Hang on, I
am writing a
poem. Not really
but if I
do this, you
will think I
am. Of course
some of you
will be thinking
why is this
ill-formed sentence stretching,
and can I
stop
reading.
Now.
Showing posts with label twitterpoems. Show all posts
Showing posts with label twitterpoems. Show all posts
18/06/2018
#amwriting #poem #poetry #sketchbook shazam
Hang on, I
am writing a
poem. Not really
but if I
do this, you
will think I
am. Of course
some of you
will be thinking
why is this
ill-formed sentence stretching,
and can I
claim
on
my
insurance
for RSI.
am writing a
poem. Not really
but if I
do this, you
will think I
am. Of course
some of you
will be thinking
why is this
ill-formed sentence stretching,
and can I
claim
on
my
insurance
for RSI.
17/05/2018
#amwriting #poem #poetry #sketchbook Iris
day's later, when all that remains
stinks of jaundice through cut glass,
in an effort at change, the irises are pulled
oozing on strings from the vase.
And you suggest dancing.
stinks of jaundice through cut glass,
in an effort at change, the irises are pulled
oozing on strings from the vase.
And you suggest dancing.
13/07/2015
#poem #poetry #amwriting #micropoetry
I've been scribbling again...
Poems in 140 characters or less...
...
today a local jeweler tweeted the sky is like a tahitian pearl and I have searched the bosomy moor for the warming touch
...
and the sun comes out words emerge from knuckled shadow where once the pool shimmered sky now reflected houses ripple
...
peace:)
The Blue Book
Poems in 140 characters or less...
...
today a local jeweler tweeted the sky is like a tahitian pearl and I have searched the bosomy moor for the warming touch
...
and the sun comes out words emerge from knuckled shadow where once the pool shimmered sky now reflected houses ripple
...
peace:)
The Blue Book
02/06/2015
#poem #poetry #amwriting #micropoetry may compilation
I rarely look up - for the sky is blue or it isn't
- it rains - hails - snows - clouds skit
but it doesn't do much beyond being sky
...
I'm terrified of this pencil
the vast expanse of this paper
and the stuffed bird
....
there was once bump
then a baby
and no sooner do you get used to them
than you are buying a hat
...
when the dull and conventionally contemporary attack you
take as a compliment of their dullness and your relevance
...
in the kingdom of small things
we all are kings and queens
though more often we are knaves
breaking hearts with clubs
...
on the buttocks of hills
the lambs run in gangs
...
those cheery shadows up on the rocks
cataract spots against the sky
- small as birds before the moon
...
through the blurring of trees out-roll the fields
enclosed in patched hedge and wall
flock dotted cream and white
...
the beauty of a poem
lies no in what we see or taste or feel
none of that is real
- but what is left behind
..
hidden griefs
to cloak our secret discontents
- of true significance
..
I wanted to be a stand-up
but was scared of the booing -
so I opted for poetry
and the implicit crassness
of hecklers
..
the tulips in the memorial garden
pout under the caterwaul
of children - all in costume -
gathering for the grand parade
...
england and ireland
are brothers divided
by the unwed and jealous
scots and welsh sisters
...
in the days when there was only meat
they ate flowers as a treat
and honey to sweeten
the pottage of evening
...
of course not
you wouldn't believe in doctors
if you believed in death
..
this is not a statement of authority
and will not be until I place a full stop
...
and today I shall be happy -
wear carnations for buttons
and say how-do to the robin
on the fencepost
...
I'm told I'm cold
or perhaps chilly
though I try to be bold
I'm often silly - like us
...
peace:)
The Blue Book
- it rains - hails - snows - clouds skit
but it doesn't do much beyond being sky
...
I'm terrified of this pencil
the vast expanse of this paper
and the stuffed bird
....
there was once bump
then a baby
and no sooner do you get used to them
than you are buying a hat
...
when the dull and conventionally contemporary attack you
take as a compliment of their dullness and your relevance
...
in the kingdom of small things
we all are kings and queens
though more often we are knaves
breaking hearts with clubs
...
on the buttocks of hills
the lambs run in gangs
...
those cheery shadows up on the rocks
cataract spots against the sky
- small as birds before the moon
...
through the blurring of trees out-roll the fields
enclosed in patched hedge and wall
flock dotted cream and white
...
the beauty of a poem
lies no in what we see or taste or feel
none of that is real
- but what is left behind
..
hidden griefs
to cloak our secret discontents
- of true significance
..
