My cat works at night, same as me. He’s there when I leave tho and home first, asleep on the chair, or floor, same spot he occupied before I left to go. I know: I’ve only his word that he works but, if so I think it must be hard – some say, a…
Category: Poetry
Count Me In
tonight – far from the last the one before sometime later where gleaming bottles some near full hang in mock suspense in silent rows high above the bar – solid Rata and it wasn’t far to walk – ponder but the mind it likes tends to wander to this – evening later where the…
come, sun
come, sun wrecked here on the edge of these weathers i wait for you like a sun to lift me clear to hold me warm to love me in your hands broken on this shore hurry, love, hurry, the eyes of stones that lap above the tide are watching they wait to see me rest…
1983
I and although i have failed i feel that i have lived and live still. II I remember my little room, the hard bed by the window pane. I liked winter best, the frosted glass, III the white sun struck the day. i was in love with everything. at night, strung like…
The Book Store
There is dust in the sunlight slanting from the roof and you are lost in Poetry, or is it New Fiction? We are all lost, here Where the shelves lean out to talk, nudge shoulders and the books beckon. The books smell of people’s homes; where they lay undisturbed or hidden, or put out for…
will Paul
will Paul* was wondering when Paul finally slips out that back door the last chord ringing still the last song sung and yesterday* has at last become today was wondering when Paul puts down the hoffner* on the stand closes the piano lid straightens his lapels and the market place of our delight ob-la-di*…
from: Brightcity Storyline
2 Sometimes I hope that the worst will happen soon the inexplicable & coarse satisfaction when Chaos swoops over rattling the windows in retaliatory earthquakes and I sigh, sate, hearing the high totals buried in tsunami, bodies lifeless as tinsel in trees temporarily— strange pleasure of the fail and the crash: the implosion of Bank,…
Working Men’s Dub
A bit of a do it’s Friday it comes around quick around here – up and down all around returned serviceman and he’s worked like the devil an Egyptian slave in the scorching sands of El Alamein and what a racket ! but not as bad as those artillery shells Michele, I think she…
that god
that god if we must show god to another we need a god of not kill not a god of kill a god that washes hands of us like filth when we kill in that god’s name do anything in that god’s name but embrace laugh lift each other upward…
Out Walking
He sets out early, the man with the dog. The shapeless trousers bound with string, and he holds his manuka stick high – tap, tap, always the same speed, and the collie is in step, glancing up, his coat bouncing, flicked by the wind. Man and mate, out again; a circuit of The Downs; each…
The Funeral
Funeral coats heavy and low, trousers riding spit-polish brown, knuckles whitening on the handles; old and young, surprised at the weight. They always are, the bearers of the dead. It was hardly a funeral at all: a hymn to which no one knew the words, strains of notes in a soul-less hall. No vicar. Not…
twentieth-century german verse
twentieth-century german verse reading the Penguin book of ‘Twentieth-century German Verse’ bought of a year it sold new for $1 & 25c, a year long before the wall was manhandled down and dumped, before the jokes about putting it back up ever started. bought of a year i was learning the bits, bolts & grammar…