Tight rope

August 30, 2012 at 8:58 pm (Poems) (, , , , , , , , , , )

Walk with open eyes
without becoming jaded:
delicate balance.

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August 29, 2012 at 6:01 pm (Poems) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

I looked at him and
he looked back with big brown eyes
then we leapt and swam

Why ever I was
chosen I will never know
the moment so brief

But to hold his gaze
restored childhood fantasies
of another life

peopled with creatures
who commune rather than fight
then swim together

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August 28, 2012 at 4:54 pm (Poems) (, , , , , , , , , , )

In development underestimated overcomplicated belted and elasticated memory prodding future leaders too young for this too old for the other little sisters little brothers presenting insurmountable difficulties interesting conundrums of simultaneously small adversaries and morphing wonders peer pressured label lovers easy meat for marketeers marginalised citizens with unlimited potential!

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Dream Date

August 27, 2012 at 6:11 pm (Poems) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

Me and Freud canoodling at a ‘B’ movie
cheap and cheesy:
low budget bellicose monsters
coming on to
irritating screamers.

bang central between two parts
of three halves
we laugh and simulate legging it
to the foyer
past pots of salt popcorn and
pitchers of mayonnaise.

flexible causality resuming service
we rub on white stuff
and watch silver screen donkeys frolic
and time flying towards the
dream ending:
Mr Freud stealing a symbolic kiss and
uttering the immortal words
Ooh baby let’s do it again tomorrow night.

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Warning Signs

August 24, 2012 at 6:47 pm (Poems) (, , , , , , , )

Please do not play on my – thank you
Keep to the left of the right
Please do not fowl on the chickens
Kindly don’t howl in the night.

Please do not turn on my washing
Don’t throw your balls at my head
Politely don’t park in my conscience
Do not disturb me, I’m dead.

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Guest Speaker

August 22, 2012 at 7:02 pm (Poems) (, , , , , , , , )

In frustration the voice of Silence speaks;
pestered out of exile by louder mouths;
cannoned by paternalistic might
into fields of feisty battle;
invited to defend itself against
the din of popular culture
intellectual masturbation
and arrogance.

Cease for once your boasting,
burbling, infernal blasting.
Cease your wrangling, warbling,
weak lambasting.
Silence has a point to make.
(The next few lines are intentionally blank)

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Cherry Plum Wine

August 21, 2012 at 8:04 pm (Poems) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

Squeezing lingering succulence from sun’s evening bloom
our ripe orange fruit falls fragrantly, dripping juice
licked in sinuous strings from stinging fingers.

Language of late summer bounty streaming between us
sipped ginger whets autumnal anticipation
whilst we reap sweet nectar, wild and stolen.

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Jo garjte hai vo baraste nahi

August 19, 2012 at 6:58 pm (Poems) (, , , , , , , , )

Talk is cheap life is short paint the walls it’s your call write the letter make it better sign on the line seal the deal if you’ve only ever talked and waited seize the day right away time to play ignored berated or celebrated consider no more out the door on the move catch the worm going concern live and learn. 


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August 18, 2012 at 10:17 pm (Poems) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

Who would we ever need
whilst independent
in hard faced shell
protected and sure?
What do they know
who clinch, cling
sing songs of love?

Why would we ever need
whilst striding always
to somewhere else
strong legs
brains alive and adequate
dressed in arrogance?

What would we ever need
until the floor comes up
to meet us and on bended knees
we panic, cry out, freeze?

Unsolicited hands
reach to hold us.
Selfless strangers patch
and set us on our way.
We want to walk proud.

But as we fell,
the air around us changed;
as we were lifted,
we were comforted by
fellowship and warmth;
as we walked away
with muttered thanks
we became a softer animal,
hurting and healing.

Leaning against
a new door, we hear
the voice of millions
and feel the warmth
of the sun against our back.

For this incredible moment
we know our connection with it all.

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Bow and Blade

August 17, 2012 at 12:30 pm (Poems) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

3 keys
finely cut
blessed and left.

No note.
No excuses.
Locked in life.

The story:
years turn
love can abide.

The hope:
those keys
will come home.

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