie?
Where does the darkness go
When you switch the light on?

I carry 3 pens in my jacket pocket.
People ask me if it’s excessive.
I agree with them.
“I’d like to buy 3 excessive pens please.”

I get ignored by my own echo.
What’s around the corner except more corners?
My sister has an extra-century perception.
Ask a stupid question, you’ll get a stupid answer.

I’m not particularly literate.
I come from a working class family.
Perhaps I should get to the bottom of this.
It appears that I have got to the bottom of this.

The Day Chuck Berry Died

18 Saturday Mar 2017

Posted by Bob Findlay in Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Chuck Berry

I remember the day that Chuck Berry died.
It was a in March.
I was writing at the time
But was jolted back to reality

By the news that Chuck Berry had died.
I didn’t cry. I was too numb.
It didn’t seem real that he could be dead.
He was 90 years old and recording a new album.

Chuck bought rock & roll to the white man.

And with it he bought his cheeky showmanship.
He was one of the first musicians
To be inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of fame

And rightly so.

His hits are too many to mention here
But we all know them.
It still hasnt registered that he’s gone
One day it will sink in

Chuck may be gone but his music will always be around.

The Secret Affair

18 Saturday Mar 2017

Posted by Bob Findlay in Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Roses

I never believed in first sight
Until I saw her.
I was floored
And had to really try not to stare.

Within 3 days
We knew everything about each other.
Little did I know
That she thought the same about me.

The inevitable happened.
We had an affair.
It continues to this day
Under the guise of ‘shopping.’

She visits me for hours
Sometimes twice a week.
We laugh and love
For hours on end.

We know that it has to end some time

But not now.

You Are A Ghost

18 Saturday Mar 2017

Posted by Bob Findlay in Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Ghost

We were married once
Many moons ago.
We agreed to remain friends
And we did.

Our children have left home
And you have changed.
You don’t answer my calls
While conversation seems an effort to you.

It took FOUR YEARS for you
To turn up unannounced
On one of your rare visits
Only wielding divorce papers.

You have not set foot in my house
For well over two years now.
Am I going to bite you?
Or do some evil deed?

I refuse to visit you.
You are a loose cannon
And I refuse to walk into your uncertainty.
You could be smiling or snarling.

Life is too short for such pettiness

You have become a ghost.
I don’t see you or think of you.
You have vanished
And I didn’t even feel a thing.

A Shooting Star

17 Friday Mar 2017

Posted by Bob Findlay in Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Shooting Star

I was sitting on my veranda.
It was 3am.
I was having a cigarette
Egulfed in the silence.

My eyes broke the silence
When I saw a shooting star.
My mind shattered the silence
When I started to think about it.

It came out of nowhere
And burned so brightly
As it made its way across the sky.
My mind began racing.

We are all but shooting stars.
Starting this world from nowhere
Then burning brightly
Before fading away.

Some of us burn brightly.
Some of us are barely seen.
Then there are those who don’t get noticed.
Some burn so brightly they light up the sky.

My shooting star went quietly on its way

By the time I had finished my cigarette
The shooting star had burnt out.
Leaving nothing in its trail.
Aren’t we all some type of shooting star?

Don’t we all fade away?

People Passing By

17 Friday Mar 2017

Posted by Bob Findlay in Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

People

I watch people pass me by.
They just seem to come out of nowhere sometimes
And just pass me right on by.
Where does this leave me?

Sometimes they leave me wondering.
Who are these people?
Where are they going?
Where have they been?

Sometimes they have no effect on me at all
I care so little about them
That they may as well be invisible.
Sometimes I wish they were.

Life Without You

14 Tuesday Mar 2017

Posted by Bob Findlay in Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Dedicated to Dolly Dresden

Rose

Without you there would be no unbreakable bond.
Without you there would be no laughter.
Without you there would be no undying support.
Without you there would be no love.

Without you my life would be a void.
A bottomless pit of nothing.
Without you there would be no colour
To be seen by these world weary eyes.

