I (sometimes) call myself Mr. Pondersome. I'm a rather wordy, weirdy person. I say hullo a lot. I write a lot more. While you're here, why not give some of it a read?

Thursday, 31 October 2019

SEASONALLY-AFFECTED (a.k.a. A Chilling Transition for Halloween and Autumn)

When he wakes up and it is dark outside, he knows it could happen. He feels it spread from his chilly toes, up his achy legs till it bursts in his chest which coughs and splutters accordingly. Sometimes it’s just a cold, a flu maybe, but he knows at this time of year that it could be so much more. The world-weariness of a full year now keeps him prostrate on the bed.
            Still he resists and moves, feeling the cold as he crosses his bedroom for the day’s clothes. He dresses quickly, avoiding touching skin against skin and the cold sensation that brings. He adds another layer of clothing and then another layer on top of that, just in case. When he is numb to the frost that has crept through his window overnight, he parts the curtains and raises the blinds. A grey lumpen sky fills his vision.
            After a perfunctory breakfast, he sets out. He sidesteps slugs and snails on his porch to get to sparkly frost patches on the long path to work. It is dark so he needs to be careful and watch out for anything that might come up.
            He keeps glancing skyward, not able to tell if the clouds have shifted position or even broken. The monotone of winter is particularly oppressive when it is still technically autumn. Nevertheless, the atmosphere isn’t quite cold enough yet for anything to fall. He does his best to enjoy the crispness of the air while keeping his hands covered and safely tucked away.
            On he goes, over vales and hills, along main roads with cars few and far between but speeding as if black ice weren’t a problem. When able, he takes side roads with few pedestrians crossing, shortcuts where he can still be alone. If he sees trees upcoming, he steers well-clear in case a sodden leaf should tumble down from the bush and take him by surprise. He knows he should wear a hat; it would certainly keep his ears warm but then he wouldn’t feel anything that might land on him. The very idea of pulling off a hat and feeling foreign moisture there is quite unsettling.
            He perseveres until his path finally ends and he stands in front of his work hut. He kicks his boots against the porch step just in case he has waded through any puddles without realising it, before pulling out his ring of keys. He tries the front door key but it will not turn, as if water has entered the lock and frozen overnight. With a little force, he manages it though the sudden action leaves him oddly light-headed. As he depresses the handle, he barely notices the tiniest touch to the back of his neck. It drips down and he knows that’s it. Snow has fallen on him at last.
            The door clatters open. Stepping inside, the warmth drains from his face. Embracing the cold, he becomes a part of it...

Saturday, 12 October 2019

TODAY AT A CAFE (a.k.a. A Nonfiction Experience from Actually a Few Weeks Ago Now)

The café was all black granite top tables with padded white stools and booths that were difficult to slide into from the eyesore diamond tile floor. Still, it was clean. As I approached the main counter, the man behind it spied me as I passed by an interior design topiary.
            “Hi there,” he began. “Today we have a special deal on curry and rice. You can buy the Jalfrezi, Tikka or Korma for just £6.”
            I nodded along as he showed me the contents of each steel container on the heated display. I looked back up and said, “Can I order a hot chocolate please?”
            He gave out a whiny little laugh but turned towards the steamer behind him. “Is that with whipped cream?”
            “Yes, please.”
            “That’ll be £2.80.”
            As I passed him a fiver, a skinny waiter with a fat yellow tie stopped beside me.
            “Bored,” he announced. The man behind the counter grinned in response. The waiter caught my eye. “And how are you today, sir?”
            “I am fine, thank you. How are you?”
            “I am well. As well as I can be working with this kidder over here.” He gestured at the man behind the counter as he handed me my change. They both giggled. “And what will you be doing after your drink, sir?”
            “Go home.”
            The waiter nodded. “Do you play computer games?”
            I hesitated. “Sometimes. Not as much these days.”
            “You look the intelligent sort. Would you say you’re intelligent?”
            I frowned but laughed it off. “That’s not really for me to say.”
            This was not the most comprehensive of answers. I waited for the interrogation to continue but then the waiter turned, apparently called over.
            “Sorry about that,” the man behind the counter said.
            “That’s all right,” I lied.
      I sat on the opposite side of the topiary, using it as a green leafy window to the only other customer in the building. She tucked into a panini, knife and fork tearing through the thick bread. Her eyes were damp and she had to stop a moment to wipe away the tears. The waiter appeared with fresh napkins for the table which he handed to her personally. Her wedding ring glistened in the light as she touched one of the stiff brown sheets to the corners of her eyes.
"Poor dear," the waiter muttered before moving off in the direction of distant clattering crockery.
I felt bad for looking at the woman so I stopped. Nevertheless, she watched me carefully until she finished her panini.
The man behind the counter came to bring the hot chocolate over to me himself. There was a small biscuit on the saucer. "No extra cost," he said with a smile before returning to his post.
I then took out my phone and lost myself in my emails. Halfway through my hot chocolate, I heard the waiter reappear at the counter.
“Bilal's got a chicken bone in his throat," he told the man.
"Is he choking?"
"Go see for yourself."
The man came out from behind his counter once again, this time in a definite rush. Barely a minute later a short woman with a beehive hairdo arrived to take his place.
"How are you today, sir?" she asked me. I gave her a thumbs up as I crunched my biscuit. 
Raising my phone again, I finished composing my last reply then emptied my cup. I left behind a small crumbly corner of the biscuit. In the meantime, the man had come back and he, the woman and the waiter were all busying themselves behind the counter, all getting in each other's way.
"Thank you," I said. None of them turned to me. A little flimsy wave and I was away, out of the door.
I'm afraid I didn't have the wherewithal to compose a thorough review at the time. Something tells me this here will suffice.

Thursday, 3 October 2019

I STOOD ON A HOLE AND OTHER ODD-DATED POEMS (a.k.a. Happy National Poetry Day!)


I stood on a hole

because I'm told
on the hole
everything is fine.
It all works out.

Except on this hole

the bottom fell out
and now
it's got me down...



Work out
Doors close:
close call.
Call cops,
cop out.
last night.
Night scares:
scares you.
You hand


Got some blossom gossamer,

bought some blossom gossamer
for those blossom-gossamer-loving

'Cos there is nothing awesome as

a big old blossom gossamer
atop that foursome's boss Amir's


the pillow slips

the duvet covers
the curtain rails
the carpet rolls
the bedside lights
the window blinds

a deal on sheets

and memory foams.


TIME is an envelope...TIME is not the card.

TIME is a curtain...TIME is not the art.
TIME is a coat...TIME is not the skin.
TIME is all without...TIME is not within.