In pubs with bar flies.
Kronenburg, Becks, Carling, Stella Artois and Fosters,
Dancing in our blood,
Utterly inured; we are endured by all:
The solipsism most profound.

And when Johnnie, Jack and Jameson join,
The sentimental and the morbid
Are conjoined.

And ****!
In the custody of beer halls,
The shadows that draw, fade,
And calls – e’en Death’s! -- are put on hold!
No time; instead, before the last, another pint.

For in this hallowed inn,
Drinking what’s in the glass,
And espousing the glow within,
Cares regress.

No woes,
Or loaded psyches,
For when the pressure builds,
The best: a jet of yellow bliss,
Relieves the pain,
On Armitage Shanks' porcelain.

this body aches
from my mother's house
from the lack of nutrition
from the fresh burns
but i promised I'd stop
but I promised
but you aren't here to stop me.
I'll smoke as much **** as I need to.
and fantasize about the intelligent, soft-spoken
well-worded
perfect everything
he likes my poetry, and says it reminds
him
of Simon Armitage

late summer 1984 Odysseus thinks he sees girl resembling Bayli walking large black dog on armitage street he and Farina still puppy follow girl and her dog to oz park as he nears yells “Bayli?” she looks around replies “Odys? oh Odys! i can’t believe it’s really you it’s so good to see you i’ve missed you so much how’ve you been?” “oh god Bayli i’ve missed you so much too how are you? are you still married?” she answers “we recently divorced he turned out to be real **** secretly borrowed money against mortgage to our house to buy ******* he’s a drug addict we lost everything i’m staying with girlfriend from work then moving this weekend to north carolina where my parents now live” he gazes at her thinks how grown-up lovely she looks she wears tight black jeans tank top beneath short red leather jacket black pointed boots they chat while Farina follows Bayli’s ******* dog he invites her to his place nearby to look at some drawings she agrees tells him thrift-store shirt he is wearing is very cool he offers it to her on the way they pass gare st. lazare Bayli says “i love this place Odys i’m starved haven’t eaten all day let’s stop for a bite let me take you to lunch” he says “i’ll have a cocktail” they tie dogs to parking meter go inside sit in booth drink several screwdrivers smoke talk Bayli orders steak and fries Odysseus orders ****** mary madonna’s “like a ******” plays from bar speakers Bayli comments “there’s still innocence about you Odys i can feel it you’re like child full of gullibility wonder how have you managed to survive?” his eyes glance down speaks “oh Bayli if only you knew the truth it hasn’t been easy” he nibbles one of her fries explains “i’ve struggled Mom and Dad pushed me into commodity markets that was total disaster i’m trying to get back to my true self stumbling every step i’ve made some new drawings you’ll see let me take some water out to the dogs i’ll be right back” they hang out at gare st. lazare for hour talking ordering another round of drinks later when they arrive at his place dogs race up stairs Bayli peers around at drawings on walls “Odys you’re a real artist i’m astounded by your work you’re better than i ever imagined i wish i could say same for myself my life is in ruins man i married physically abused cheated on me stole 10 years savings $260,000 i need to go home to my parents rebuild my life starting from scratch” he kisses her lips they embrace she smells like vanilla he slides hand between her thighs in nurturing voice she says “slow go slow Odys” they tear off each other’s clothes he recognizes her knobby knees he so loves notices her bush has grown fuller ***** longer Bayli has matured into superb lover he adores way they relate over time Odysseus has drawn many sketches of Bayli yet he neglects to show her his thoughts run wild with lightness this afternoon he is so thrilled he dismisses all the things he wants to tell her his mind drifts in world of fantasy forgetfulness he fails to comprehend what Bayli means to him in numb dumb way in passion of  moment Bayli is just another piece of *** another colorless girl passing through his life he looks at her his most perfect ideal woman admires her body yet cannot see her does not realize brain does not register speaks her name Bayli the most beautiful sound his ears can hear but it is just another name how can this occur? they make tender passionate love then he asks her to model she consents he positions her lying down on her back with arms legs outstretched like she is floating he positions her on her knees with hands cupped then clasped like she is praying he positions her curled up on her side watches her get dressed leave go to her parent’s home in north carolina why doesn’t he beg her to stay rebuild her life with him? why does he let her go? what is he thinking? that is just it he is not thinking and for 2nd time it costs him love of his life there is no one to blame but himself when did he become so empty?
what kind of man am i to walk the streets in search of love? once i was loved by beautiful sweet woman who was content just knowing i was happy Bayli was pure honest loyal i thought her a child yet she is more woman than i have ever known thought because she came so easily i could easily get better i let her go the one person in whole world who really loved me made me happy kept me in light i told her someday when i am recognized artist with money respect i will come for her until then we both need time to build towards our destinies it doesn’t matter what i told her she’s gone what kind of man am i to walk the streets in search of love? how do i hold myself responsible for my own stupidity? i’ve had such incredible women offer themselves to me and turned away slamming door on love what kind of man am i to stalk the streets in search of love? i’m going to get so drunk i won’t be able to recognize myself in mirror

