"plimsolls" poems
Market square died down this afternoon,
the day of trading over and over all too soon;
and the now the trolleys have been left out,
lights left on waiting for those customers to come again.
*They'll hurry into their jumpers the traders and customers of tomorrow,
weather'll kick up and run up the coast in a rainy fuss.*
Temporary clad walls that are there all year round
are dressed up from the ground every day, tied at the ear
of the frames that hang over corridor of cobbles,
scuffed with the muck from Armani plimsolls
and the heels of this week's Alexander McQueens.
*When the rain comes trading will cease and
they'll flick out their notepads to calculate this month's lease.*
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 8:38 AM UTC
Need your kindness to share a kiss
as your yellow dress blows
like a deft daffodil,
your auburn pony tail
and laced plimsolls
are all summer
like a girl guide out to picnic
who needs a parasol
to shield her freckles
and those bumble bees
sharing the carrrot cake.
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 2:29 PM UTC
It was sports day
at high school
and the field and tracks
were crowded with
teachers and kids
and the sun was out
causing sweat
and heat rash
and Reynard said to you
that girl who fancies your ***
is waving to you
over by the small wood
of trees and bushes
so you looked over
and saw Christina
waving a hand at you
leaping up and down
her short gym skirt
rising and falling
as she leaped
showing off
now and then
her dark green *******
mind she don’t eat you
Reynard said
and walked off
to watch the races
as you wandered over
to where she stood
at the edge
of the small wood
don’t you look
the **** beast
in your black shorts
she said
eyeing you over
her right hand smoothing
down your white tee shirt
are you running?
she asked
yes a short sprint
you replied
anything more than that
and I’m buggered
she looked at the field
holding her hands
in front of her
and you gazed
at her white legs
and white ankle socks
and black plimsolls
I’m in the relay race
she said
I‘ll have to watch
to see when my turn comes
then she turned to you
and said
have you been inside the wood?
you looked behind you
no not so far have you?
yes we went there
in science looking for bugs
and such
she said
maybe you could show me
you said
what?
bugs and flowers
and butterflies
you replied
she smiled at you
maybe but teachers might be watching
or other kids or prefects
and what if my brother Cedric
sees us enter
and tells my parents?
just a science tour
to see all nature’s gifts
you said
tell them that
if any see us go
and you watched her
fumble with her fingers
looking around the field
and whispered softly
no.
Apr 3, 2012
Apr 3, 2012 at 3:28 PM UTC
Plastic pistols, cowboy hats
action men, palitoy combat
Hotspur, Tiger and Hurricane
leather footballs, broken panes
Matchbox, Corgi, Airfix, Meccano
Stickle Bricks, and (only) red and white Lego
Triang scooters, Raleigh Choppers
Dunlop plimsolls, orange space-hoppers
Down the park’s obstacle course
Witches Hat, iron rocking horse
Bumps and scrapes, grazes and cuts
rub it all better, just-get-back-up
Home before dark, in time for tea
Billy and Ian, my sisters and me
Dec 13, 2021
Dec 13, 2021 at 2:26 PM UTC
You walked with Janice
to Baldwin’s the Herbalist
at the corner of Elephant
and Walworth Road
she wore her blue patterned dress
and red beret
and white socks
and red sandals
and in her small purse
she had money
her gran gave her
to buy sarsaparilla
in a half pint glass
and you
in your cowboy shirt
and jeans and plimsolls
with your holster
and six shooter
in the belt
around your waist
and clutching money
your mother’d given you
for doing a few chores
Gran would never let me
go on my own
Janice said
but when I said
you were going
Gran said all right
but no sweets
they rot your teeth
I like the liquorice sticks
you can buy there
you said
they make your teeth white
or so my mum said
Janice looked at your gun
in the holster
and said
you can protect me
from outlaws with your gun
sure
you replied
she smelt of lavender
and toothpaste from tins
and she moved nearer to you
and her arm touched yours
as you walked along
here we are
she said
and opened the door of Baldwin’s
and you both went in
and went to the counter
and asked the man
for two half pints
of sarsaparilla
and when he poured them
and you each paid him
you stood by the window
with your glasses
and sipped
and looked
at the passing traffic
and people
you feeling like Wyatt Earp
in the saloon
and Janice looking out
as if she feared
outlaws would be coming
pretty soon.
Jul 29, 2012
Jul 29, 2012 at 3:02 PM UTC
Walking,
My body weaves,
Arms hang,
Pinned to shoulders
Loose as string.
The hard walkway,
Through cracked plimsolls,
Transmits,
To creaky hips,
My material faults,
In uneven steps.
