Alice

March 23, 2018 at 9:52 am (Poems) (, , , , , )

Alice drank the bottle dry
Her life shifted
She craved entertainment
Following an impossible rabbit.

Her life shifted
The garden was beautiful for a time
But getting out was a problem
And overeating overcompensated.

She craved entertainment
But was swept away in a pool of tears
People plied her with reasoning
Which made no sense to Alice.

Following an impossible rabbit
Alice joined a tea drinking forum
And met many false friends
Narrowly avoiding heartbreak.

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Night

May 11, 2013 at 8:07 am (literature, philosophy, poetry, Stories) (, , , , , )

Senescence licks a disturbed light
onto his bedroom wall.
Sleep pitted by dark dreams
my pilgrim rises in good faith,
the pendulum of remembrance
striking a steady rhythm.

Octogenerian legs undone at night;
challenged by verticality
he leans heavy on the door
flexing old shoulders,
turning his head, slow, like this,
already unsure of his purpose.

Taking heart though (detected by his step)
he descends stairs unsupported,
collects his coat and keys,
and as simply as he can,
will have no more of this…

“I will have no more of this,” he says.

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The Poet as Archaeologist

May 10, 2013 at 12:18 pm (history, literature, philosophy, Poems, poetry, sociology, Stories) (, , , , , , , )

At midnight in the fields of my humanity
I break the silence with a prayer and
stooping on warm ground, cast my coat.

Beckoned by history’s scent, and watching yesterdays,
I begin to collect half answers with a trowel,
for to be fixed and shored would be
to shroud some other light.

In ancient caves I measure gritty bricks and buffers,
unblocking obstruction with a pick,
contemplating potent questions pitted by the night,
without dislodging criticalities.

Complacency is crushed against
the monolithic walls I climb to harness
crumbs of wonder; the sting of straps
drawn tight upon my wrists, borne in good faith.

My ageing ropes are not taut, and not precise;
endeavour challenged by verticalities.
Oh those worthy comrades strung from ropes close by
swing a tantalising rhythm.

At dawn, with arms of love, I drape about the roof
and rafter-dance with mighty beams caught by earth,
refracting sharp from off her face, to
fly me respectfully onto shoulders of toil.

From this place I witness men and women
bending to practicalities they task themselves to shift,
and though their masters quit, they stay
to build and banter still around this busy tract.

Daylight strikes and sceptics lean upon the gate;
my voice quieted by the human tide
I descend unsupported columns, collect my coat,
but string commitment to the citadel of return.

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Walk in the Dark

May 6, 2013 at 3:08 pm (history, literature, philosophy, Poems, poetry, politics, sociology, Stories) (, , , , )

Something lumpily is squeezing down my windpipe,
Something drippily is lipidicing life,
Something clumpily is clogging up my childhood,
Something slippily is causing me some strife.

A boil erupted on the face of my acceptance,
I am hampered by the truth we hid so well,
Walking evidence we couldn’t really trust them,
I am cankered by the tales we couldn’t tell.

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Bear

February 27, 2013 at 7:55 am (history, literature, philosophy, Poems, sociology, Stories) (, , , , , , , , , , , , )

In the high street you turn from Ursula,

that small wreaking bear in a fine old coat:

well worn dichlorobenzenated reminder

of an otherwise wasted life.

.

Up and down she pads, from dawn to dark,

claws clicking past embarrassed charity,

rather proffering that magnificent maned neck

to the limp lasso of wet and greedy punters.

.

Her hunted life is heft and loaded into BMWs,

to be stuffed and tipped back latersore and sober,

that fabulous bear coat torn and taken from her,

the remains of its wilderness scratching at her back.

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Family Ties

February 17, 2013 at 1:10 pm (history, philosophy, Poems, poetry, sociology, Stories) (, , , , , , , )

We meet to consider old stitches;

knotted to the past by red thread

which, dangling still between us,

is tensioned by remembrance.

.

Our fragile family quilt,

sewn haphazardly by unpractised hands,

requires the nimble unpick of constituent parts

and the renewal of worn twine.

.

Too long we sensitive seamsters

put aside the intricacies of a trying task,

when the damaged beauty of our creased cloth

can be redressed with candor, and restored.

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Ride

February 3, 2013 at 2:54 pm (philosophy, Poems, poetry, Stories) (, , , , , , , , , )

So mounting life we’ll screech and ride and burn

careering round the country without lights

we’ll roll our bikes get up and spit and learn

 and dash on through the dark dragging our rights.

When we are younger helmets guard our thought

as down those lethal hills we shift and fly

our heads are strong our muscles flexed and tort

as hairpins bend and buzz us round and by.

Chicanes defied we leap our faith and nerve

and pay no heed to riders left or felled

unhindered by the boulders and the curb

past flags and friends as though we are propelled. 

When whipped and lapped by attitude we swear

at step and crossroads, brake and all but chunder;

footfaulting in our sudden wheel of care

we grip the bars to stop us going under.

 

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Fire

January 19, 2013 at 12:52 pm (history, literature, Poems, poetry, Shropshire, sociology, Stories) (, , , , , , , , , , )

Marking our winters together,

first up in the morning checks the embers,

so any vital signs might be rekindled.

.

Failing that, I journey out to fetch the coal,

perhaps a well seasoned cherry log, our treat,

odour – vermillion. Slipper shod round to the shed,

contemplating cold patterned leavings in the snow.

.

I consider the teeth clenched path; you warm in tangled bed,

then, lamenting the lazy left last time bucket,

slide down to empty tinker crunch ash,

playing the ice orchestra and wishing above all for wellies.

.

Darling, the clinker hill reaches the sky,

in far off spring we will push it down

to the ditch below the snow line,

between where we live and the cows.

.

Swinging up to the house to scrunch last week’s news,

I lay morning sticks crackling from an orange string bag,

then sparingly, the coal, but leave room for breath.

Striking a match I turn on the life support, a tender touch paper,

sharing the conviction that our winter child will thrive.

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Sleepers

January 14, 2013 at 9:49 pm (literature, philosophy, Poems, poetry, sociology) (, , , , , , , , , )

We are brickless, backless turtles ridden by nightmares;

nemesis of ideals, monstrous victims of blind eyes,

walked upon inadvertently by vulnerable feet.

.

Keen-edged conceit is a knife that steals amongst us,

slashing our flimsy shelters with its silver tongue,

so we must run out shivering in the rain.

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Chemo Café

January 11, 2013 at 11:10 am (history, literature, philosophy, Poems, poetry, sociology, Stories) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , )

We all have our favourite seat

the men and women that I meet

whilst mermaids smile and serve us tea

and feed us intravenously.

.

In this cheery place of mine

bare arms are soaked into a shine

then wares are touted on a tray

the best we take the less to pay.

.

In this lively, loving place

anxiety etched on every face

my comfort is a cushioned chair

a pillow and designer hair.

.

In this café where I go

Life’s mélange is all on show:

black coffee corners of our minds

tenacity and mermaids kind.

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