I wanted to be a stand-up
but was scared of the booing -
so I opted for poetry
and the implicit crassness
of hecklers
..
the tulips in the memorial garden
pout under the caterwaul
of children - all in costume -
gathering for the grand parade
...
england and ireland
are brothers divided
by the unwed and jealous
scots and welsh sisters
...
in the days when there was only meat
they ate flowers as a treat
and honey to sweeten
the pottage of evening
...
of course not
you wouldn't believe in doctors
if you believed in death
..
this is not a statement of authority
and will not be until I place a full stop
...
and today I shall be happy -
wear carnations for buttons
and say how-do to the robin
on the fencepost
...
I'm told I'm cold
or perhaps chilly
though I try to be bold
I'm often silly - like us
...
peace:)
The Blue Book
19/05/2015
#poem #poetry #amwriting #micropoetry
I've been scribbling again...
Poems in 140 characters or less...
...
I rarely look up - for the sky is blue or it isn't
- it rains - hails - snows - clouds skit
but it doesn't do much beyond being sky
....
peace:)
The Blue Book
Poems in 140 characters or less...
...
I rarely look up - for the sky is blue or it isn't
- it rains - hails - snows - clouds skit
but it doesn't do much beyond being sky
....
peace:)
The Blue Book
16/05/2015
#poem #poetry #amwriting #micropoetry
I've been scribbling again...
Poems in 140 characters or less...
...
I'm terrified of this pencil
the vast expanse of this paper
and the stuffed bird
....
there was once bump
then a baby
and no sooner do you get used to them
than you are buying a hat
...
peace:)
prints of my pictures available - here
The Blue Book
Poems in 140 characters or less...
...
I'm terrified of this pencil
the vast expanse of this paper
and the stuffed bird
....
there was once bump
then a baby
and no sooner do you get used to them
than you are buying a hat
...
peace:)
prints of my pictures available - here
The Blue Book
14/05/2015
#poem #poetry #amwriting #micropoetry
I've been scribbling again...
Poems in 140 characters or less...
...
so what colour should they be
these swaying black and white pansies
purple like their cousins
or white on black like zebra stripes
...
"if you see her before she gets back
will you tell her"
so I lurk in limbo
with the sprouting runner bean
...
body and soul would you be happy with that
she can sing without a microphone
...
the girl in the gingham dress
caught behind smoked glass
in that urgent second
between train stopping and doors opening
..
when the dull and conventionally contemporary attack you
take as a compliment of their dullness and your relevance
...
peace:)
The Blue Book
Poems in 140 characters or less...
...
so what colour should they be
these swaying black and white pansies
purple like their cousins
or white on black like zebra stripes
...
"if you see her before she gets back
will you tell her"
so I lurk in limbo
with the sprouting runner bean
...
body and soul would you be happy with that
she can sing without a microphone
...
the girl in the gingham dress
caught behind smoked glass
in that urgent second
between train stopping and doors opening
..
when the dull and conventionally contemporary attack you
take as a compliment of their dullness and your relevance
...
peace:)
The Blue Book
12/05/2015
#poem #poetry #amwriting #micropoetry
I've been scribbling again...
Poems in 140 characters or less...
...
in the kingdom of small things
we all are kings and queens
though more often we are knaves
breaking hearts with clubs
...
on the buttocks of hills
the lambs run in gangs
...
I'm happy to be a four letter word
just as I'm devil-may-care to be ghastly
but then my nationalism
is train-sets and begonias
...
those cheery shadows up on the rocks
cataract spots against the sky
- small as birds before the moon
...
through the blurring of trees out-roll the fields
enclosed in patched hedge and wall
flock dotted cream and white
...
peace:)
The Blue Book
Poems in 140 characters or less...
...
in the kingdom of small things
we all are kings and queens
though more often we are knaves
breaking hearts with clubs
...
on the buttocks of hills
the lambs run in gangs
...
