Two Poems by Clive Donovan

The  Waiting  Room

The doctor says we called you in
To check your liver, blood, cholesterol.
Perhaps your thyroid got flagged up?
Are you listless? Are you tired?
Computer’s down so can’t be sure,
But how about Viagra do you need some?
Well last time I checked it was o.k.
How about you take that white coat off and let me try?

I’m afraid my fuddled mind has got a mite enflamed
Looking at the pictures in Glamour Magazine.
The panels of the waiting room are tacked-up full
With illness suggestions you could contract.
I flick the chalky pages some more.
I can feel those sticky collective germs on my skin.
Please call my name and make it soon.
These walls are closing in.


There is a moth lives in my house.
I meet it in the stairwell sometimes;
Medium/small/black, not the most attractive
As it lumbers about the air
Like an oaf, out of element, clambering and clumsy.
It doesn’t dodge from me like a fly would
Or a mosquito, which I’d kill if I could
{Not being a buddhist}, so I let this little bugger
Of a triangle survive and live and trust
It doesn’t try with grubs
To inject my afghani rugs and curtains
And sincerely wants to settle down and squat a while
And hibernate because I have actually
Started to berate sister moth when we meet
And after all that bobbing dodge and weave and curtsey
Just ain’t safe for either of us,
What with the wobbly banisters.


Clive Donovan devotes himself full-time to poetry and has been published in a wide variety of magazines including The Journal, Agenda, Acumen, Poetry Salzburg Review, Prole, Stand and The Transnational. He lives in the creative atmosphere of Totnes in Devon, U.K. often walking along the River Dart for inspiration. He is hoping to entice a publisher to print a first collection.

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