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Poetry

Poem: New World Order.

New World Order. . . After heavy rain The world looks so tender, Newly washed and brushed. There is pleasure to see Bright gleaming bricks In surprising shades of red, Sleek blackened slates, and Everything in refurbished tones With all spring cleaning done. Just like an old time Easter Parade. . .

Poem: Cry Baby.

Cry Baby. . . It is not only your skin That grows thin with age, It also seems to fetch emotions Much nearer to the surface. Soon you can be brought to tears By news stories, or even adverts. It turns you into a proper softie, Unable to hold your water In more ways than […]

Poem: Nothing Is Perfect.

Nothing Ts Perfect. . . You have to take The rough with the smooth. The beaches with pebbles The kippers with bones The tails on your prawns And the peaches with stones. . .

Poem: That’s Just Life Jim.

That’s Just Life Jim. . . When babies lie asleep With their pretty mouths open It’s all gummy pink suede And velvet pink tongues. Why then, when old people Fall asleep in their fire-you-out-chairs Do you see only a fallen back chin And a cosmic black hole. . .

Poem: Stunner.

Stunner. . . After such long association, your good looks don’t cut it anymore. There needs to be more inside than you have bothered to develop. When you get yourself all dolled up you can still stop traffic in the street but I know you too well now so the quick fix no longer works […]

Poem: Wednesday Morning Call.

Wednesday Morning call. . . Lying here in bed Watching the sun through Heavy winter velvet curtains, As various dark areas Are painted luminous By the early morning light. Seeing the frill of extreme ingress At the very top of uneven fixings I wait to witness the progression Of the seconds, and wonder If it […]

Poem: Who The Hell Is She.

Who The Hell Is She. . . It is hard to accept that this tortoise-like person I see in the mirror used to be me, but I know it was Because she used to kick up her rounded heels. I can testify to the truth of that as I was there at the time. . […]

Poem: Call For The Priest.

Call For The Priest. . . Fishing is definitely exciting. There you stand in your waders Feeling the insistent chill Of the ice cold waters Around your unwilling thighs. It can be hours on end Before you feel the bite. That moment when all things Just come together In a form of perfection. . .

Poem: Jose.

Jose. . . Don’t talk to me of little woes, The things that cause you daily strife, Don’t talk of what you haven’t got Because you live a complete life. Just think of those like poor Jose Who may not move past yesterday. . .

Poem: Pore Pore Fing.

Pore Pore Fing. . . Poor little bee Trapped in the window Frustrated by the glass. Don’t be so angry With your frenzied buzzing. I will give you a hand And carry you outside Safe within my fingers. Please don’t sting me Or else you will die And I don’t want that. You are a […]