I'm happy to be a four letter word
just as I'm devil-may-care to be ghastly
but then my nationalism
is train-sets and begonias
...
those cheery shadows up on the rocks
cataract spots against the sky
- small as birds before the moon
...
through the blurring of trees out-roll the fields
enclosed in patched hedge and wall
flock dotted cream and white
...
peace:)
The Blue Book
09/05/2015
#poem #poetry #amwriting #micropoetry
I've been scribbling again...
Poems in 140 characters or less...
...
I spent the day with a flask of tea
climbing banks with stiffening knee
nodding to strangers who nodded at me
I was back up yon moor again
...
peace:)
The Blue Book
Poems in 140 characters or less...
...
I spent the day with a flask of tea
climbing banks with stiffening knee
nodding to strangers who nodded at me
I was back up yon moor again
...
peace:)
The Blue Book
08/05/2015
#poem #poetry #amwriting #micropoetry
I've been scribbling again...
Poems in 140 characters or less...
...
the beauty of a poem
lies no in what we see or taste or feel
none of that is real
- but what is left behind
...
there ain't no point complaining
that you was the one what's frit
you scared my blooming life out
you red headed wing'd git
...
that flickering of water
free to run down hill
chattering on grass and stone
in defiance to be still
...
I'm really very happy
in fact I'm cock-a-hooper
that labour has lost it's balls
and now he's mr cooper
...
peace:)
The Blue Book
Poems in 140 characters or less...
...
the beauty of a poem
lies no in what we see or taste or feel
none of that is real
- but what is left behind
...
there ain't no point complaining
that you was the one what's frit
you scared my blooming life out
you red headed wing'd git
...
that flickering of water
free to run down hill
chattering on grass and stone
in defiance to be still
...
I'm really very happy
in fact I'm cock-a-hooper
that labour has lost it's balls
and now he's mr cooper
...
peace:)
The Blue Book
07/05/2015
#poem #poetry #amwriting #micropoetry
I've been scribbling again...
Poems in 140 characters or less...
...
if it's sunny I shall vote x
and if raining y
and if hell freezes
I shan't bother
...
reading the papers
- while buying fags -
I'm now worried that
the polling booth pencil
is tipped with uranium
...
peace:)
The Blue Book
Poems in 140 characters or less...
...
if it's sunny I shall vote x
and if raining y
and if hell freezes
I shan't bother
...
reading the papers
- while buying fags -
I'm now worried that
the polling booth pencil
is tipped with uranium
...
peace:)
The Blue Book
06/05/2015
#poem #poetry #amwriting #micropoetry
I've been scribbling again...
Poems in 140 characters or less...
...
the scuffed acrylic sunset
in the grain at table edge
on which shines
the fronded knuckle
...
hidden griefs
to cloak our secret discontents
- of true significance
...
peace:)
The Blue Book
Poems in 140 characters or less...
...
the scuffed acrylic sunset
in the grain at table edge
on which shines
the fronded knuckle
...
hidden griefs
to cloak our secret discontents
- of true significance
...
peace:)
The Blue Book
05/05/2015
#poem #poetry #amwriting #micropoetry
I've been scribbling again...
Poems in 140 characters or less...
...
from streets roads black stone terrace
from all the compassed points we come
drawn back to school for collection
off spring of past affairs
...
not without care this ritual of days -
frozen in winter - peppered by rain -
noting in passing the lines and seasons
...
I wanted to be a stand-up
but was scared of the booing -
so I opted for poetry
and the implicit crassness
of hecklers
...
peace:)
The Blue Book
Poems in 140 characters or less...
...
from streets roads black stone terrace
from all the compassed points we come
drawn back to school for collection
off spring of past affairs
...
not without care this ritual of days -
frozen in winter - peppered by rain -
noting in passing the lines and seasons
...
I wanted to be a stand-up
but was scared of the booing -
so I opted for poetry
and the implicit crassness
of hecklers
...
peace:)
The Blue Book
#poem #poetry #amwriting #micropoetry
I've been scribbling again...
Poems in 140 characters or less...
...
where to start - pulling your pants up is an idea
but perhaps not the image to pull the eye
not least because I look so queer with them down
...
peace:)
The Blue Book
Poems in 140 characters or less...
