Author: Andrew Whalan
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A Gentle Remonstration
Afterwards you will see eventually, How you always took the initiative, Always applied the soothing palliative, Always first with the preemptive apology.
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You Lied to Me Love
You lied to me more than once love. You spilled me (when I wasn’t looking) from above, You told me that all and everything, Would centre upon me while unthinking Others would circle round me spinning Me all that I ever wanted without wishing. You lied to me more than once love. You killed me…
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Spiders in Space
Part of my domestic duties as a father involved spacing spiders. Not Daddy-Long-Legs. In time I learned they were harmless (they were a deterrent to other spiders). Like Jupiter and most comets. So left them to orbit just as they pleased
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Poetry is Dead? Again?
Poetry is dead. So? Yet another has spokenAn epitaph, leaving us to pick up the brokenHearts and forgotten thoughts of the living dead,Who scrabble for words after the scar has bled.As for me poetry haunts me almost constantly,Messaged words then phrases that incessantly,Resist my head persist in my heart as if beyondMe as if other…
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It’s all housework to me
She gave me that look. As if to say, what are you doing? At that moment my hands were elbow deep in the kitchen sink. Washing up.
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Why would you ever…
That is be paid and then played as a technical writer.Because the normal rules of project management and good manners simply do not apply as best addressed by the following three points… Magic Most people think we create documents by weaving gossamer out of nothing. We’re magicians. Which means many managers, stakeholder and subject matter…
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How the World Will (not) End
Woke at midnight to chopper beats Flying above, about, around, Backgrounded by rain in sheets, a wildly churning roaring sound. Outside now we saw the flow, The river has become the street. All humanity in retreat. Shelter in place—for all we know. Close the door, we’re safe for now; TV just home-shopping shows. And while…
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Catless
It’s been at least another fifty years, how many now, in truth, I’ve lost count. Nowadays each anniversary starts the same way. Someone gently shakes me awake. All becomes white. At their words, I nod in answer, although sometimes I shake my head just to be perverse. But it is all the same now. I…
Andrew James Whalan 