The eye
Inward stares,
And at every step:
Those fears,
That I kept at bay
As I strayed,
Claw at my walls.
Now,
I must attend
To the piteous whimpers,
The cringing whines,
And frantic scratching.
And force myself
From running,
As I would,
To escape the pleading:
The howls,
Of that inner dog,
Tied to a post.
May 19, 2019
May 19, 2019 at 7:34 AM UTC
Early summer
after school
after low tea
of bread and jam
and a glass of milk
you sat with Fay
on the roof
of the pram shed
of Banks House
and looked up
Meadow Row
watching the sun
slowly going down
on the busy horizon
she clothed
in a grey dress
with black plimsolls
and you in fading jeans
and open necked shirt
and she said
my daddy says
I’ve to learn
the Credo in Latin
by the summer holidays
or there’ll be trouble
what the heck’s the Credo?
you asked
looking at the heels
of her plimsolled feet
hitting the wall
of the pram shed
it’s the I Believe prayer
setting out the items
of our beliefs
in the Catholic Church
why Latin?
you said
noticing fading bruises
on her thighs
as the hem
of her dress moved
as she banged her heels
against the wall
because daddy said so
she said
looking
at the orangey sun
in the darkening
blue sky
I don’t know many prayers
you said
at least
not all the way through
except the ones
they teach us
at school
even then
some of the boys
put their own words in
which I couldn’t
repeat to you
she looked at you
her fair hair
adding beauty
to her pale face
and water colour blue
of eyes
best not to
she said softly
don’t your parents
insist you learn prayers?
she asked
no
you said
my old man
wouldn’t know a prayer
if it came up
and tickled his moustache
she smiled
and looked away
then after a few moments
of silence
she said
the sun looks
like a big orange
on a big blue cloth
doesn’t it?
yes
you said
looking skyward
then watched
the traffic pass by
at the end
of Meadow Row
and the bombsite outline
on the right hand side
and the shadows caused
by the lowering sun
then you lowered
your sight
to the fading bruises
on her thighs
and the watercolour blue
of her bright clear eyes.
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 2:27 AM UTC
Ingrid sat next to you
on the school hired coach
to the Tower of London
sun poured
through the window
making you feel hotter
and Ingrid
who usually smelt
of dampness
smelt of oranges
fresh peeled
her usual well worn
raincoat and cardigan
were gone
and she was clothed
in a creamy blouse
and green skirt
and off white socks
and plimsolls
(her shoes in
the shoe smith
being mended
she had said)
and you in a grey
open neck shirt
and grey flannel
short trousers
( no jeans
the teacher said
the day before)
and once all the kids
were aboard
and the teachers
had counted heads
the coach took off
and the talking erupted
and voices filled the air
and laughter and chatter
and you looked by Ingrid
at the passing view
she looked out too
her hair you noticed
washed and combed
and on her lap
in a bag
her packed lunch
and she held
the bag tightly
and you noticed
her fingers
the nails bitten
but the ink stains gone
and she turned
and said how excited
she was and that
she'd never been
to the Tower before
and that her dad had said
she wouldn't have gone
if her mother hadn't paid
and moaning
about the cost
and don't we have enough
to pay what with
one thing and another
and she lowered
her voice
and whispered
that her dad had hit her
for wanting to go
and her mother too
for interfering
and she pulled up
her skirt and showed you
a bruise on her thigh
then she looked away
and was silent
and you thought
that if you saw him
you'd have pop him
one with your cap gun
(symbolic of course)
then she turned
and said not
to tell anyone
and you said
you wouldn't
and she smiled
and squeezed your hand
and you hoped
none of the boys about
saw her hand
but you were glad
she had and you felt
kind of grown up
with a girlfriend
of your own
like those in the films
you'd seen where
the cowboy gets his girl
in those usual boring bits
you tended to hate
but there again
you and she were
just good friends
and only eight.
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 3:30 AM UTC
Lydia walked back
from the baker's shop
through the Square
carrying in her thin hands
the loaf of white bread
and half a dozen bread rolls
the 1/- change
from her mother's money
in her green dress pocket
her arms feeling
the chill of the morning air
the greying sky
the pigeons in flight
and she sensing
her stomach rumble
and her big sister
had just crept home
after a night out
(doing what
Lydia didn't know)
and her mother calling her
a ***** whatever that was)
and her father sleeping off
his beer
his snores vibrated
around the flat
and as she approached
her front door
Benedict came over
his cowboy hat
pushed back
his 6 shooter gun
tucked into the belt
of his blue jeans
been to the shop?
he asked
she stopped and nodded
early bird
catching the worm?