...
where to start - pulling your pants up is an idea
but perhaps not the image to pull the eye
not least because I look so queer with them down
...
peace:)
The Blue Book
04/05/2015
#poem #poetry #amwriting #micropoetry
I've been scribbling again...
Poems in 140 characters or less...
...
as on the brink of welling tears
we kiss - and wish 'good luck' -
smile and wave you advise
and keep your chin up
...
the tulips in the memorial garden
pout under the caterwaul
of children - all in costume -
gathering for the grand parade
...
I always cut apples to show the star
they taste no different but are
neater and the taste is not marred
- what looks nice tastes better
...
peace:)
The Blue Book
Poems in 140 characters or less...
...
as on the brink of welling tears
we kiss - and wish 'good luck' -
smile and wave you advise
and keep your chin up
...
the tulips in the memorial garden
pout under the caterwaul
of children - all in costume -
gathering for the grand parade
...
I always cut apples to show the star
they taste no different but are
neater and the taste is not marred
- what looks nice tastes better
...
peace:)
The Blue Book
03/05/2015
#poem #poetry #amwriting #micropoetry
I've been scribbling again...
Poems in 140 characters or less...
...
england and ireland
are brothers divided
by the unwed and jealous
scots and welsh sisters
...
that dead tree draws me everytime in the wood - everytime a little more of the roots have fallen - everytime a little more moss has grown
...
in the days when there was only meat
they ate flowers as a treat
and honey to sweeten
the pottage of evening
...
david cameron sent me a letter
nice buff paper in manilla envelope
it felt so important he should care
how I throw my dart when I go to vote
...
peace:)
The Blue Book
Poems in 140 characters or less...
...
england and ireland
are brothers divided
by the unwed and jealous
scots and welsh sisters
...
that dead tree draws me everytime in the wood - everytime a little more of the roots have fallen - everytime a little more moss has grown
...
in the days when there was only meat
they ate flowers as a treat
and honey to sweeten
the pottage of evening
...
david cameron sent me a letter
nice buff paper in manilla envelope
it felt so important he should care
how I throw my dart when I go to vote
...
peace:)
The Blue Book
02/05/2015
#poem #poetry #amwriting #micropoetry
I've been scribbling again...
Poems in 140 characters or less...
...
the headline in the mail says
'giving birth to her second child weighing 8lb 3oz'
- surely she's bigger than that
...
hurray for the royal princess
let us wave our flags
and wish her much success
...
of course not
you wouldn't believe in doctors
if you believed in death
...
peace:)
The Blue Book
Poems in 140 characters or less...
...
the headline in the mail says
'giving birth to her second child weighing 8lb 3oz'
- surely she's bigger than that
...
hurray for the royal princess
let us wave our flags
and wish her much success
...
of course not
you wouldn't believe in doctors
if you believed in death
...
peace:)
The Blue Book
01/05/2015
#poem #poetry #amwriting #micropoetry
I've been scribbling again...
Poems in 140 characters or less...
...
this is not a statement of authority
and will not be until I place a full stop
...
and today I shall be happy -
wear carnations for buttons
and say how-do to the robin
on the fencepost
...
I'm told I'm cold
or perhaps chilly
though I try to be bold
I'm often silly - like us
....
she wore white gloves
a pin box hat
on her way to church
she may have been
off to visit the queen
if buses ran from holmewood
to the palace
...
peace:)
The Blue Book
Poems in 140 characters or less...
...
this is not a statement of authority
and will not be until I place a full stop
...
and today I shall be happy -
wear carnations for buttons
and say how-do to the robin
on the fencepost
...
I'm told I'm cold
or perhaps chilly
though I try to be bold
I'm often silly - like us
....
she wore white gloves
a pin box hat
on her way to church
she may have been
off to visit the queen
if buses ran from holmewood
to the palace
...
peace:)
The Blue Book
#poem #poetry #amwriting #micropoetry april compilation
for what it is to forget
to live bereft of regret
and watch the sun gently set
thus to wait morning come
..
there is always that moment
when you say you are a poet
the wings sprout
and your fey nature is revealed
..
one day manchester will be built
the cranes will take wing
without girders in their beaks
...
across the valley rain hangs like ghosts
phantom shafted rainbow shimmered
they turn inwards entwining
sweep southwards on the wind
...
