Monthly Archives: December 2011

Shod not Shoddy

Wordsmith, shoe my poem–

solder thoughts to the

point of my pen;

rivet words

row by row until they’re

watertight;

melt emotions and

anneal them into

something new and less

brittle;

Wordsmith?

shoe my poem fit to

strike sparks off

long hard roads.

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Dark before Light before Dark

Just before the rain lifted it got

darker as though the

damp hem of a long black dress was

drawn across my face, then the

clouds were torn into great

unmoored battleships slipping with the tide

downstream to destruction or escape,

swept there by a

wind that left the sky almost

albino with seldom-seen stars.

Christmas in May

Christmas was in May because

that’s when he came home, not

whole exactly but the

children didn’t care, so excited to have a

Father again that the moments when he was

somewhere else got lost in the

lovely mayhem of

unwrapping cheap presents and

carving a cheap bird and

carrying them to bed when it

all got too much, in the

silence peculiar to parents, then the

politeness of clearing up,

expressions of tiredness, his

silent sobs against my

bare warm back.

Nico

The wheezing harmonium was a fragile barrier against the

crowd’s  indifference, chatting and

laughing loudly as you played and you

never raised your voice, knowing

something might stick, that the band you were supporting would be

forgotten tomorrow, that there would be a

fee and a fix and a fuck and you would

die young, so what did it matter that

one man listened and got angry

or that his anger still

effervesced thirty years later, on your

dead behalf?

Rejects

There was a wail and a whoop on the wind from

somewhere down in Happy Town as the

clubs got into gear and the

young went about their round of

dancing, drinking, pulling, puking whilst the

rejects stood sullen, watching,

wishing they were elsewhere or

someone else and sinking

enough beer to start a

World War.

Geese

The geese flying over in the dark

honked exhortations in their exhaustion:

“Keep going, brother;

keep going, sister;

keep going, spouse;

keep going and we’ll

get there”.

Footsteps

You watch her follow in my footsteps but in

fast-forward and I can see your arms

twitch wanting to snatch her back and

hold her still like a toddler, arms

pinnioned but legs still pumping along the

imagined path to adulthood.

Something in the Air

Something hung in the air like the

sparrows clattering across the

midnight sky in some

avian domestic, the horns of the Moon

razor sharp, Venus descending and

Orion desperately wanting to drop his

heavy  belt and relieve himself of

dust, meteors, star-spatter.

Shut Out

The Clap

Great players have an

aversion to applause and

plough on into the

next number whilst their

libido is loaded with the

lust for perfection.

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