Empty wine glass
Stale pizza
Cold naked toes
Sun left me lightless

Fridge is road-trip distance
Further to the sock drawer
Light switch is moons away
Remote earns its name

Where is my alacrity,
my willingness,
my zeal?

I’ve misplaced all my fervour,
ardour,
gusto,
warmth,
and spark

My promptness
and avidity
are now in
blue lividity

No relish,
bright celerity,
or genial rapidity

Just me
and stale pizza
--lamenting

Gone too soon
My lost sparkle

Woke within a dream,
amidst dense forest.

a tree stood,
older than time,
casting its shadow.

a touch of it,
showed all it had lived—
bloodied sword clash,
clouds that wept for years,
flora it wore,
wildflowers it shielded,
the warmth it once kissed.

yet it stood still.
as I faded,
back into the dream.

Write what I know?  I am pocked with
chunks of broken moments.
Bits fall to the ground, trip me.
The terrain of my youth is a
moonscape.  I know what I know in
the craters of this place.

Born on the darkside and thirsty, I was
cold.  I found the sun later when I
was tumbled out the door of my
Mother’s leaking house.  Her screams
had become tentacles of maniacal
music.  Or do not call it music for
if you heard it you would not dance.

I am old now.  The view from my landing
is filled with sunlight and children,
“There are children in the leaves,
laughing excitedly”.   (Eliot)
I am paused in this imagination on
occasion.

When she is quiet,
I sweep her under the porch
where she lies drunk and unlaughing.
I do not let her out.  Yet she
steers me.  Her corpse loud
in her ***** nightdress.  

The terrain of my old age is pitted
with the debris of this haunting.  She
unsings me, makes me lie in
craters from which I climb up
daily only to tumble back down,
to have to begin again
from the bottom each new **** day.

But I sing as I crawl. And
she does not like the sound of that

Caroline Shank

I've just noticed, 
as I looked up from writing poetry,
A magpie purchased on the high back 
of one of my outdoor setees, 
Staring smack at me 
as I sculpt words.
Fixed, it holds itself still, measured.
Scheming its next swoop;
Taking in my features, 
I was a moving target.

Always Here

for you my love.  I said
that last humid afternoon.  The
melt of love dripped,

refused to release
into rivers, steamy and
loud. The birðs

squacked
inside the black
cage,

as if they were prepared.

Love never lasts
in my yellow
world.

It is always  in Shakespeare

that tomorrow
accompanies
the winding down of
a love affair.

True north
is

Rarely ever

True


Caroline Shank
April 30, 2025

My doctor wanted to give me the results of a blood test so asked me to come down
As I sat there listening to him meandering on about cholesterol, blood pressure, vitamin deficiencies
I got fed up and cut in on him suddenly
"Look Doc don't sugarcoat it, how long have I got ?"
He said "What do you mean, you're still in pretty good shape, you have a few things you gotta watch...
Again I cut in on him "I appreciate you're trying to break it to me easy Doc
But y'know I don't mind, as long as I...as long as I just get some nice big fancy disease with a big fancy name on it
Not one of those ould common garden type diseases that everyone gets
Something that'd make them all jealous envious
They'd all be looking at their own boring little diseases saying
"I wish I had a disease like his, with a big fancy name on it
Not this ordinary little disease that I've got
They'd be all looking over thinking
He must be a very special type of guy to have gotten such a big fancy disease like that...

The ****** of a doctor, he went and charged me 60 Euros
Now... now that hurt.