The victory of the Legs

I am a haphazard creature

I exercise some days;

Some days a walk

Some days an almost jog

Some days hiding out at home – pretending weights

This day I amble along quite rapidly

A bit faster than my normal speed.

Hill Number 1 is done quite well

Three more of the buggers to go

‘Have a jog’ my brain suggests

All the other parts concur

I huff and puff and pant away

My back it is complaining

My feet are thudding – it can’t be good

The knees are the only ones happy with the jog.

‘That worked well’ – I say to them, trying to inspire them

‘Let’s go again – I’m feeling fine.’

Still puffing up Number 2

‘Such a liar’ my brain replies.

As we reach the top.

My brain – it can’t tell me what to do so

I huff and puff and pant away – down the other side

My back it is a aching

My feet are thudding – it can’t be good

But my knees are not yet complaining

Then to my complete surprise

My legs start moving faster

‘Stretch it out’ they seem to yell to me

My lungs start arguing with thee

‘You stupid legs, we can’t keep up, we’re stopping now’

‘Oh no you’re not!’

The legs win for a few more meters

The distance flies beneath me

Then the lungs win out and take me back

The momentum stops.

As do I.

I am now somewhere far away

From the top of Hill Number 2

And my brain is secretly quite pleased

With my legs little victory.

The silent child

He sits in the middle

And doesn’t say a word

A shrug – his answer to every question.

He sits in the middle

And hides from the world

Slumped shoulders – not wishing to be seen.

He sits in the middle

No life signs from this one

Just let him go – no one wishes to to know.

He is the silent child

Flying so far under the radar

Do not see him – his eyes beg today.

In a rickety old chair

This photo draws me in

It is not one of beauty

A woman sits contemplating

Maybe she is just exhausted

Or maybe she seeks to hide

In the mist on her Indian hill side

The mist hints of beauties

I cannot yet hope to explore

Of hidden towns and creatures

Of treasures yet to find

Yet the woman sits contemplating

In a rickety old chair

And the foreground of dirt

Makes me think of plain old life

There is no richness of money

There is no perfection here

There is just a woman

Dirt, grass and mist

In a rickety old chair

Thanks to Sarah Coultis for the photo – I really do love this photo 🙂

The thing with Tarot

You see the thing with Tarot

Is you always have to ask

The right question

Or you’ll get

The wrong answer

Tarot is a clever spirit

She does not like the flippant

She will not tell you the winner

Of any reality TV show

Tarot is deep and meaningful

She really does like the serious

So when you ask something important

She’ll answer with what you need to hear.

For those of you who are interested – a great Tarot reader is Liz of Intuitive Insight. She really does very good readings.


What a busy highway

This tree is

The tracks are never ending

Seamlessly they merge

Into one chaotic mess

Up and down

This way and that

What busy lives

The creatures of this tree


The old man

Stooped and still

Fishing the lake

The old man never moves

Day in

Day out

Rain, storms or shine

The old man never moves

One day – perhaps

He’ll succumb to the stoop

And drop into the waters beside

But I hope the old man

Has many years yet

Of fishing and stillness to go


I lie in bed waiting

Waiting to get the time

To go for a jog, a run, a walk

But instead I lie in bed.

The weather will be hotter later

I’ll walk this afternoon

Get your backside up and shoes on

I’ll do something around noon.

I’ll use the exercise bike

I’d actually rather row

There are some weights out there waiting

Pity that machine is broken.

One of these days I’ll stop making excuses

And actually get ready to go

Oh that’s today, I sit here in exercise clothes

Writing poetry instead – you know.

© KJ Eastwick 2019

The Sentinel

Standing high

Standing strong


Withstanding the test of time

Probably should have

I started to exercise today – I truly did

I tried to put on my runners – they ran away

I tried for my sports bra – the stitching undid

I tried for the pants – the stitching unraveled

I now have a skirt.

I probably should have if I could have

Exercised prior to this

Ancient Ships

Once sailed across the ancient seas

Grand ships of iron flew

Here and there

These majestic ships blew

Roll on the decades

Roll on the years

Ships of iron


Defeated by waves

Defeated by fiery shores

Now filled with granite

Sunk down below

Decades past

Years roll by

Eons later

Those ships become the shore

Released by waves

Released by storms

No more grandeur

A rusty hull visible once more