and I switch off the radio
and put on some music
for the fascists are already here
...
the past is in my left eye
emotion in my right
and if they come together
then perhaps you might
see the scene illuminated
...
for the sake of thirty pounds
they stand her on a chair
and when the poor cow wets herself
they make her touch her toes
...
only when the sky is blue
does the river run that colour too
...
outside the health club
raisins and apricots scattered
- new found strength or despair
the sparrows couldn't care
...
the valley is gently green
unapologetic of it's beauty
the houses like tumbled quarry rock
fear their fate - weed their garden
...
a bird rises like a soap bubble
from the heather
in two bobs and a bound
it is gone
as you tramp onwards
wishing for wings
...
the turkey yolk
sinking of the sun
emphasises the tortured past
of the hillside oak
...
it's odd how the dull
- always have certificates
and complain about being provoked
- thank god for the world of bland art
...
the real problem with criticism
is that critics so rarely heed
the feedback
...
if men had babies
they'd have to be small
...
the potted narcissus lay collapsed
on the four o clock pavement table
amid the crumbs and spilled tea
in passing I stood it up
we loved me
..
- up and down
the sunglasses
follow the clouds
...
bob dylan touched my back
shame it doesn't mean anything
these days
more of a shame it wasn't joan biaz
I might have been a poet
...
if you are mentally ill
than make sure you paint it black
or you'll be called a liar
by the compassionate
...
the tree beside where I sit
- finally shows it's hand
as horse chestnut
...
the outrages that you feel
would be fine
if you were dealing with human beings
instead of constructs
from which you are excluded
...
coffee coloured rounded silence
- and rainclouds pass -
as you await the clatter of satchels
demanding food
...
I shall no longer be depressed
but simply unehelich of mood
- and see if the doctor has a pill for that
...
today the mannigham strip was closed
supply lorries backed up westgate
from the lumb lane check point
toys r us was open
...
only later did they find
I had not committed half the crimes
and recommended that I wear
gloves - when handling suspects hair
...
methodist and town hall clock
dueling at midnight
two bells apart
- only bathroom lights -
it's a pretty town
...
poetry is not the preserve
of jam bound old men
sharing in jokes with outsiders
- leave that to television
let poetry breathe truth
...
two crows
sitting on the buss stop roof
not knowing
they will have to fly home
...
fuck I hate poets
who say
'this is a series of sonnets'
and then reduce
the human condition
to joyless witless ash
...
take my soul packed like a snowball
- hold it to your breast
for no matter how inflamed our kisses
not once have you burned me
...
we are the shadow of our shadow
collected stones gathered for their shape
a pear an arrow the face of a dragon
...
These days I adopt the arsene wenger position
pile on the duvets
and hope to finish in the top four
...
a small boy
at football
sitting on the terrace step
during dull games
he'd look up skirts
- that stitching on tights is scary
...
a morning so lazy
not even the rain falls
..
the sleeping child
gently snoring
on his breath
a gull's faint cry
...
I am told - and never listen -
consider the reader
- odd
the writer is unique
...
I love this time
when my skin turns silver
no matter how hard you try
the day is over
...
beyond the vicus lies the ley
where fairies dance, all in green,
weave and wheel tumble 'round -
beat pan and pikestaff on the ground
...
encircled by white lichen
a common lizard basks
atop dimpled grey stone
cart-broad bridge
road long gone -
yellow flowered gorse advance
...
I can no more intellectualise
this hungry self doubt
than the need to eat
a greggs sausage roll
...
the enjoyment index
is measured in
pine cones, sticks, and
stuff you really wished stayed outside
...
red groose break the gorse
skitter laughing at first
until annoyed they chunter
and gossip
...
strawberry picking is the graveyard of millionaires
arse in the air
you soon learn the value of college
...
oft have I wept at a poem
when full on wet with wine
and in cold morning's waking hour
no poetry could I find
...
peacock perks petty philpot
pickard plows pool
vortigen vowles waggott waggitt
field forrest geare gill
...
bouncing blue stripe
haloed white
from tree to grass into flight
...
sun warmed air
stretches flick flacked
as a bike freewheels
...
