The Fourth Magi
in lilac skies the star still shines
shimmers in time with the sage brush fire
twice I've heard the wind recite 'turn back'
the turning silver upon the anvil dome
burnished smooth and beaten out
but the more I watch my craftsman's hands
the more ennui chokes my throat
so full as desert carried storms
deep as a foot breaking marshy mirror
or that hope when cresting through the pass
to behold a sunlit valley and the gentle slope
I swallow - and the feeling goes
my tinsmith's gapped teeth do grin
his hammer beating up the bowl
for the gift - for him - who lies within
and out beyond the fire glow
another fire roasts meat slow
and servants skitter to and fro
as I watch the sprites within the flame
recites that wind-born voice again
'turn back the child is not there'
bandits and raids petitions and orders
all I meet with swipes of pen
and then come the letters reporting of factions
of plots schemes treacherous acts
taxes collected and moneys unspent
of my favourite wife who pines my return
my finger pointing at that star
is broader than my leg
the tapping ceases
and turning away
unwashed and unfed
I choose war chance and kingship
29/12/2015
#poem #poetry #amwriting when we were giants
and we could if we wanted
and in one stride
step out to the mountains on the other side
but instead we sit on the gate
calling out to the birds
who follow the tide
and in one stride
step out to the mountains on the other side
but instead we sit on the gate
calling out to the birds
who follow the tide
#poem #poetry #amriting #sketchbook parents
the hand still offers the flat-palm grass
to the nervous pony behind the wire
the eyes still shine with delight
at tinned pears and tinned milk on sunday
the voice can clearly be heard - and the phrasing -
when I find myself saying what I swore I never would
...........
my son asks if he allowed to say 'pissing it down'
I tell him I'll allow persisting
we are both soaked
I am frozen from mid thigh to knee cap
by the run off from my coat
but we soon dry
my son asks if he is allowed to say 'fuck'
only when standing on lego I say
......
to the nervous pony behind the wire
the eyes still shine with delight
at tinned pears and tinned milk on sunday
the voice can clearly be heard - and the phrasing -
when I find myself saying what I swore I never would
...........
my son asks if he allowed to say 'pissing it down'
I tell him I'll allow persisting
we are both soaked
I am frozen from mid thigh to knee cap
by the run off from my coat
but we soon dry
my son asks if he is allowed to say 'fuck'
only when standing on lego I say
......
28/12/2015
#poem #poetry #amwriting on catching sight of autumn
On Catching Sight of Autumn
at half past four
the farthest moor
ran blood red
with sinking sun
early gathered guttered leaves
catching hint of winters breath
decorously quiver
in the lingered still of dusk
while in one hundred kitchens
baked beans simmer
beneath the steam-whistle of transition
from the polarities of the classroom
to the less defined contests of the home
this samian splendid seeping sun
curls in upon us
like the crabs we chased laughing
in the shallow pools of summer
at half past four
the farthest moor
ran blood red
with sinking sun
early gathered guttered leaves
catching hint of winters breath
decorously quiver
in the lingered still of dusk
while in one hundred kitchens
baked beans simmer
beneath the steam-whistle of transition
from the polarities of the classroom
to the less defined contests of the home
this samian splendid seeping sun
curls in upon us
like the crabs we chased laughing
in the shallow pools of summer
22/12/2015
#poem #poetry #amwriting sonnet to 1680
Sonnet to 1680
before the vagina was the mop
beneath the merkin of the cropped
the sheath or scabbard took lusty knife
or plump the grain of the trusty wife
thus passed the girdle to the hips
never more to shape the lips
of the fabled vase
the cover torn to make a rip
was rooted by the wag - to break or bite
the hollow root of wood so tight
01/10/2015
#poem #poetry #amwriting 1 gentile golem
tomorrow the leaves will grow from my fingers
my nails will spread wide
- - ridged with veins –
and I will find essence in my rootedness
but that is tomorrow
for today I am between respectability
and the hole in the ground
the one I hold in lordship
and the other more transient
like that strip of pink sky
on which I balance with gripping toes
03/08/2015
#poem #poetry #amwriting #beehive #bradford beehivepoets digest compilation
Don't mind me...
I'm just putting some poems together for my trip to the Beehive tonight....
