Category Archives: Memories

Little Women Making Loud Noises

I’m not sure Ms. Alcott had

this in mind but I love

loud women in my life,

singing their songs full-throated,

spearing their words through

vain assumptions,

shaking pulpit and

parliament and shouting

“harder, faster” into my

receptive ear.

Legion

You changed your look

each time I saw you

not knowing which

you was you

boy or girl

vamp or victim

fashionista or frump

Lezbollah or someone’s Sub

Mother or Child but

it mattered not for

you were you and

you were Legion.

These Islands

These islands are scored and

scarred with geometric shapes, the

meaning of which we merely

guess at, full of fantasies.

 

These islands have buried somewhere

more bodies than now live, their

lives as impenetrable as the

mist over their fields.

 

These islands are full of people who

jostle the ghosts, don’t see them

hanging in hedges like cobwebs,

swept from their houses like spiders.

 

These islands are full of strange angles,

unnatural mounds, stones pitched from

horizontal to vertical behind which

someone, at some time, hid.

Scorn

My business has many ways to express scorn:

the Lighting Cameraman who couldn’t

light a box of matches; the

Director who couldn’t

direct traffic; the

Producer who couldn’t

produce his prick from his trousers.

 

But you have refined scorn to a

simple glance.

Sun/Shade

Curtain_Heat

Protecting myself from the heat

I have built a

shrine of shadows.

Empty Dancefloors

There’s this invisible

iron rod between us

ten feet long so

when I move you

move too in a

perverted mirror of

how we danced once on

empty dancefloors.

Pass the Parcel

Women confuse men:

it’s a gift, one I have been

trying all my life to unwrap,

unsure what might lie beneath the

final crumpled fold.

A Simple Act

After so long of course you can

irritate sometimes just as I can be

your irritant but today we met

one of the two pearls that are

products of our joint irritants and later

walking London’s sticky streets we

made each other laugh and

forget the press of problems by the

simple act of holding hands.

“Night and Silence”

The distant shudder of a helicopter

drifts away and I find myself amidst the

most perfect silence:

it is barely midnight and yet

every house is dark and blank and

even the motorway is void of vehicles.

 

Am I alone then in

relishing this absence of noise, this

empty pail waiting to be filled with

thoughts and doubts and

dark desires under the

stars and clouds?

What is Summer Worth?

The weather chases itself about the Earth.

People curse it, “what’s it worth

buying such gaudy summer stuff

to see it locked up in a shed,

bedecked with dust and fluff?”

 

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