Poems by Rhys Hughes
BERMUDA LOVE TRIANGLE
Our aeroplane
vanished one day into the void
without an explanation.
We were flying towards Bermuda
to attend a birthday celebration
but we never arrived.
Your ship disappeared
one afternoon while sailing slowly
north of Puerto Rico.
You were afeared it had sunk
to the bottom of the sea
in some unholy catastrophe
but it hadn’t.
And as for the submarine
cruising east from the Bahamas:
the crew were wearing pyjamas
when it mysteriously
passed out of this world
and entered a realm like a dream.
In a higher dimension
these three vehicles materialised.
Without our consent
they fell in love and began an affair:
an aeroplane snatched from the air
in a relationship
with a sailing ship
and a submarine involved with both.
What a complicated situation!
So many emotions entangled…
I almost feel strangled
by the melodrama
of the Bermuda love triangle.
THE FROTHIEST COFFEE
The frothiest coffee that ever there was
swung from a tether, for certain
because
it was the frothiest coffee
that ever could be
in history
apart from the brew
made frothy by you
for the numberless Counts of Ballyhoo,
all of whom despise tea.
But why did it swing from a tether?
I sigh when I’m asked
that question
and not for the reason
that it’s the
wrong season for asking it. Oh no!
I sigh because
sighs are wise and I’m
a kind of owl
with a reputation to uphold.
What kind of owl exactly?
A coffee loving owl.
I spoon the ground beans into a barrel
with a trowel
and then I add the boiling milk
and I whisk it
vigorously until my soul seems to sink
and cavort among
the bubbles of the wondrous foam
that turns this hovel
into a proper home, as only the frothiest
coffee can.
I hope you understand?
And now I ought
to say something more about
the Counts of Ballyhoo, who as you know
were enemies of tea,
and the youngest scion of that House
was Freddy Fiddledee
and he once decided to embark
on an epic journey in a wooden ark
because ‘motorcycle’
doesn’t rhyme with ‘embark’
at least not at this particular time.
And his mission was
to find out for certain if there really was no
blend of tea he might enjoy,
black or milky or lemony,
in cups or mugs on the decks of tugs despite
his renowned family’s
aversion to that brew: he wondered if there
might be something new
that the world could offer him:
a change from the inevitable coffees he knew
too well, hot as hell,
but there wasn’t.
Too bad! His voyage was a waste.
Let’s not be hasty
and think the poem is at an end.
There are two more lines to go:
this one and
the next one.
Rhys Hughes has lived in many countries. He graduated as an engineer but currently works as a tutor of mathematics. Since his first book was published in 1995 he has had fifty other books published and his work has been translated into ten languages.
.
PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles
Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Kindle Amazon International
Borderless 