Regrets, unlike wine,
don’t get better with age;
my regrets
stain my heart
and bring out
middle-aged rage;
constant disappointment
is my only appointment
in my defunct desk diary
I look at every day.

© Copyright D.Archer October 2011 

7 thoughts on “Calendar

  1. You know, the majority of poetry blogs that I stumble across here are total crap – let’s call them 80%. Then we have 15% of people who write the occasional really good piece (this is where I would group myself). But very rarely do I find someone who consistently produces good work. I have gotten to the point, however, where I cannot pass up clicking when I see the little bearded cartoon 🙂 I really enjoy your writing!

    • I am humbled. Thank you very much. You do know that I would gladly trade in the whole of my blogg for one kiss from from my ex wife. It is a shame that I find solace in poetry rather than in her arms. I do like comments it shows that there must be some form of connection. Thank you, Dave.

    • No. I have written everything since the 8th October……..good grief no. Unfortunately I have seventeen years of marriage behind me, boxes of post-it notes, fag packets and old envelopes to type up yet. Some stuff is recent but most is born out of regrets for the things I should have said. You are not my mum in disguise are you? not to blow my own trumpet but I can’t remember getting so many “likes”. Thanks anyway, Dave.

  2. That’s my Davey! Cat has been run over, don’t bother to bring your laundry, I will send you mine, and we have roadkill. Just the way you like it,

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