Spider he was called and when he came it was alright I was allowed I didn’t need to pocket a knife “Star cave hin man” pendjoum Like a memory of pride My wife is there laughing and Hej! It was the Dane, the blonde one but Spider had moved on and I had to counter …
Category archives: poetry
On beauty
It’s not that I don’t want to be seen It is that I don’t want to see
Jazz at the Lescar
Moore Pope Hunter Imagine you’re playing to the OAPs At the Jazz in the Tuesday lunch club in Torrevieja My father there eating his Roast beef Mash Carrots He doesn’t spill the gravy But hears and taps his feet He’d do that even as the citizens start at the sounds of chaos; Birds squalling over …
I saw you this day, man with a ponytail and beard, whose face I should have recognised, talking in a language I’m learning. I thought suddenly automatic your words, apprentice automaton that I am. My eyes like a breeze and you blink, slow down and glance beside me. Briefly, the air settled, my mind your …
missing the bus
“It’s some thing connected to meaning. An oblique waking up. Or a guilty secret. An automatic self disgust. There are whole sets of impulses that have pushed me. Chemically induced ones. Natural body exuberances and later self-inflicted. I just can’t capture anything about this in words. It’s about meaning. A really joyful sitting with, walking …
Jesus mum
I’m on my way home now It’s not quite getting late But I’m getting quite tired Someone’s been singing about how I put a golden comb in your black hair Jesus Mum I’m sick of you being dead
in Wells
As I walked through Wells this evening I saw a man leaning against a car. Who is that walking through town? He thought. I’ll keep an eye on him. This town is bloated with money yet nobody is spending enough to keep it happy. Across the road a figure stands Like those dry appearing higher …
pathos
How easy is melancholy to revive Just now by it’s absence I recalled finding the yellow archangel On a lane in a wood in Berkshire when I was young Which too is facile to evince The sense of being old that comes with age and fatigue I spend time on the edge of tears I …
Tall orders
We are overblown thinkers Properly moved by logic Those of us that think in this way Using thought to regulate a sorry route Following white lines catching cats eyes Refueled along the way A road just to get some where Somehow oblivious to suffering Despite everything that has happened It is a soul less task …
St Antimo 1999
1. The tomb is always empty It cannot be otherwise I am here Such lamentation there will be when I rise. 2. Always we approach the White Hart And always he retreats So with stealth we approach And still he flees. To touch him He must die 3. Great silence …