Wednesday, 30 September 2015

1 New Poem

Something Greater

It is to long for something better,
apart and far from bruising of brushfire,
in Birkbeck bricks and King’s colleges
though the grindstone teeth, nightcap book pages
burning oil thousands off miles,

in hope of greater fortune coming.

It is to be for something grand,
apart and far from shaking crowd’s scorn,
the blue-orange light of sloping bottle pill
mornings, staining windows and chalk dust
scrambles in dark corners, needle glint,

in dance of struggle, placards, colour red.

It is to want for something greater,
apart and far from sun-piercing shadows
how you water mouths for reckless-remembered
scar tissue, and the heart takes what it will,
but then isn’t in so convenient,

to be loved in closer manners?

Friday, 18 September 2015

2 New Poems

Clean Corduroy

White shirt pressed,
steaming, wish to
disguise, fracturing:

there is slight literalism
to your skin shade,

slight hanging hesitance
to your one of work,

dressing scissor slices,
but you don't hang in
ribbons and bows,

not nearly, not nearly.
But I fail one to judge,

taking drubbings from

taking illusion from
coloured glass,

taking freedom from
sallow smiles,

but, at least,
pressed, cleaned.

Toi, Tu Pars

Like Americanized Chinese,
Japanese-to-English back translation,
stage management, shuffled decks,
hiding in velvet curtain calls,
slight of hand,

when we're gone as air,
in light reflection,
half-making of darkness,

but I'd make it up,
do something with
teacup ivory, with broken Cadbury
bars to mend,

and still it's heady,
cloud-covered, seeming
undefined, yet not shadowed,

unheard echo, wooden.

Sunday, 6 September 2015

1 New Poem

You were jazzy,

tempered drummer's pitter-patter
on Transatlantic window screen,
knocking to-and-fro on wingspan
bathing in blue cabin light, taking on
a carcinogenic haloing.

You were off-trilling,

when I something flourish
in primes of stolen letting,
leaving pound pints to their task,
the dancehalls in North of England.

You were balladeering,

when could have passed,
nothing more than train announcements'
placeless drawl atop bleached clatter.

When could not have been but
falling's immortal melody in lullaby:

you were.