I came to bradford as a refugee
from a country called england
through cracks in the shithouse wall
dandelions bloom
...
blood bloated gangrenous drunk -
he throws the can
the clatter and roll suggests half full
...
it's easy to confuse sex with love
they (who know everything) warned about both
but only one requires you to be there
...
blue - splosive into vowel
on sad days nasal catching
us low - flap tongued and sighing
..
'oh thats great' he said
shrinking it to words
words to fit a pocket
ribbons in a girls hair
...
mummy and daddy
never changes
only the names they call themselves
...
Oi biddy
if he wants to wave his foot
and roar at pigeons
let him
they aren't dumb enough to get kicked
he will cry if he kicks one
buy a dog
...
in loco parentis
I shout
stamp my feet
say I wanted to go up the moor
and not swimming
as all the broken promises come back
in loco parentis
...
namaste
for we do not say
or go
just bump souls
and understand
namaste
...
burnt nutty lace bubbled
you eat around
until resisting no more
you half the yolk
it falls like excitement
of a thrice checked raffle ticket
...
it is not the whip of the cane which stings
but the act of bending over the desk
to face those
who should have been impressed
...
I was given whiskey the night my grandma died
to get me drunk and sleepy
so as not to see my mother cry
..
it's inconsiderate of jesus to die
in the middle of the school holidays
where am I to find the energy for church
after woods, swimming, picn....
...
automatic writing I assume
would be genghis khan or hitler
instead i get a housewife from hume
with ghastly tips for knitters
...
let us sing the praise
of little people the modest
gentle kind people
that unfocused group
whom always surprise
...
barometric butter
tells me to stock up on fat
accept holy bread
or lay it on thick
...
poets aren't as delicate as the cliche
we don't mind
we don't care
and the good ones well...
they just try and improve
...
I met myself as a child today
told him not to smoke or drink
that the millennium was a number
he didn't listen nor did I
...
don't sing the 23rd psalm
was the instruction in north end yard
they've enough on their plate with the funeral
without being reminded of god
The Blue Book
to live bereft of regret
and watch the sun gently set
thus to wait morning come
..
there is always that moment
when you say you are a poet
the wings sprout
and your fey nature is revealed
..
one day manchester will be built
the cranes will take wing
without girders in their beaks
...
across the valley rain hangs like ghosts
phantom shafted rainbow shimmered
they turn inwards entwining
sweep southwards on the wind
...
and I switch off the radio
and put on some music
for the fascists are already here
...
the past is in my left eye
emotion in my right
and if they come together
then perhaps you might
see the scene illuminated
...
for the sake of thirty pounds
they stand her on a chair
and when the poor cow wets herself
they make her touch her toes
...
only when the sky is blue
does the river run that colour too
...
outside the health club
raisins and apricots scattered
- new found strength or despair
the sparrows couldn't care
...
the valley is gently green
unapologetic of it's beauty
the houses like tumbled quarry rock
fear their fate - weed their garden
...
a bird rises like a soap bubble
from the heather
in two bobs and a bound
it is gone
as you tramp onwards
wishing for wings
...
the turkey yolk
sinking of the sun
emphasises the tortured past
of the hillside oak
...
it's odd how the dull
- always have certificates
and complain about being provoked
- thank god for the world of bland art
...
the real problem with criticism
is that critics so rarely heed
the feedback
...
if men had babies
they'd have to be small
...
the potted narcissus lay collapsed
on the four o clock pavement table
amid the crumbs and spilled tea
in passing I stood it up
we loved me
..
- up and down
the sunglasses
follow the clouds
...
bob dylan touched my back
shame it doesn't mean anything
these days
more of a shame it wasn't joan biaz
I might have been a poet
...
if you are mentally ill
than make sure you paint it black
or you'll be called a liar
by the compassionate
...
the tree beside where I sit
- finally shows it's hand
as horse chestnut
...
the outrages that you feel
would be fine
if you were dealing with human beings
instead of constructs
from which you are excluded
...
coffee coloured rounded silence
- and rainclouds pass -
as you await the clatter of satchels
demanding food
...
