RHYS HUGHES

Armchair Poem

I am tired and so are my arms.

I long to sit down

before my legs come to harm.

But there’s only

one chair in my room

and it’s an armchair. So unfair!

My arms are happy, they can relax.

But the rest of my body

is forced to stand.

I don’t understand the popularity

of armchairs. I glare

in fury at my upper limbs.

If I was in charge

I would ban armchairs

and compel furniture factories

to change their ways

and make body chairs instead—

seats for the torso,

pelvis, legs, feet and head.

Do Not Go Gentle

Do not go gentle,

abominable snowman,

because the snow

won’t know

that you are a hairy,

heavy, feisty

cryptozoological beastie

if you tread too

softly.

And here’s another thing:

you remind me

of Dylan Thomas, honest.

Even though

you are five metres high

and covered

in white fur and don’t write

poetry very often.

Maybe it’s because you like

drinking beer?

Do not go gentle

on those mountain slopes.

Inspire fear,

annihilate hopes.

You have carte blanche

to chew explorers’ ropes

and stamp down

gradients like an avalanche.

Rhys Hughes was born in Wales but has lived in many different countries and currently resides in India. He began writing fiction at an early age and his first book, Worming the Harpy, was published in 1995. Since that time he has published more than forty other books. He recently completed an ambitious project that involved writing exactly 1000 linked narratives. He is currently working on a collection of crime fiction stories called The Reconstruction Club and a novel about a deluded student called The Hippy Quixote. He also writes poems and plays.