I’ve got this pocketful of dragons
and it’s doing my head in.
They just won’t stay still.

They keep roaring and when they
get really upset they breath this fire,
yes, ****** fire,
and it plays havoc with the lining
of your jacket.

But there are compensations; dragons
have had a bad press you know.

Although volatile and let’s face it
-utterly unpredictable- they tend to
balance this out with a world-weary
wisdom; an erudition that takes us back
to the dinosaurs, to that time
When They Ruled The World  
and although occasionally bitter
about their fall, they’re still up for it,
oh yes, and so:

I put them on the table in front of me
and sympathize with their woes and sigh at
the resigned acceptance of their fate.  

They don’t seem to mind

They just want to help

To contribute even  

But all they do is live in my pocket  
which hack’s them off to a certain extent
but after a few pints of diesel they just sit back
and relax, kick back and have a laugh
and slur ‘sailor vee,’ and eventually pass out,
at which point I gently gather them up,
and put them back into my pocket.

I sometimes
(well most of the time)
Think I  should have been
Born an American.
But if I had
What state would I be in?

Probably the same as now

But with bigger skies

Which would help.

I have a spider in my drawer
in my cutlery drawer
and it’s cool
I like spiders
clean
like cats and
as ****** difficult.

It’s been there three days now-
scuttling about.
And I've tried to rescue it;
it’s obviously forgotten about
the way it got in.
But hell, can I help?
No chance.

I try a knife.  Metal.
Doesn’t like metal.
No way
I try my finger
tender exploration
hesitation
then it pulls back.

‘Hell!’ I curse, ‘I’m trying to help you!’

Then it scuttles down towards
the spoon section.

Idea

I try a spoon

Still doesn't like metal

I'm in despair

This cannot go on

but the little ****** needs at least
a fighting chance.

There’s some string in the drawer.
So I tug it out and the spider tentatively
feels it- backs away a little-
then feels it again.

I give it time.
I sense but do not know (exactly)
That spider time
may be different
from mine.

So I hang in there, wait.
And the spider climbs aboard
but I do not know for how long,
how long this will be for.

So I quickly put the spider on the floor.

And off it runs.  Along the kitchen length,
under the door.
To who knows where.

But, good luck, I say.  

****** good luck.

me broken
you something whole
me someplace
else
in a whole
dodgy parallax
who knows
who cares
hey there’s a small
pink
beetle on my desk
a toy
it’s true
take’s you back
it’s true
the love of someone
who owes you nothing
but
the truth
return of The Truth
but
not at this venue

If dancing thrice around the split shield wasn't
enough, the bronze razor sharp the trident cracked,
where the legion ****** picked across the dead, as
absent wives dreamed and sensed the worst.
Where glory tore through the heavens with the stab
of a torn standard, and Peresphone pretended to be free,
climbing out of a fissure in the earth, for another spring
of dance and glutinous, temporary glee.

Something grunting this way came
I had a feeling it felt no shame
as it shambled down the lane
I studied it carefully
throught the grimey
window pane.
It didn't worry me as I felt
it too
was not necessarily looking for fame
but more carried the air of being
the standard bearer of the lame
taking it to the brink with
its faux pain.
Get back down that lane
you don't fool me no fame no gain
I'm not that insane
you're all the same
all far too tame
I played the game I've a string
of victories to my name
too far gone for you
to worry me now.