Category: Original Poetry

sunday monday tuesday   where it ends Light (the match) light- then darkness-   I come when yr alone & no-one loves you like i do & feeds you I bring clothes medicine; draw yr curtain open the window Blow hot chips, bring burger king; undress you- this is done from love & kindness. shame…

He cuts the throat of the boy. because he coughs & coughs. i understand.   it gets your back up, right. you snap 1 time – because it’s hot you’re high strung or   what. the plebs are fuckwits. the gods pretend to give a shit -yr jealous siblings …   …   ————–

Someone yelled Jump but I was only up there cleaning windows. Then I thought, as I stood on the fine ledge, I could – if I don’t overthink it – fall   I can fall! – (who’d permit such violence to befall me –   when there are Games to play, Fascinating facts, Things to make…

sympathy      how the flames! like pines rise, &   waves. The foam draws in-recoils. Roll these   disparate thoughts, until there’s commerce between them.   2 Professor Al’s a lad even tho he’s 50.   You can see him on a clear morning ambling across the campus smiling lightly; he might have found a…

The fantail fluttering under the branches, about my shoulders, could make the difference this morning, swing it back in my favour.   Despite my grounded cynicism, I’m sentimental. What can I say. It’s sick, but when I woke with the dawn chorus of the kitchen-   As if I knew what was coming with the…

Sunlight breaks upon the lawn, rocks; wind-tossed, I’m nothing but circumambient gas; a patch of sky thru the square window. Behold! my deficiencies. Set up I was, stripped, tied to the cross &, spat upon, walked home.

Moonlight stuns the trees, the silences between eternities, one death & another. ii There’s consolation in grief; abstract pity for the botched man on the street, his credibility hung.   iii In sleep, I fill the sores with a finger, stoke the emptiness of hunger.   Shake your head if this is what you want….

  If my days were a broken vase with all the bits scrambled on the floor, I’d make a start – set aside the blue skies, identify the bland skin, teeth, eyes, glass on the sand like sea shells, a night in the cells, the long walk home.   The street’s lined with shit but…

I’m wasted in the strange city.   There’s reason to be & not. In the haze between   light & dusk. My knees are where the heart was.   I live it still like it is.   The pigs next door are cutting grass                                 .   What will the cats think?   of that?  …

I   0 <   II   An eye   III   behind the bush; the whole   IV face, twin- starred.   Lord scorcheth. I can crawl but, …   there’s skin where a scar was. You was. Framed by the abstract   beauty of the flame,       slow but curious as…

hard the cold night homeward hard   scraps on the table- cloth bread wine   dregs a soup bowl   nothing   right?   what happened & was it worth it?