The Split

Well, National Poetry Day passed me by, as did World Mental Health Day.

In honour of forgetting both these important days I have written a blog for Under the Fable Magazine about Poetry and Mental Health. You can find it here.

Further embracing themes of split/multiple personalities in quite a blunt, uneducated way, I have written a split poem entitled ‘The Split’.


We had walked                 We     walked

Hand in hand

Through snow                   Through

To the patisserie

Where we bought

Oven warm bread                           warm

And salted butter

And paid in change

We waited

A little too long                 little

In the doorway                        doorway

Staring out at the cold                    S

You clung onto the bread

Like some thermal torpedo

As we raced                          we raced

Through the sumptuous blanket               Through

Of bitter sunshine                           bitter

And pillow soft snow

And when we got home

We ate the sweet bread                                         sweet

With the butter

Leaving salt crystals on our tongue

And tears in our eyes                     tears

We forgot everything                    We

And began wanting                             began

Again                               again.

©Stuart Buck


Luke 10.25

Bit of a Bukowski love in this week.

I have written a blog for Under the Fable, fawning over the great man. It can be found here.

And here’s a bukowski-esque piece by me. All based on (sadly) true events.

To the elderly lady

Who stood in the middle of the road

Waving at each car

That passed her by

Hoping to be noticed

In her NHS gown

I am so sorry

Nobody stopped

And waved

Or maybe



At 3pm

On a Thursday afternoon

A lady closer to one hundred

Than most

Was all alone

Waving frantically

On a busy main road

I am so sorry

That no one cared for you

I hope you found

Whatever you were looking for

But as I sped past

It was hard to tell

All I could see

Was the beautiful sun

And the face of my daughter

Reflected in the mirror

As she slept soundly

And dreamt of the stars

And the meaning of life.