The other one smells bad Breathe That’s the advice of the sanity chef But… Don’t forget that you’re cheesed off for a reason There is so much more to eat and your own Breathe Is neither sweet nor sour I heard a voice say: without the dark you can’t find the light They spoke of …
Category archives: poetry
write at the end
The way to write when you start being older Is as if you didn’t feel you had to justify not having lived that life but this; and pen those phrases without apology as if you had a story that was already told and this an addendum just don’t let it be a postscript don’t permit …
If I look at you from afar
If I look at you from afar I can see that you’re quite scruffy Your paths aren’t made Your vegetation’s sparse Rocks pilled up on you like spots Skin is crinkled on your earth It’s as if you’re old when you’re young And I’m measuring being old against you Well not me, I hope to …
goodge street station
What is the point in trying to hold onto the choking of tears Or trying to just stay choked Keeping words to that effect alive It is to address the ghosts of my sister and my father I waited not long enough for both to be here I was always in a hurry And missed …
The Courtauld
Why am I crying when there is nothing else I can do? Entering a room two vast wooden chests with clawed feet painted with scenes of medieval war castles, nobility, succour pregnancy perspective and a little sign saying Do Not Touch He should want to climb in there and return to the place he’s a …
Chests
Two days before his son had top surgery He dreamed he loved a young man with a flat chest laced with a vine tattoo He told his son who smiled sweetly
Das Traum
Spider he was called and when he came it was alright I was allowed I didn’t need to pocket a knife “Star cave hin man” pendjoum Like a memory of pride My wife is there laughing and Hej! It was the Dane, the blonde one but Spider had moved on and I had to counter …
On beauty
It’s not that I don’t want to be seen It is that I don’t want to see
Jazz at the Lescar
Moore Pope Hunter Imagine you’re playing to the OAPs At the Jazz in the Tuesday lunch club in Torrevieja My father there eating his Roast beef Mash Carrots He doesn’t spill the gravy But hears and taps his feet He’d do that even as the citizens start at the sounds of chaos; Birds squalling over …
I saw you this day, man with a ponytail and beard, whose face I should have recognised, talking in a language I’m learning. I thought suddenly automatic your words, apprentice automaton that I am. My eyes like a breeze and you blink, slow down and glance beside me. Briefly, the air settled, my mind your …