I’m neither happy
nor unhappy
that it is Friday –
I don’t mind at all;
but, I know,
that there are some
who have been waiting
for this day to arrive
since last Sunday night –
which is alright…
if you like Friday;
which I neither do,
nor don’t –
or so I say.
At 01:42
I am writing a poem.
For me?
For you?
I don’t really know
who I am writing it to,
or for.
Then I stopped.
As it was 01:42
no more.
I have two,
yes, ‘two’ gardens –
I am so blessed –
but, there is a distance between them,
and I have no rest,
as I go from one
to the other,
which is a round trip
of some forty-thousand miles or so –
and the climate’s not good
in either garden,
I have to grow frozen vegetables,
in the ice they harden;
well, at least they are ready
for the local farm shop –
to which place I stop
as I travel down:
Longyearbyen in Norway,
the nearest town,
or up to Ushuaia
in Argentina –
and you wonder why I wear a frown.
Every day is tomorrow,
until it becomes today,
and then quickly becomes yesterday.
A Haiku a day
is too much for some people –
by just one Haiku.
I have to admit,
that it’s a bit of a kerfuffle
getting to my garden;
there is a lot of hanging around,
waiting for a slot
on the Time Travellers’
Allotment Bus –
but, I’m not one
to make a fuss;
the journey is worth the wait;
and, I can also tell you,
that the Tower of Babel,
is definitely ‘not’ a fable.
In Zero Gravity,
no one can hear you scream,
as your secateurs float away,
and the herbs and vegetables
(that you so carefully planted)
disappear towards a distant galaxy
where the aliens shall feast upon them.
At the bottom of the sea,
there’s a deep-sea diver – me! –
with a trowel in my hand
(and a towel back on dry-land),
planting the seeds
in the soft sea-bed.
I’ve bought a little allotment,
an acre on the Moon,
peaceful, quiet (though the soil is none too good);
I haven’t actually been there,
I hope to get there soon.
“It’s so quiet here,
because we are all at home,
and our lives have changed.”
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