Tag: poet
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The warmest fire is always poem-fed
Eager to fill empty spaces with pointless conflations No tears when my years of work meet conflagrations Fill these quaking pages Before the hungry quail returns His voice of confirmation, gently urging, never urgent.
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When hellhounds are chasing you down the old straight track, you’ll regret every fag you ever smoked
Writing quickly, like the defibs already fizzing My Dorian portrait dripping Deposit’s down, few quid for my headstone’s round Black cars, carved slabs Speech snatches, mourning parlour, all ready All they’re waiting for is a carload Coffinbound, knocked down Frida Kahlo Closer each cough Will popping clogs get me in the Prado? Grave dogs chasing…
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Sifting through ancient papyri, searching for keys to unlock the present moment
The Sea Peoples set sail Offerings made to propitiate The waves, which fail Indefensible walls with gun-mounted railings Prove frail Paling against the rage Of wave-borne invaders.
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Working at Tesco, saving up to pay a traitor’s weregild
Her curves in the dark merged with the backlighting pyre Days of backbiting, screaming bloody murder Ended up packed on the curb waiting for a cab Or a hearse, convinced her to stay on the basis That it gets worse before it gets better, improvements daily Trying to keep it real, be as pragmatic as…
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DURTSTAIN’D
A lot of dirt to wade through when you’re talking austere ages Under queer, jew-hating Archbishop McQuaid What hurtful shells do you get paid through lately?
Alchemisland 