New Poetry
leaving games - July 07 -
i watched moving shadows on the bedroom wall as you packed your bags to leave the shifting shades of grey and brown the rapid movements
in the faded sunlight twisted your elevated
outline into deformed bitter demons
your blue shirt was hurled crumpled to the floor left presumably
to remind me that it was the gift from me you never wore
afterwards when the door slammed as the taxi arrived
in the driveway
i turned on my side and faced the wall curving my knees to cover my belly
protectively smothering my tears beneath the heavy duvet
a long time later in the dark evening i dressed and walked these streets
not wanting to sleep in our bed alone
knowing
you are out there somewhere still seething still planning
still calculating exactly how long to punish me
this time
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
death of a rat (24 Oct 07)
she lay on her side
straddling the centre white line
painted across the blue-tarmac
which divided the road equally
to left and to right
*
|
she’d been hit across her
lower back
and again at the end of her
snout
and her vermillion blood
stained the blue and white
canvass of her death
*
|
i don’t know if it was quick
or not
but her accusing eye was
bright
and seemed to be absorbing
her sorely won wisdom
*
|
i thought of political slogans
about people who choose to walk
the centre-road
coming to sticky ends
but this creature had no choice
in her endless search for food
and her pointless passing is as
poignant to this poet
as the death of any over-hyped
Princess or preening Politician
Christmas in bed
we shared a Christmas in my bed one day
i remember you bought me a Swiss Army Knife
with your phone number on it;
said it was the only thing i’d ever need in my life
can’t remember what I bought you
which is odd as it isn’t all that long ago
the wrappers rustled beneath us as we made love
and i do remember bringing us breakfast-in-bed,
the full monty, crisp bacon and deep orange eggs…
the other day i turned the house upside down
looking for that knife, that phone number,
but it’s lost, like you,
and i remember now
that it wasn’t even Christmas
.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
tasting salt
i.
twice a day they taste salt
searing their iron mouths
corroding blood rusted frames
too infrequently i taste the salt
of her mouth before i dip below
the sea swell of her breasts
ii.
each of us, in our own way,
drowning with passion
in our chosen environment
each of us, in our own way,
oblivious and insensible to
the coldly searing salt pain
iii.
a day beckons when i will stand
with iron men on moving sands
watching the waves approaching
that day i will taste sea salt swell
and remember her with love as
contented pearls dilute the seas
iv.
and when the tide abates
and salt-sweet mouths of
barnacles razor at my flesh
my ‘self’ will rest, peacefully inert,
in some other place of calm repose
and twice a day the memory of a kiss
will warm this cowardly heart
which, on this day, winces at every
wayward tremble of the ‘phone…
fear faded with Time’s passage but
i would still dwell and wait awhile
for just the promise of a smile
the space between
Dec 2007
condense a lifetime
into a single poem
and all you have are images
private personal and unique
nothing touches you
and you touch nothing
it’s a gap
a space between
arrival and departure
filled with sensations
created only for you
and the sheer vanity
that almost
-but not quite-
tempts you to believe
that there is more
condense a lifetime
into a single poem
and all you have are images
private personal and unique
Ethics
2007
sweet as a nut
slim as a lathe
sharp as a razor
clichés
cloak
the gap
as he scuffles internally
rejecting the attraction
and
repressing the ethics
knowing
it is wrong to care
so much for this tender
fragile woman
who seems
to expand at his
words and his touch
the internal struggle
un resolved
exhausts
tearing holes
in corrupted logic
prevaricating
on his weakness
he concludes
reluctantly
he must stay distant
decides to deceive himself
as he has done all of his
unviable
anarchic and disparate life
love-poem
October 2007
i tried to write a love-poem today
in memory of someone past
but a silly pop song intruded
telling me about bicycle statistics
in a City called Beijing…
words wouldn’t come,
i tripped awkwardly
between doggerel
and repetition
until i just… gave up…
concentrated instead
on a repeated phrase
in that haunting song
which informed that
i will love you ‘til I die…
and that’s a fact i guess
and hey,
i guess this is a
love-poem
Will
5th March 2007
)alpha
no point at all
in participating
in the life
debate
)darkness will descend
at noon
save the breath
that nurtures
our cell culture
shells
)nothing will occupy
all
savour all
that we have
and experience
love
)light will cease to
be
ashes to dust
dust to ashes
nothing from nothing
nothing to nothing
where lies the
debate
)emptiness will occupy
everything
)omega
T*****
15th February 07
at the end of that
final session
i suggested a diary
or if she preferred
some brief notes
to measure mood swings
the day after they
discovered her body
i sat alone in the
counselling room
when a photo-image
arrived in the post;
to one side of the head
on the bedroom wall
three vertical chalk marks
stood in solitary rank
the slogan above them read
‘Good days’
to their right
27 vertical chalk marks
slashed through in fours
with six diagonal slashes
and above them was scrawled
‘Bad days’
beneath her heavy
shadowed empty eyes
she had written
in vermillion lipstick
‘I did as you asked,
it didn’t help.’
