Pause For Poetry:
Michael Hawkes /37

All Dressed Up With Nowhere To Go

A poem by Michael Hawkes

December 16, 2021

My body leads the way,

Dictates the terms

And sets the pace.

Bound by its chains

Its stern commands,

I follow shamefaced in disgrace.

What once was mine

To do with as I pleased,

When I the master chose

Is in decline,

Sick and diseased

With many strictures to impose.

I find no pleasure in its posture

And taking pains to get some ease

I use it as a hanger for my clothes.

When suitably attired

Despite some minor stains

The damage hardly shows;

With well accoutred aches and pains,

I’m able to admire

The pleasant change it undergoes.

28/07/21 –  Hawkes

Feature image: Rene Böhmer on UnsplashBouton S'inscrire à l'infolettre –

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Michael Hawkes -

Michael Hawkes is an 80-year-old survivor of all the world’s wars. He learned (and loved to rhyme) by torturing the hymns he had to sing at school. A retired West Coast fisherman living in Montreal since 2013, he is an unschooled Grandpa Moses writing an average of five poems every week.

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