Poetry: Sunday Evenings by Ian Copestick

Brit Grit, Ian Copestick, Poetry, Punk Noir Magazine

The leaves are appearing on the trees
The daffodils sway in the breeze
It’s a dull Sunday evening in spring
What is happening ? Absolutely nothing !
The sky is a mixture of grey and blue
As if it can’t make it’s mind up what to do
It feels like the whole world is having a snooze
Getting ready for the Monday blues
Sandwiches of beef or tuna are being eaten
The dogs whimper, having just been beaten
Nobody is happy, everyone is depressed
It’s Sunday, the so called day of rest
All of the newspapers have been read
Now there’s nothing to do, just waiting for bed
Then sleeping, ready for Monday morning
Dragging yourself out of bed, still yawning
Another week of non-stop shit
Your wages hardly make up for it
And this is how it will go until the day you’re dead
Why not say ” Fuck it ! ” and just stay in bed

Bio: Ian Lewis Copestick is a 46 year old writer from Stoke on Trent England.
Although he started writing poetry in 2001, he only started sending them out for publication 8 months ago. In this time he has had over 100 poems and 5 short stories published. He is featured in print anthologies by Alien Buddha Press and Horror Sleaze Trash.
His first book Detritus Of The Drunken Night is out now!