Some humans see blue black
Where others see gold white
Right wrong? No. Realities cohabit
Sight is a trick of the mind
nonsense
Marbella Booty
Sugar daddies, the
sea is blue beside
the twos and twos
of sweet neat men
two feet shorter,two
feet wider,two feet
downstream-
Sugared daughters, arm above
arm, two feet nearer the
Sun on brown pins in
Platforms,tall blonde
Or brunette,stupid or
Cruel, slurping cocktail
Sized dogs.
Before the milkman comes..
Take a tube node
in a nude robe,
make a rail stack
in a base rack,
sing a game toad
through a jail song,
breach a round fist
with a top hat.
Play a safe card
on a dud horse,
race a small car
down a kind alley,
case a large joint
with a ham held
to a stock pot of
cruelling liquorish rum.
Wish a roast catch
from a soft patch
taken to far, time
backed when cradle
scratched the timber
drawn silver in the
dust of crime hatched
warm in the sabre’s den.
Clam a tenth hole
with a skin flack
near a petal pen
written soft on a clothes
vine to make it
read cool through the
breeze of toasting wine.
Leave a mean coin fifty for
a pint of frozen, delivered
promptly at the smack of
dawn to the raw step cold
of the door, ready to wield
the whinge and make people
within soft with calf-juice,
woken up from this dream.
Fairy Tale Nightmare
Hand sell a
petal, her left
a breadcrumb
trail to the
cottaged witch
who bejewelled her
house with candies
rich and steamed
her chimney ginger
hot above the stewing pot of
curdledtoffee
local flavour,
treat them softly
first titbits
then gulping till
brimful through
their syrup-still
gaze she’ll
strike straight terror. Hands will
drop and
gate will lock.
Inside , the two
will quake and squeeze
but bars are
black and locks are
teethed.
I’m sorry
If only we were
sorry before it happened
and conserved some stock
of remorse to stoke
genuine regret, the
kind that eats its own
tumours with acid
and sharp teeth.
I’m sorry I didnt
mean it, it was just
an expression.
To treat and illness
Will you treat
me to tea
and cake or
champagne or an
icecream sundae?
When I was ill treats
came bitter, through
a needle to the bum
or the radiographer’s
hum.
Poems face up, readers look down
Library, shopping
List, Letter From
An Unknown Woman,
Bright Star, Retrospectre on
The Girl With the Dragon
Tattoo.
This patchwork quilt
And picnic, these
Words, what do they mean?
No less than any poem,
Made and spread
For picnickers
To much and mix with
Their own dips,
No table, no rules.
Philosophize
Nothing is inevitable
Much is expected
Much is overlooked,
Opportunities fly through,
Some sought, some
Caught, hooked or
Shot through. Some, trapped
In a web, spider
Long gone
Waste Management
Giggle whirls
Scoop out my pain
And let it rot
Where it will,
Waste box or recycling.
Root-firm Life it grows
Through Pain’s compost.
Eating money
Money makes meat
Money makes wheat
Money makes pies
Money makes my
Eyes look up
To see what I
Can buy for
Four pounds fifty
For gut and skin
Atop a gurgling
Frame, claimed
By Nature, part of
Her despite millennia
Of ink and paper.
Money makes meat
Money makes wheat
Money makes pies
Money makes men
Weep for shame,
Heaped up against
The Life they can’t
Afford, makes them
Dive below the bar,
Without the breath
To see a pearl,
Just enough to
Feel the deep
Press their lungs
And sting their wounds.
Being Every Day 