Loss Of A Neighbour

I might move out today.
Got sick of the neighbours
And want my own space away from this lot
Who I didn't choose to live next to.

So off I go
Close the door and walk away.
For some reason they look a bit sad.
Don't know why, I always thought they didn't like me.

"He's sold up and gone love.  Apparently he's gone somewhere
He can be alone and that he'll better off away from here!
It'll seem odd without him and I always thought he was such a nice chap.
I hope he doesn't need to borrow a cup of sugar."

Me

Imagery, metaphor, abstract,
Overused.
Say what you mean.
Describe the reality.

What is the reality of me?
What am I like?
What has shaped me?

Yorkshire stone, solid, strong
But soft enough to weather,
To change, to age without
Changing too much.

Like my hills, not severe,
Dramatic but enough,
Enough to be alone.
To be part of busy but above it.

"Do you notice the views?"
Handsome for some, interesting
For a moment to others.
But always there as an escape.

Say what you mean.
Touch the stone,
Walk up the hill,
Look at the view.
That is me.

Generation Gone

It's dying, but there are still a few of them left.
The classy generation of manners and front.
Smart isn't an occasion it is just a state of being
Shirt, tie, blazer, frock; a second skin.

What do they see in the rest of us?
With our colours, our fashions, trainers and caps.
I wonder if they're intrigued, baffled, confused,
Or just entertained by a circus world of clowns.

Did the world start losing the plot when it took its tie off?
Are we less secure without a stiff upper lift and Sunday best?
Was it for the better when all was more plain, more simple?
Maybe they should convince us while there's still some of them left.

Sky Shed

I've been milked, milked dry.
Paid a heavy price.
Now I can become a cow.
My herd move steadily.

Seats for stalls,
Heads nodding,
Vending machine cud.

My ear's not tagged
But there's plenty of ways to i.d. this cow.

Open the gate and in we go to the seven hour shed.