From my book – a rare piece of didacticism – tanka format,

Our lives are tragic.

Poverty-stricken artists,

overlooked, despised,

are buried in paupers’ graves,

cult status achieved too late.


Our lives are tragic.

Worthless nonentities,


exploit notoriety

becoming millionaires.


Our lives are tragic.

We view the spectacle of

elites enjoying

expenses-paid junketing

far beyond mere grafters’ dreams.


Our lives are tragic.

In consultants’ offices

Sons, with pen in hand

told, “Sign here, it’s for the best,”

avoid mother’s haunted eyes.


Our lives are tragic.

Young girls fear the unborn one

swelling their belly

will spoil Magaluf this year

so opt for termination.


Our lives are tragic.

Holiday hilarity

is soon regretted

as Visa interest mounts

and Christmas starts in August.


Our lives are tragic.

Souls despair of finding love.

Make-up covers tears.

So it’s on with the motley,

repainting that rictus smile.


Our lives are tragic.

Sprawling on the sofa with

a bottle of wine,

chortling at Tommy Cooper.

Life, it seems, is, “Just like that.”


© coolhermit 2023
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‘Just like that.’ And so it is, too. Like a shit sandwich, the more bread you have, the less shit you have to eat. Well told mate.


Nice close, esp enjoyed magaluf, this is hard hitting and quite raw in places, well done. tanka very much


I wasn’t sure where this was leading until the last verse.
Nod of the head and a smile…Just like that


Yes, it is tragic,especially when the consultant says:sign here.Like is like a baby’s nighty:,short and shitty, just like that. be lucky , Peter.

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