Tag Archives: poetry

Like an abandoned shopping trolley in the breeze

Like an abandoned shopping trolley in the breeze

He moves back and forth on the bench

Shuffling his notes around

Waiting to speak

The time doesn’t arrive

He moves back and forth on the bench

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The Mower

Under a clear azure sky

The lawn is kept in shape

Like so many other mowers up and down the land

Uniform headphones protect the ears

Cap and glasses from the orange sun

The work is set

*

I hear the whirring of activity every afternoon

There is always more grass to cut down

More growth to dominate

Our advancement shapes the earth

And challenges the natural fit

How long will the work go on for?

Ink Sweat and Tears

I am featured over at Ink Sweat and Tears poetry webzine today.

The poem is The Paperboy Whose Mind and Paper Round Expanded.

It will tell you a bit about growing up and suburban paper round routes.

Points of Convergence

A new musical/poetry project Points of Convergence

outside/inside/start/end

the end is the start
the start is the end
this is a straight line
but watch how it bends

i look
i see
an explosion of red and black
just outside my window
i do not know if i am looking
outside
or inside

the end is the start
the start is the end
this is a straight line
but watch how it bends

Birds

The birds are not singing for you
The birds are not singing for World Peace, an end to oppression or a return to the Godhead
The birds are not singing for workers rights, libertarian values, social mobility or true sexual equality
The birds are not singing for a slap-up lunch, a boozy weekend away or a 2 for 1 deal at the supper club
The birds are not singing for hacked elections, the virus in your hard-drive or the End of all of these Days

The birds are not singing for you 
The birds are singing because they need to.

Badmus no.1

badmus1

Cans for Hands

He’s got bottles for fingers
And cans for hands
A dumbphone extension
Leading straight to the glands

I know what he’s after
Cos I used to be the same
A blinding of the drama
And some pissing down the drain

Now he’s got no time for dinner
Or anything sane
But the clock is still ticking
And still he might change

But he might not.

Motorway Spirits

Here I lay
Struck cold by a van
On the motorway.
Still and quiet
Like a dead bird or rabbit
Though getting hit by cars
Is not in my habit.

I turn and wave
As each new one
Passes me by
Bits of bone
Bits of flesh
Blowing from tarmac
To sky

Got proper stuck from A to Z
So chucked the roadmap instead
Drive on or walk on
There’s nothing left to see
Abandoned dogs listen
I promise them:
We shall run again

Threats

Picturing a bird
Brought down by a sniper
And wondering what
The fallout will be

I thought travelling light
Would make the most sense
As I need the strength
To remain free

The threats to our lifestyle
Are both real and authentic
And test what
We want to see