Tag Archives: poetry from Bootle.

Console Dogma.

…and also it is the dead eyes of a psychopath that terrify me most,

your eyes staring back at me, staring back with coward

like jealousy oozing out, yellow pus filled, the small secretion

of envy wrapped in guilt, draped in opulent greed

and enveloped, bound and laminated in your own self belief;

hubris defied you and allowed you to stand tall with ignorance.

How far does the delusion go? Does it spread all the way through

to the point of no return and your words

unable to fathom the point of exit,

Console Dogma. full post

(296 words, estimated 1:11 mins reading time)

The Smile And The Howl.

That first day, I mean the very first proper day

when we had our first group session together

and you sat at the back of the room with what I

would have called the cool kids thirty years before,

leaving, stranding me beside the battered front desk

of a tutor who spoke too fast and in a language

that well as might have been based in Maths, Fortran or

Gobbledegook,

your blonde hair shone and shimmered as much as it did

for the following three years in which it was my honour

The Smile And The Howl. full post

(307 words, estimated 1:14 mins reading time)

The May Queen.

In what seemed high above the clouds to the mortals below,

their daily grind and purpose-led lives and their enriched

and awkward filled lies, in once where Mad King March

in a fit of male ego led temper threw his army to the wind, scattered

and shown no mercy, punished and raged as the wind tossed

with ever greater stakes as control

was sought for peace of mind,

now stands, in serenity and cast iron beauty

the queen of all, for  none is fairer or bountiful

than Thrimilchi, to her allies Wonnemaand and to her lovers

The May Queen. full post

(603 words, estimated 2:25 mins reading time)

The Citizen Of Honour.

On the day that April Ashley

became a citizen of honour

in her home town that was once rugged,

rough, the tumbled down

and decaying, you cannot but help raise a smile

and nod to the fact that acceptance is the most

powerful form of understanding, a lesson that rarely

gets learned and that we are all guilty

of displaying the disgraceful

ridicule to those whose hearts beat

in time with ours.

 

I saw her being interviewed once

by one of the greats of the new build city

The Citizen Of Honour. full post

(230 words, estimated 55 secs reading time)

The Courtyard.

It was a secret,

one of those places you

were not aware of

until you were properly ready

to understand the significance of the change

it would bring

into your life and the preparation

into the adult that would stand bare naked one night

thirty years later

as the world became a more lonely place.

 

I found myself recalling the piece

that landed me my first part

inside the hallowed halls of the most exciting building

in the whole of Bicester and started to hum it,

The Courtyard. full post

(541 words, estimated 2:10 mins reading time)

Be Still My Beating Heart.

Be still my beating heart

and stop racing along as if you are being wound up

by Time, slow down, don’t dart

along as if the most beautiful woman

had asked you to kiss her with no commitment

to ever take her to bed.

I never imagined I would go this way,

I had the image of finally finding out what boredom was like,

the taste of a life, stuck in a bed, only resting they say and I

would joke along that rest is what you do when you

Be Still My Beating Heart. full post

(213 words, estimated 51 secs reading time)

The Old Knight.

The old knight, full of lines and a paunch that has returned

despite many battles of valour and graces won, esteem

held high in his land for him

and even those he has taken prisoner full of praise for his honour

in their captivity, this old knight finds a corner

in which to put his hands over his face and allows a tear to fall.

 

A world in which has changed since peace was sought and found,

a peace in which he retired his suit of armour, sure that the fight

The Old Knight. full post

(381 words, estimated 1:31 mins reading time)

I Will Never Play James Bond.

*Inspired by a newspaper article in which asked William Hague if he could be James Bond, non-stories after all are the best…

 

No, thank you for asking,

but I can categorically say that I can rule myself

out forever running for Prime Minister,

I have no intention of walking on the moon,

neither shall I don a tuxedo

and play James Bond and kiss Pussy

Galore, as I believe no one could ever hold a candle

to the actress who played her before.

I state here and now for the radio mic

I Will Never Play James Bond. full post

(461 words, estimated 1:51 mins reading time)

Snuffed Out.

You talked of candles

burning brightly and yet

as I sit here feeling uncomfortable

in my own skin

and the remains of a once good life

laying in pieces

time and time again

as I struggle with the infinite cosmic joke

played out, I want

to take the light-bulb wannabe, the shadow of a

sun ray and gently snuff it out,

I want to impale the candle

on to the head of my own hidden anxiety

and I would very much like to

Snuffed Out. full post

(300 words, estimated 1:12 mins reading time)

They Hate You For Being Honest.

The more you open your mouth, the more I find

I don’t understand how people aren’t burning effigies of you

and asking if you are just by chance

playing the greatest political joke on a population

that has become ensnared between falsehood after false pretence,

of lie upon smear and finds itself lapping up the extremes

like a black spider, the eight legged terror, spinning

its web closer and closer together,

the tighter noose, not able to be crawled through,

let alone brushed aside, for fear of the millions

They Hate You For Being Honest. full post

(289 words, estimated 1:09 mins reading time)