Tag Archives: poetry

School Sports Day 1977-1986.

 

The school sports day,

a yearly ritual in which evolved

over the years from spoons and eggs,

hard boiled, once glued, often dropped

on the dangerous gravel or if fortunate perhaps

 dog littered grass,

sometimes obliterated

and tears and tantrums flowing soon after

 as someone never finished the course, to

complex games

 of hierarchical displays of ever growing

hormone driven adulthood.

If wet, held indoors

or simply delayed a day or two,

to frustrated parents dismay

and then the crushing pain of unprepared running,

School Sports Day 1977-1986. full post

(674 words, estimated 2:42 mins reading time)

The Memory Of Running Water.

 

Birmingham, damp, soaking wet

And I feel the

Rain

Teem and rinsing at

My every pore

But welcoming me back with open arms

In greeting to a prodigal son

As I leave the bright modern station

Of New Street.

The autumn darkness shields me

Like an roughly made cloak and I remain invisible

To all who once played like I

In the Costermonger’s basement. The sound of an air guitar

Straining at the leash as the crash of a new beat

Hit our 14 year old minds.

The Memory Of Running Water. full post

(621 words, estimated 2:29 mins reading time)

Sonder Glory.

I thought I’d get a job in Switzerland
waiting tables, taking orders and
existing in a hole the Swiss permit,
but Rousseau must not have had it writ.
I’d sit and watch the water of the earth
spring forth and counter this employment dearth.
Yet water on its own cannot contain
the evolution of this reductive train
of thought: avoiding England’s harm
by overreaching Empire’s furthest arm.

Sonder Glory. full post

(587 words, estimated 2:21 mins reading time)

Reflections on Seamus (31st August 2013)

It’s taken 24 hours to sink in,
as would a swimmer, with his goggles perched
on plugged nose, expect the dive. Goosebumped skin –
the tell-tale silhouette of the millstone.
The bard is lost to us. Only thinking
of him on a train, or in a field.
There’s no buoyancy in this afterthought:
Sean can get the drinks in (he’s been waiting)
and there’s so many fish still to be caught.
Somewhere far off, a stranger departed
before the last train home. I’ll spend some time
browsing on the District and Circle line.
I’ll find my place (it’s marked) where sunners lay
and sleep in moss while Seamus speeds away.

Reflections on Seamus (31st August 2013) full post

(115 words, estimated 28 secs reading time)

18…

I hold you in my arms, I cradle you like a proud dad handing out cigars

As I breathe in the cold talons of winter that approaches

The Wiltshire town. Overhead twinkling streetlights outshine the unseen stars

And the vermin of life, rats, bacteria and cockroaches

Of which I try to keep you away from.

I hear a sound of people gathering round, tears in their

Eyes. let the public come near, let the ghoulish come

And see what becomes when the dream of life turns to nightmare.

They took your life

18… full post

(138 words, estimated 33 secs reading time)

No Woman’s Land.

Dearest Mother, though I took my brother’s place at the front of the line,

I became him, I took his name

To spare the family honour, I must admit I am scared

Of being in this insane and absurd battlefield game.

In my wisdom, I believed the words they said

When for home by Christmas I would be by your side

Now as mustard gas shines like some evil suitor dishing out charming lies

Across No Man’s Land

I feel for those women who will lose husbands, sons, lovers tonight

No Woman’s Land. full post

(174 words, estimated 42 secs reading time)

The Price Of A T-Shirt In Manhattan.

The sound of cheap laughter flowed across the bar of Harry’s Hula Hut.

The half-suppressed sneers, hilarity and piss taking at the English

Lad who said he could earn one of the shirts on the wall,

Only resolved my focus further to own the shirt that had entranced me

Since I first step foot in the door with Geoff and Carlos as they fought back

The crowds in search of the women they had chatted up

Earlier in the day.

I had spent my afternoon taking it easy, a visit to the Marvel Offices,

The Price Of A T-Shirt In Manhattan. full post

(930 words, estimated 3:43 mins reading time)

From A French Lover To The Cold And Aloof.

I tucked Kerouac into my back pocket, a set of pouches stitched together in jeans that already

Held thirty dollars in loose change, a bus ticket that was never checked

By the young black driver who just gave me a smile as he wished

Me a good evening and was amused when I answered back with an English accent.

A chocolate bar, half eaten, evidence of the journey I had taken to find you.

Kerouac groaned as he span in his grave to see his work becoming

Lost in the back of my trousers.

From A French Lover To The Cold And Aloof. full post

(531 words, estimated 2:07 mins reading time)

A Blinking Red Eye

I always looked north, a force of habit I allowed myself

As I took shelter from the rain and driving incessant wind that hung over

The valley and clung like a finely woven tight spider’s web around my throat on the hill.

I never went to the other side of the town and looked south

Even though my oldest friend lived in that direction.

My heart was beyond the boundary of the city, a village in all but name

As the Cathedral grew even out of the densest mist coming off the rivers.

A Blinking Red Eye full post

(439 words, estimated 1:45 mins reading time)

A Butterfly Uncaged.

Jennifer missed her old life so much, that she decided

To go back home just once more.

She felt the twin emotions of clamour of excitement and regret flutter up

Like a trapped butterfly released from a keeper’s net

To enjoy the remains of a beautiful summer’s day.

 

She had stayed away, too frightened and too ashamed

Of her mistake, so small yet so blown up

Out of proportion that she was made to feel

Disgraced and bitter for a system that

Had let her be run out of town.

A Butterfly Uncaged. full post

(199 words, estimated 48 secs reading time)