February 2, 2023


Writer's Showcase


3 min read

Something Beautiful

“god is a song half-heard in the street”


a yellow fog November evening
spent dipping skips for firewood –
while dragging home a kicked-in door,
floorboards and a busted bed

from somewhere down the fly-tip street
of cardboard window low-rent housing –
homes for single mums, and addicts
doing deals on shady corners

a harmonium led a choir of voices
praising an Eastern deity

I listened an eternity
(or so it seemed)
till the singing faded and
a honey silence settled

minutes later
a cluster of unknown
bearded men in long white robes,
bobble hats, and zip-up tops,
unchained bikes from rusted railings
and ghosted into winter gloom

something beautiful
had visited my street
breathed into it
and moved on


Copyright: Rick Summat  (? – 2020)




Jenny’s alarm clock stabs my attic
it’s 6:30 on a frost-fern window
Saturday morning
in coal-house January 73

I’m jerked awake cold, bleary
my teeth are crumbling.
the bandage on a septic sore
is leaking pus from a red line
from armpit to fingertip
others spread feet to groin

last month’s
last week’s
last night’s whizz
is fast eroding me

I need to get high
I need bombers
I need a smoke
I need coffee
I need Jenny gone
she mustn’t see me

Jenny peels from the bed
steps around bottles and ashtrays and
taking fresh clothes from an overnight case
meticulously dresses for work

she brushes her hair
a touch of make-up
checks her stockings are straight
and without turning to me
or kissing my cheek, says,

“this is it, Ricky, I’m not coming back.”

the door clicks shut
she creeps the stairs

I should have pleaded,
“don’t go – I’ll change.”

I saved my breath
she knew I wouldn’t change

I knew I couldn’t change
and simple words that alter lives
create lives and deny other lives
a chance of being
remained unsaid

I rooted in drawers for pills
swallowed a handful blind
crawled to the bed
and passed right out

Jenny crept in while
I was ‘out’
her clothes
her clock
her scented candles
statue of Buddha
and left her key behind
in the tear splashed envelope
of a ‘Goodbye Ricky’ note
I always intended to read

we were lovers before I knew how to love,
together for a spell but only a spell –
the Weaver of Lovers
buggered the timing –

winter streets were mean in 73
friends died like flies
day and night cut down
by cold
and high strength ‘brown’

I saw Jenny arm in arm
with her brand new fellah
boring bastard Peter

she could not see me
hawking blood
behind a boarded window

decades later we met again,
became pen pals
distanced by sickness
and circumstance

I wonder if she realised
I haloed her room with constant prayer
as she lay dying…

now she hovers off-stage
a soft glowing presence
in my life’s wings

when I step into the Brightness
and meet again face to face
angels will shower us
with petals of roses
and for the briefest moment
that will last forever

we will converse again.

Copyright: Rick Summat  (? – 2020)


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6 thoughts on “CHOICE#1 FOR MARCH 2022

  1. I have only just had the privilege of reading the two poems; and what comes through is the beautiful flowers growing out of the compost of a suffering life; and I feel that without the suffering the poems would just not be as strong. Here was a great talent for words – I believe now passed on’

    1. I’m glad you read and liked these, Dougie. In the last year of his life I had the privilege to be in daily email contact with Rick (CoolHermit) and most often we would be either swapping ideas for poems or showing one another our latest offerings. He, much more prolific than I, I might add. Quite possibly, I have a few of his poems that have never seen the light of day in my email files. I have refrained from actually searching up to now – mainly because I only know of one place where he was showing his work, and there may be others unknown to me, so such a search might really be pointless and have a false result.
      For most of that year he was re-writing older ‘pomes’ (as he called them) intending to write a new book. Before his passing, he had taken the remainder of undistributed/unsold books from his previously publishing, and went out distributing them through ‘posher perople’s’ letterboxes, from a small handcart: Here he is showing me his ‘trolly’

      showing me his cart

      He bought it especially for the purpose. Bless. him!

  2. Thanks Allen. I knew of Rick (Cool Hermit) only from his well-deserved reputation on UKA, before my time there. His is not a style that I could emulate; all the more reason to esteem him; and any more of his work would be well received I’m sure.


  3. Well, really beautiful poems I would say, really good rhyming scheme used especially in the second one, the line which is my favourite is “we were lovers before we knew how to love” I was like god, it hit me, I may use this line for me and my gf I hope you won’t sue me.lol. anyways I really liked it and hopes to read more of your writing.

    1. Thanks for the comment, Mike. Unfortunately Rick (CoolHermit) passed on over a year ago. As I was in daily email contact with him I have a number of his poems that he shared with me, and I will be adding some of them to Parapraxis in the future. Greeat to hear from you. Allen

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