I shall no longer be depressed
but simply unehelich of mood
- and see if the doctor has a pill for that
...
today the mannigham strip was closed
supply lorries backed up westgate
from the lumb lane check point
toys r us was open
...
only later did they find
I had not committed half the crimes
and recommended that I wear
gloves - when handling suspects hair
...
methodist and town hall clock
dueling at midnight
two bells apart
- only bathroom lights -
it's a pretty town
...
poetry is not the preserve
of jam bound old men
sharing in jokes with outsiders
- leave that to television
let poetry breathe truth
...
two crows
sitting on the buss stop roof
not knowing
they will have to fly home
...
fuck I hate poets
who say
'this is a series of sonnets'
and then reduce
the human condition
to joyless witless ash
...
take my soul packed like a snowball
- hold it to your breast
for no matter how inflamed our kisses
not once have you burned me
...
we are the shadow of our shadow
collected stones gathered for their shape
a pear an arrow the face of a dragon
...
These days I adopt the arsene wenger position
pile on the duvets
and hope to finish in the top four
...
a small boy
at football
sitting on the terrace step
during dull games
he'd look up skirts
- that stitching on tights is scary
...
a morning so lazy
not even the rain falls
..
the sleeping child
gently snoring
on his breath
a gull's faint cry
...
I am told - and never listen -
consider the reader
- odd
the writer is unique
...
I love this time
when my skin turns silver
no matter how hard you try
the day is over
...
beyond the vicus lies the ley
where fairies dance, all in green,
weave and wheel tumble 'round -
beat pan and pikestaff on the ground
...
encircled by white lichen
a common lizard basks
atop dimpled grey stone
cart-broad bridge
road long gone -
yellow flowered gorse advance
...
I can no more intellectualise
this hungry self doubt
than the need to eat
a greggs sausage roll
...
the enjoyment index
is measured in
pine cones, sticks, and
stuff you really wished stayed outside
...
red groose break the gorse
skitter laughing at first
until annoyed they chunter
and gossip
...
strawberry picking is the graveyard of millionaires
arse in the air
you soon learn the value of college
...
oft have I wept at a poem
when full on wet with wine
and in cold morning's waking hour
no poetry could I find
...
peacock perks petty philpot
pickard plows pool
vortigen vowles waggott waggitt
field forrest geare gill
...
bouncing blue stripe
haloed white
from tree to grass into flight
...
sun warmed air
stretches flick flacked
as a bike freewheels
...
I came to bradford as a refugee
from a country called england
through cracks in the shithouse wall
dandelions bloom
...
blood bloated gangrenous drunk -
he throws the can
the clatter and roll suggests half full
...
it's easy to confuse sex with love
they (who know everything) warned about both
but only one requires you to be there
...
blue - splosive into vowel
on sad days nasal catching
us low - flap tongued and sighing
..
'oh thats great' he said
shrinking it to words
words to fit a pocket
ribbons in a girls hair
...
mummy and daddy
never changes
only the names they call themselves
...
Oi biddy
if he wants to wave his foot
and roar at pigeons
let him
they aren't dumb enough to get kicked
he will cry if he kicks one
buy a dog
...
in loco parentis
I shout
stamp my feet
say I wanted to go up the moor
and not swimming
as all the broken promises come back
in loco parentis
...
namaste
for we do not say
or go
just bump souls
and understand
namaste
...
burnt nutty lace bubbled
you eat around
until resisting no more
you half the yolk
it falls like excitement
of a thrice checked raffle ticket
...
it is not the whip of the cane which stings
but the act of bending over the desk
to face those
who should have been impressed
...
I was given whiskey the night my grandma died
to get me drunk and sleepy
so as not to see my mother cry
..
it's inconsiderate of jesus to die
in the middle of the school holidays
where am I to find the energy for church
after woods, swimming, picn....
...
automatic writing I assume
would be genghis khan or hitler
instead i get a housewife from hume
with ghastly tips for knitters
...
let us sing the praise
of little people the modest
gentle kind people
that unfocused group
whom always surprise
...
barometric butter
tells me to stock up on fat
accept holy bread
or lay it on thick
...
poets aren't as delicate as the cliche
we don't mind
we don't care
and the good ones well...
they just try and improve
...
I met myself as a child today
told him not to smoke or drink
that the millennium was a number
he didn't listen nor did I
...
don't sing the 23rd psalm
was the instruction in north end yard
they've enough on their plate with the funeral
without being reminded of god
The Blue Book
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