Wickedness dances like a Chinese dragon
held high on poles by the grinning

It curls its tail and snakes around the minds
of admirers who see beauty in its gaping jaws

Flaccid and incapable, this billowing beast
intoxicates and seduces the frustrated and resentful

It dances in Kirachi, hoodwinks in Bradford,
and slips into the dark places in distracted minds

— this infernal idea more bilious and mephitic
than a komodo’s bite

It dances wildly in the confused thoughts of lost boys
who haven’t noticed its cunning wink

They sway and rock — utterly taken
far more mistaken — until stilled by the slap of death

Is it in that ulcer that recurs in my mouth?
That scaly patch on my right thigh?
Blood on the loo paper?

Is it in the swerve around angry brake lights?
The crushed metal womb?
Will I be removed as a stillborn?

Is it closer than tomorrow?
Will it end a dream?
Better still, a prayer?

Do I deserve a warning?
— Oh God don’t let it catch me by surprise
         let me say goodbye … and sorry

Great whales’ hearts thud
Allah … Allah
Eight times
Each grey
Minute

The hummingbird calls
Faster, much faster
The name in
A whir of
Acclamation

Knuckly stiff fingers
Count misbaha beads
In resin while
The mind strokes
Each for a second

A baby’s colic cry
And a mother’s
Soft shushing
Hold a meaning
Understood

The aches of the
Lonely and penitent
Are never felt
By only
One

In everything lives
The memory of
An echo of that
First word
“Be”

I wanted to write a poem
Of You
That does not
Include me
But my first word here was
I and I
Want to say I’m sorry
But that’s also about me

You Oh Lord
Are beyond words
Anyway
Even the prettiest
Are shabby
Compared to Your Heart
Of love

Even words that sound
The same
As their meaning –
Scrumptious, Graceful
Sweetheart –
Are clumsy and ugly
Compared to
Your name

Words as fragrant
As their flowers –
Carnations, violets,
Goldenrods,
Dahlias –
Wither as weeds
When Your warmth
Radiates as midday
From the pages of Your Book

A poem of You
Needs only one word
Or ninety-nine
And it is finished

What did it take?

A beautiful boy packed tight
With no hint of a man’s chin
By his dad who
Kissed him goodbye
With a hope of seeing him later

What did he know?

Carrying a sunburst in canvas
To strangers who never noticed
That their end stood five-feet-two
With a running nose
And a mind full of his mum

What did he think?

Avoiding all eyes as he stood
Among them with a small chest
That felt ready to explode
With the pressure of keeping
A secret for moments more

What would he think?

His life now a curling photo on a shelf
In a home where a family once laughed
And dust on a street where people still
Buy drinks, phone covers and fruit

Sipping beauty
And coffee

Children and mums
In pieces

The deaf

The blind

And torn

Closer to the God
Who loves
Innocence

A smell of hate
And heat
Survived

The
Angry blink

That 17

Could not

A Child
Caught a thing
Meant for another
It flew yet wasn’t a bird
It whistled
She never heard

It tore her dress
Of blue cotton
And seven lives
Which must wait
Until Paradise
To be mended