Tuesday, 30 July 2019

Don't Vomit


Don’t vomit

she whispers like a breeze
on the corner of Church and Wish

Think tea tree
mint

The taxi takes the turn too fast
but we stoically ignore the skid
and the potential to end up
upside down in a stranger’s garden

Keep it together

A finger separates my clenched fist
as the car regains some sort of composure

We stop at number seven
and the driver accepts
too much money with no chance of change
and Venus flytrap fingers




Friday, 19 July 2019

Seidel


Seidel
like paracetamol passed its best
you’re not helping

I look to you
for a pinch of filth
and fanciful suppleness

But this day
under a cold quilt
of clouds

when conversations on the air
carry like lost children
off the street
through my window

and the wind
whips saline tears
off the ageing face
of the English Channel

you bring nothing
but confusion
and the foreshadowing
of more rotten Brighton weather  




Tuesday, 16 July 2019

Monet's Sea



The sea’s a Monet
today.
The slight chop
pieces away into
the idea of a
horizon;

this is where I set
my gaze,
beyond borders
or edges.

I’ve never been
to sea
but can imagine
the secret that
voyagers to this
point must hold:

that they come apart
here,
as the painter's brush
intends they should,
undress and lose shape;

run like colours
into the notion
of another’s arms,
as floor gives way
to bed,
and lips to thigh.

Then back to the
photograph
of my sandaled feet on
this pebbled beach.

I won’t set sail today.




Thursday, 11 July 2019

Spiderman Blues


A skittish route,
a defeatist’s stoop,
eyes to the floor;
how I should approach you.

A limber mind,
a careful tone,
hands in plain sight;
how I should approach you.

A gentle word,
a peaceful touch,
tongue to a post;
how I should approach you.

A tentative embrace,
a few failed words,
reverse retreat;
how should I approach you?

Tuesday, 9 July 2019

Wait for the Wind


Wait for the wind
in an open space
look listen feel

spread your arms
splay your fingers

run run
catch it
and take off

over what you’ve
done or haven’t

over broken promises
and bracken fields where

you’ve been led awry
or lost your plot

and on passed the cusp
where baked ice and the scab of sin

meet flowing promise

and the unpredictable green
creep of confederate jasmine

and here we can
gingerly touch down

debts ignored
dark arable soil to
plant our feet in

and virgin space to scatter
memories and scars

here they won’t
know us yet

we can act on the new earth
and sow fresh character

for our friends
the worms






Monday, 1 July 2019

Wish Park


A wren’s breath
of your last sigh
is probably mine

Once you'd
have hammered
your small fists

on my shoulders
and chest
screaming

fuck you
how could you

Trees
would have
shed bark

Now there
are other weeds
you must rake




Monday, 24 June 2019

The Stew



Over the infancy
of what I hope
will be a piquant stew
I dwell on the
shape of things

how meekly
those who have
nothing to want
surrender

and how those who
have nothing to fear
feign empathy
almost convincingly

HomellS Pepil cAn Stay Here

my neighbour’s
seven year old
blu tacked this
up in their window

It’s been there for
the best part
of a year

seeing off window clean
after window clean
from the inside

A suburban gesture
made in the best
of faith by the
best of people
a child

I fetch bay
from the tree in my garden 
as I think about

the complacency
and complicity

of a middle class
who can conveniently
just about bear their
guilt

and now look...

Somewhere
between Trump
Global Warming
and Brexit

I’ve forgotten the splash
of red wine



By Ruodprecht - Own work, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=25490318