... is me,
In Middle English, all at sea,
Self-pity and the Lesser Key.
I have been blind,
And unkind,
And stupid.
But what about you, Cupid?
Where have you been?
Worrying about bits and bytes?
Locking up the lippy whites?
Well I watched the news last night,
Used my ears and not my sight.
Oh Jess!
What a mess!
Did they take you to one side?
Say "Here's your arsenic, open wide"?
While one side pushes the other shoves?
No finger prints - they're wearing gLOVEs?
I'm done.
I'm going back to being dumb.
I've fallen off my broken perch
And I'll be as quiet as a Janeite
In Godmersham Church.
Good bye and good luck,
I'll miss that Irish... gentle man.
Apr 11, 2025
Apr 11, 2025 at 1:00 AM UTC
"SIGN for the medication" the registrar said,
Eye to eye, tilt of her head.
No! No! No! Not this full loon.
So the dish ran away with the spoon.
Another angry bee. Not a single dove.
Why aren't you watching ? Where is the love?
Apr 10, 2025
Apr 10, 2025 at 12:26 AM UTC
That book in the wicker basket,
North aisle of the nave,
Is one of the saddest things.
Messages for the little ghost who lies,
Alongside,
Some Anglo-saxon kings.
(I watched nobody read it
From a distance.
Her shoulders were shaking.)
Later,
Nobody went with me to London again,
On the train.
The NPG is a short walk across Trafalgar Square
From the station,
And there
(On the third or fifth floor - can't recall)
Was the drawing - so small,
Behind bullet-proof screens,
Alongside,
A bunch of Tudor queens.
(I think I read that she is on tour at the moment. Australia perhaps. I wonder who she is rubbing shoulders with now.)
Apr 7, 2025
Apr 7, 2025 at 11:03 PM UTC
A little lipstick
On the lips,
A little blusher
On the nose,
When my mother
Goes out shopping
I like to
Wear her clothes.
Apr 2, 2025
Apr 2, 2025 at 3:36 PM UTC
A cry,
A caw,
A nevermore.
Against a grey sky
Like a musical score -
Neatly arranged
And set out in rows,
On the branches of a tree
Is a ******
Of crows...
And there's a heart
Carved into
The bark of this tree
And
There's a bark from the dog
That's staring
At me,
Because the light had faded
As had the hope,
Of the boy in the boughs
At the end of his
Ro...
Apr 2, 2025
Apr 2, 2025 at 3:25 PM UTC
(Yet another re-write)
....
Of crocodiles
And betrayal,
Boudica's clad
In chain mail,
Cleopatra
Uncorks
Another bottle,
Scythed-wheeled chariots
Going full throttle.
In gems and jewels
And golden bangles;
Crowns tilted
At jaunty angles.
Telling
Tales of lovers
And kingdoms lost,
And of
The clever men
They'd double-crossed
With ruby lips,
A breath of silk
And pert ******* bathed
In ***** milk,
Until the asp
And an axe
At a slender throat,
Then a sarcophagus
And
A wolfskin coat.
The Iceni queen
And Ptolemy's wife -
Whispering Sappho
In the
After-life;
Where they get
The giggles
About what happened
To Ceasar
And swap some bits of gossip
About
The Queen Of Sheba.
Apr 2, 2025
Apr 2, 2025 at 3:07 PM UTC
(Rewite)
An
Ocean
Of
Passion,
A libido
Pelagic
And
The
Wand
By
Her
Bed-
Side
Is
Poly-
Vinyl
And
Magic.
Apr 2, 2025
Apr 2, 2025 at 2:38 PM UTC
"It's called terracotta” Professor ‘igginz said,
‘Coz ‘e’s one of ‘em with big words in iz ‘ead
And we're in Tuscony on a cultural trip…
(Where they paint the buildings the colour of brick)
…To look at pictures and culture and stuff,
But after an ‘our
I've ‘ad enough,
‘Coz it's all great big churchez and great big tombz
And great big museumz with too many roomz.
And then I see this bloke looking at me
And ‘ere's me thinking “Who can ‘e be?”
‘Coz ‘e's tall and ‘andsome,
(While I'm short but not fat)
And ‘e’s stood on a plinth with wingz on ‘iz ‘at.
And ‘e's got this lovely face
And a nice straight nose,
But mostly I'm thinking
‘E's not wearing clothes.
Just beautiful calves
Below gorgeous thighs
And everything's… You know…
Just the right size.
Then down ‘e drops,
That ‘at gets a tip,
A nice little bow,
Them ‘eels givz a click.
And he makes me laugh
‘Coz ‘e's a posh sort of chap,
And ‘e torcs like this
While I talkz like tha’.
So I asks him - you know - If he'll show me round,
Then he pickz me up right off the ground!
And out of the Uffizi and up into the sky
And like buzzard with a bunny
Off we fly...
To this great big church
With a great big dome
And we land on the roof
Which ‘e sez
Iz ‘iz ‘ome.
And we sit there just chatting looking down at the crowds,
Then we lie back and paint faces on clouds,
And we watch the sun sinking like a great big ball,
And then just lie there saying nothing at all,
Til ‘e he turnz and whispers as the sky runs to black
And next thing I've got me legs round ‘iz back.
‘Coz ‘e's proper ‘andsome
With nice airs and graces
What ‘igginz would call
“Prosopopoeia ekphrasis”.
Mar 14, 2025
Mar 14, 2025 at 11:37 PM UTC
*Palms cup
Mother-of-pearl
To the ***** laugh
Of a clean-limbed girl
Whose teeth are white
And whose lips are as fresh
As lemon squeezed
On living flesh,
Beneath a salmon sky
As the tide slides out
And as we wash them down
With velvet stout.
Then she carves a heart
That reads "Chips for 'rus"
On the backseat of
The East Kent bus.
A choir boy
And his girl guide
Whose shell is rough
But who's soft inside.
Mar 29, 2021
Mar 29, 2021 at 9:35 PM UTC
A Penthouse in the attic
And a boy in his teens,
Head bowed below rafters
And in unbuttoned jeans.
It's a dogeared edition,
Some twenty years old,
In which his mother,
Spreadeagle,
Is the centrefold.
Nov 3, 2020
Nov 3, 2020 at 11:17 PM UTC