Richard Pierce

Richard Pierce – author, poet, painter

Life, Poetry


These are dangerous connections
At any age. The eyes, the skinny fingers,
The prominent veins on hands,
The colour of the hair, a forest of
Forgetting and forgiving, of inviting
Indiscretion and promising no
Consequence, a vow of changing
A life-time of struggle and striving
For an ever-lasting madness of carefree
Fucking without the daily mundanes.
When mouths open, a breath’s whisper
Away from entanglement, the lies reveal.

R 05/03/2023 19:53

And, again, a reminder that this is just a poem, as much fiction as any novel.

This evening, instead of beating myself up about not editing Aggie, or thinking of other things I ought to be doing, I followed my sudden urge to pick up my snooker cue after not having used it for nigh on 20 years, and spent an hour at a snooker club just down the road knocking balls around a table on my own. I loved it, and it brought back some happy memories of when GT and I used to spend an inordinate amount of time in Jack’s club in Doncaster in the early Eighties when I was on the dole. Sign of a mis-spent youth….

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