Without you there would be no ‘us.’
Without you there would be no ‘we.’
Were I to tell you of my life without you
You would fall down and cry out loud.

← Older posts
Bob Findlay

Bob Findlay

Scots-born, father of two now residing in Tasmania. Author, poet, musician, app developer and blogger. Retired State Registered Nurse.

View Full Profile →

Pages

  • Further Reading
    • About My Poetry Blog

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Blog Stats

  • 3,315 hits

Facebook Literature

Facebook Literature

Recent Posts

  • Turn The Page February 17, 2019
  • Positive and Negative. YOU Choose January 27, 2019
  • His Anxiety January 20, 2018
  • Restless January 18, 2018
  • Headache January 16, 2018
  • Casualty Of War January 7, 2018
  • Daydreaming January 6, 2018
  • The Regimented Heathens July 11, 2017
  • Time? April 14, 2017
  • Bigger Than Love April 9, 2017
  • Weighing Up April 8, 2017
  • Overly Familiar April 8, 2017
  • The Irritant April 8, 2017
  • He April 3, 2017
  • Perfectly Hiding March 20, 2017
  • So Far Away March 20, 2017
  • Burning Toast March 20, 2017
  • My Wandering Mind March 19, 2017
  • The Day Chuck Berry Died March 18, 2017
  • The Secret Affair March 18, 2017
  • You Are A Ghost March 18, 2017
  • A Shooting Star March 17, 2017
  • People Passing By March 17, 2017
  • Life Without You March 14, 2017
  • A Walk With Satan March 12, 2017
  • I Knew It Would End March 12, 2017
  • The Wee Pixie March 6, 2017
  • Her Dream March 5, 2017
  • Drinking And Accountability March 4, 2017
  • All About You March 4, 2017
  • The Solitary Actor March 2, 2017
  • Dealing With Enemies March 2, 2017
  • Friends And Enemies February 28, 2017
  • Writing And The Shakes February 28, 2017
  • Lost Babies February 26, 2017

Recent Comments

Nanny F Baker on Positive and Negative. YOU…
Tanja Stojanovski on Overly Familiar
nannyfairybaker on Daydreaming
nannyfairybaker on Casualty Of War
Acompanhantes de lux… on I Thought
nannyfairybaker on The Regimented Heathens
fordexcursionforum.c… on The Irritant
Gary Gillam on Overly Familiar
Kas Kas on My Wandering Mind
Bob Findlay on Friends And Enemies

RSS Bob Findlay Thoughts

  • Ode To A Nobody
  • His Headaches
  • Car Trouble
  • Gospith The Vampire (sort of).
  • Stalemate

Archives

  • February 2019
  • January 2019
  • January 2018
  • July 2017
  • April 2017
  • March 2017
  • February 2017
  • January 2017
  • December 2016
  • November 2016
  • October 2016
  • September 2016
  • August 2016
  • July 2016
  • June 2016
  • May 2016
  • March 2016
  • February 2016
  • January 2016
  • December 2015
  • November 2015

Category Cloud

abstract Addiction anxiety Comedy Generousity Hell Money Murder nature peace People Poetry psychology Uncategorized violence

Tags

abstract addiction afternoon alcohol alcoholic alcoholicm alcoholism antagonism anxiety arts beauty bed bipolar blame Bob Dylan bordello boyfriend butterfly cancer car chaos comedy complaining concersation Creativity David Bowie death decay deception demanding divorce donating dreams drugs drunk fame friendship girlfriend giving gossip greed hell heroin history humour image imagination injustice innocence inspiration killer lies life lifestyle Lithium lizard love Mafia mania mechanics medication mental illness mindset mistletoe money motivation murder music musician nature night peace people perspective poetic form poetry poets politics psychology rain relationships renegade repercussions romance rude Satan schrizophenia Scotland selfish sleep somewhere strangling thought tree useless valium victimless violence weird writing

Blog at WordPress.com.

Cancel
Privacy & Cookies: This site uses cookies. By continuing to use this website, you agree to their use.
To find out more, including how to control cookies, see here: Cookie Policy