Nothing could be worse,                                                                                  Than some swiftly written verse,
Writ to break the cloudy mood of gloom.

It cannot change the fact,
That no matter how I act,
I’m still the only person in the room.

They say ‘enjoy the chance
To make a slow advance
On the to do list that has sat around for years’.

I could do with a good joke,
Or a cuddle with my bloke,
Don’t get me started, it’ll only end in tears.

Thank heavens for my dog.
Although I can’t go for a jog,
I can walk with her quite briskly up some hills.

There is comfort to be had,
By tapping along with Brad.
Both are keeping me from downing several pills.

I’m happy to help out,
So just give me a shout,
If you think there’s anything that I can do

To brighten up your day.
You only have to say
We’ll keep our distance, so we don’t both catch the flu.

© Kim Cunningham 20.03.2020


Lines of tiled roofs stretched glistening and grey against
the pitch-black chasms of streets and lanes;
and beyond stretch the stygian hills rising to tumbled skies.
Distantly a cock crowed, breaking the night’s stillness
like a bugle-call,
and soon a barely-audible chittering can be heard
under overhanging eaves.

A first faint line of grey limned the ragged line of distant pines on a hill as light breaks in upon the world,
sending shadows shooting across undulating lands, and the birds
begin to flutter and stir with a susurration of feathers.

A chimney thrust like a fist into the lightening sky;
a crow, bedraggled and grim, settled
and muttered hoarsely to itself.
And then more came, and more,
until the roofs and chimneys came
alive with their jostling shapes.

In the shadowed street a cat slunk home. Silently

Rog Pile