Mental Re-assignment

By Mahri Fleet

Time runs circles around us; one minute we’re laughing at the mad pics of the 30th birthday parties and (a few weeks later it seems) we’re crying at the approach of 39, 49, 59 and 80! Years fall like rain...is there magic involved? How can it all disappear like that? These poems are from the 40 barrier, as the manic images of what’s undone and what’s too late arise but there’s plenty of humour in the adventures of Mahri Fleet. Some of these poems make me laugh and I snigger at the stuff that falls out of my head – I’m sure my walls love the sound of my voice as I read aloud to myself, tasting the sound of words, feeling the gaps and hoping for magic as I drop off end lines onto unexpected turns in the tale (well I hope they’re unexpected), sometimes. The walls might be leaning closer to listen, but I don’t worry ‘cause I’m not claustrophobic.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mahri Fleet
• Release date: Jul 12, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301938605

Mahri Fleet

Mahri Fleet has been writing for over twenty years while hidden in the general workplace. Her cave has electricity and cable wifi. Sometimes there is a cat on holiday with her but mostly she talks to herself. These poems are evidence to the madness within. Lots of her work swims in the literary seas of small magazines.

Book preview

COUNTING

Dreaming-on-the-train flipped me

back and forth in time until

I recognised the young me still

inside. She found it hard to accept

the reflection in the window of this

old face, all dreamy, listening

to bluesy ballads, trying to hold

off death. A map in my head

is webbed with bubbles, inflated

speech of love. Stone steps stretch

back, mistakes lie broken, some

crumble into dust – memories

of lessons learned, paths paved

with iron treads. Now, I’ve reached

the top, settle the plateau, and

in a house of peace, tell tales.

Mental re-assignment lives here.

WHITE RABBIT

Late, scurrying

to catch time. It disappears

round corners, vanishing

then popping head or tail out

to urge me on, sniggering

in its need to see me fall

down one of those blasted tunnels

with no light at the end.

You didn’t take care,

control the stupid, the lazy eye

and they all escaped, scattered

through long grass, like men

in constant sorrow, singing soul.

My watch is fastened to my chest

says it’s half-past tomorrow.

It counts days, sings urgent songs,

rants about false smiles making

cloudy days threatening.

The fault lies in the deeds you did

not do and undone, these duties

lay bare visions of numbered days.

I have deadlines to keep.

Life is all magic this and evil