....
the republican mantra
from meduaern come bees
fresh as yon hard-back beck :
lufteme pulled
by the petrichor of spring :
drenc on thunder : drenc on cloud :
aelmesgeorn in verge well give :
them stamp the snaeb
and drink the tear :
full fat their collared necks :
aswellan as swine in gor
...
oubliette
the fond view now remains
not the keep of then
not the face by numbers forged
each a windowed glance
just the flare of struck matches
...
pendle
for years she called them parkies
- darkies - and mister to their face
and grew a wart upon her chin
don't come that - she stuck the door
made pot-noodles out of straw
and sold hot dogs out of date
don't bother your head with that
it's a bit of tat from butlins
I picked it up on the fair
she keeps it for a keepsake
forgot it was even there
a memento of the jubilee
her kid was the one - with his bulldog -
and his laced up boots
and short cropped jeans
it was lice that made him cut his hair
don't you drag him in
and put that down - you witch
....
friend's friend
whenever we met
she told me how I disliked her
and in what measure
and the reasons
and I laughed
her room was draped with peacock scarves
of purple print and pink bohemian hue
burnt candle and saffron and wine
even in the stink of summer
when children in buggies were gassed by buses
the air striking in the surrey hills
her room had coolness
our disagreement lay
- or so I am told -
in an off-hand remark while drunk
for which no apology was asked
and full insult taken
she never drank tea - only earl grey or lapsang -
but I drank it with milk and no lemon
during one lecture about the perils of meat
I pointed out I was a vegetarian
she knew me better than myself
told me my opinions
defined my tastes and whims
laughed at my clothes
and my carefree contempt
and then one day we air-kissed
without goodbye
...
peace:)
the beehive poets meet at the beehive pub on westgate bradford - be there at 8pm for an 7.30 start
all welcome
The Blue Book
I'm just putting some poems together for my trip to the Beehive tonight....
....
the republican mantra
from meduaern come bees
fresh as yon hard-back beck :
lufteme pulled
by the petrichor of spring :
drenc on thunder : drenc on cloud :
aelmesgeorn in verge well give :
them stamp the snaeb
and drink the tear :
full fat their collared necks :
aswellan as swine in gor
...
oubliette
the fond view now remains
not the keep of then
not the face by numbers forged
each a windowed glance
just the flare of struck matches
...
pendle
for years she called them parkies
- darkies - and mister to their face
and grew a wart upon her chin
don't come that - she stuck the door
made pot-noodles out of straw
and sold hot dogs out of date
don't bother your head with that
it's a bit of tat from butlins
I picked it up on the fair
she keeps it for a keepsake
forgot it was even there
a memento of the jubilee
her kid was the one - with his bulldog -
and his laced up boots
and short cropped jeans
it was lice that made him cut his hair
don't you drag him in
and put that down - you witch
....
friend's friend
whenever we met
she told me how I disliked her
and in what measure
and the reasons
and I laughed
her room was draped with peacock scarves
of purple print and pink bohemian hue
burnt candle and saffron and wine
even in the stink of summer
when children in buggies were gassed by buses
the air striking in the surrey hills
her room had coolness
our disagreement lay
- or so I am told -
in an off-hand remark while drunk
for which no apology was asked
and full insult taken
she never drank tea - only earl grey or lapsang -
but I drank it with milk and no lemon
during one lecture about the perils of meat
I pointed out I was a vegetarian
she knew me better than myself
told me my opinions
defined my tastes and whims
laughed at my clothes
and my carefree contempt
and then one day we air-kissed
without goodbye
...
peace:)
the beehive poets meet at the beehive pub on westgate bradford - be there at 8pm for an 7.30 start
all welcome
The Blue Book
01/08/2015
#poem #poetry #amwriting privilege
privilege
I still remember the meagre collection
- shirley bassey tihuana brass neil diamond's greatest hits -
and a couple of 45s
- one of which - tommy steele's confession - we never played -
but we would stack the rest
and dance until they dropped
- then dance some more
flared trousers swinging
- the green patterned pile carpet -
and my sisters osmond lp
later I asked my mother
what she did in the sixties
and where was her music
....
walking into town -
suddenly I am holding a man's hand
- broad - strong - yet childish
enough to seek a fathers love
blue slushie stained teeth grin at me
- a blob of chocolate ice cream under the nose -
every song I sing is boring
---
it was only when later
- cheque to cheque - without a washing machine -
that I understood the paucity of music
and my mother nods
in that most irritating of ways -
like when she reads over my shoulder -
or says she doesn't understand my poems
unless I read them aloud
....
it is only when writing
I understand the happiness
of experience
and see through the lies
of peddled shared guilt
The Blue Book
I still remember the meagre collection
- shirley bassey tihuana brass neil diamond's greatest hits -
and a couple of 45s
- one of which - tommy steele's confession - we never played -
but we would stack the rest
and dance until they dropped
- then dance some more
flared trousers swinging
- the green patterned pile carpet -
and my sisters osmond lp
later I asked my mother
what she did in the sixties
and where was her music
....
walking into town -
suddenly I am holding a man's hand
- broad - strong - yet childish
enough to seek a fathers love
blue slushie stained teeth grin at me
- a blob of chocolate ice cream under the nose -
every song I sing is boring
---
it was only when later
- cheque to cheque - without a washing machine -
that I understood the paucity of music
and my mother nods
in that most irritating of ways -
like when she reads over my shoulder -
or says she doesn't understand my poems
unless I read them aloud
....
it is only when writing
I understand the happiness
of experience
and see through the lies
of peddled shared guilt
The Blue Book
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