I attended the Poetry Live event at Leeds Town Hall on Wednesday 5th February (this week) and it was a spectacular event.
I witnessed readings from Carol Ann Duffy, Gillian Clarke, Simon Armitage, Jackie Kay, Imtiaz Dharker and John Agard. Each of these poets are a true inspiration for me and their work is absolutely amazing. My favourite reading was from John Agard, who is an incredible individual and great entertainer!

concerning making the bed i’ve grown rather fussy even meticulous as far back as i can remember i’ve made my own bed even when i lived in my parent’s house many years ago i asked teresa the maid to leave my room untouched and as a child made my own bed i don’t recall being as particular then as i am now in fact when i lived on armitage street in chicago and enjoyed feral affairs with many women i slept on futon on floor with bottom sheet and sleeping bag but that was 25 or more years ago now i pull tight from foot end bottom powder blue sheet and brush area if i find particles or loose feathers i pick them up with fingers and walk them into kitchen deposit them into waste basket then return to bedroom to make the bed i choose to exclude top sheet next i pull quilt cover symmetrically over foot of bed allowing for some over-hang then attend to head of bed flipping and fluffing pillows adjusting duvet proportionately over pillows to top edge making sure if perhaps some woman sleeps with me she will find clean neat spot next to me yet no one has slept with me for years i sleep in queen size bed hoping praying for loving partner but becoming aware i will possibly likely die alone in this bed

Simon Armitage has a boring voice,
White, working-class, the brexiteer's choice?
Is his nose blocked?
Is that why he sounds stuffy?
Only he could make me Ms,
Carol Ann Duffy.

NITE-VISION ~ The HELEN of TROY

How could human language describe perfection? There were no faculties nor imaginations that could describe Namé as she made her entrance onto that yacht. All eyes snapped open and even some of the most cynical had a moment when they bulged. There were double takes everywhere. Gasps of something akin to awe... She was simply stunning.

She was wearing a dress that was cut from the fabric that she was famous for. NITE-VISION. The fiber-optics shot through a velvet you could sink your arm into. It was a background color of deep purple & indigo. The scintillating sheen every color of the aurora borialis.

The dress itself was a simple cut. The figure within it, however, was anything but simple. Curve upon curve, line for line she was the most lithely lush female, statuesque yet strangely approachable. This was FLESH. Not a marble form to be cordoned off.

If the masculine eyes could be torn off her lower body, rise above her neck which was like the curve of an egret, they would dwell on her face. And they would never leave.

She was angelic. Yes. She was. Yet she had ascertain mein which was almost like a waif. A street urchin. Her jawline was almost a perfect oval. Almost. There was an angular quality to it too. The Planes of her face could have been sculpted by an Egyptian. Or Greek. Or a Japanese mask maker. There was absolutely no way to describe it. Her cantilevered cheekbones were delicate as glass, but seemed to have, in their depths, an Armitage of pure tungsten.

Her hair was a color the painter Titan would envy. It could never be captured by his palette. Gold. Platinum. And Hollow fire. It was swept up on the side and you held by a perfect Indigo, lavender and Ivory comb. It was in the shape of an orchid. No one had seen her hair. Not fully. It was always held up with braids and strands on the top of her head. Tonight it was fully down. The comb the only thing that graced it. It was like a river going through the Black Hills. And all the colors of it's Pink gold.

But her eyes were the most arresting feature of her face. Fringed by lashes that were dark brown golden fire, as every bit as  long as her mother's. The irises were dark indigo shot with cerulean blue. But towards the pupil they were light lilac. If eyes were the windows to the soul, this was a soul that was not simply human, nor even angelic. Namé was a force of nature.

But the reason for the four men in dark suits with steam shovel Jaws became quite obvious on close inspection to the lady's midsection. Yep. She was wearing it. Just as she said she would. The most dazzling pearl to grace woman...

The HELEN of TROY