he added
bread not worm
she said smiling
she liked it
when he spoke to her
made her feel
kind of wanted
as if she were
of some worth
she liked it
when his hazel eyes
lit up
at the sight of her
how's your mother?
he asked
ok
she said
Benedict stood
and studied her
taking in
her plain green dress
the grey ankle socks
the black plimsolls
her skinny arms
and frame
are you allowed out later?
he asked
should think so
she said
where are you going?
she asked
thought we could catch a bus
to the West End
she frowned
where's that?
he smiled
up West
he said
you know Piccadilly
and Leicester Square
and such
she clutched
the bag of rolls
and the loaf of bread
tightly to her chest
isn't that far away?
a mere bus ride
he said
she looked doubtful
haven't money
she said
no problem
he said
I've enough for both of us
she looked
at her front door
best go in
or Mum'll wonder
where I've got to
he nodded
she moved towards the door
then stopped
and turned to him
see what they say
she said
Ok he said
look forward
to seeing you
she looked at him
that look
in his hazel eyes
that smile lingering
on his lips
like some show girl
waiting to come
on stage and perform
can I have a drink of cola
when we're out?
she asked
sure
he said
maybe ice cream too
they do that
soft oozy kind
up West
he said
her eyes lit up
and she smiled
Ok
she said
and just as she entered
the front door
he blew her
a young boy kiss
from his palm
and then turned
and rode off
across the Square
on his invisible horse
the coal black one
without saddle of course.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 3:52 AM UTC
At Jail Park
on the swings
Benedict's
with Helen
Saturday
afternoon
he in jeans
& tee shirt
she in an
old green dress
with flowers
was the film
very good
at the kid's
matinee
this morning?
she asks
pushing out
her plimsolls
to the sky
yes it was
Benedict
says softy
a Western
with Tonto
& friend the
Lone Ranger
did he have
his mask on?
Helen asks
yes he did
Benedict
says to her
my old man
bought me one
from the shop
with a gun
& holster
they ride high
on the swings
they can see
quite a lot
around them
can feel air
on their faces
& their hair
can I see
your black mask
& your gun?
Helen asks
sure you can
after this
he tells her
her eyes big
through her thick
lens glasses
maybe then
I can show
you something
she tells him
they slow down
their swinging
what you got
to show me?
he asks her
a new doll
my mum bought
well it's not
really new
but it's new
for me though
I've called her
Margaret
after the
Queen's sister
Helen says
Benedict
isn't sure
about dolls
but he'll go
to her house
to see it
& maybe
her mother
will give him
one of those
cakes she makes
sure he says
loved to see
your new doll
they get off
of the swings
& walk back
to his flat
(where he lives
with parents
& siblings)
he thinking
of Helen's
mother's cakes
& Helen
of seeing
Benedict's
mask & gun
walking on
together
underneath
a bright sky
& hot sun.
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 1:26 AM UTC
I slide the silver painted six shooter
into the holster on my right hand side.
I stand there arm arched, hand ready
to go for the gun. I push my cowboy
hat back away from my cool forehead.
The bad guys are circling me. Today
I’m Wyatt Earp, the day before I was
Bill Hickok, shot in the back while
playing cards with some blonde ******
One of the bad guys goes for his gun,
I go for my gun before his is out of
his holster, I’ve got him between the
eyes, then the other before he can say:
What the heck, then the other before
his gun reaches to his eye. I blow along
the barrel as they do in films, put it
back in my holster. My mother irons
clothes in the other room. My sister
plays with dolls, in the long hallway.
None heard the gunshots inside my head;
all bad guys are dead. I light up a
thin sweet cigarette and light it on an
imaginary match struck on the wall.
Half hour later I see Ingrid on the
balcony. She talks of going to the
park to go on the swings and slide.
She has her brown hair held in place
with hair clips, mild buckteeth, brown
gravy eyes gaze at me. What you been
doing? she asks. Cleaning up the West.
West what? She says. Wild West, I reply.
She nods, uncertain, uninterested. Shot
three baddies. Bang, bang, bang. I push
back my thumb and point two fingers.
I am Wyatt Earp today. You were Bill
Hickok yesterday, she says, looking at
my two fingers aiming at her narrow chest.
What happened to Hickok? She asks.
He 's dead. Oh, she mouths. I put my
fingers away in my trouser pocket. Swings?
She says. I guess. So we walk off together
down the stairs, she wearing a red flowery
dress, white ankle socks, black plimsolls.
I look down the stairs well for any bad guys
lurking, gun ready in my trouser pocket,
Bowie knife in the belt around my waist.
She talks of a new skipping rope her mother
has bought her, I see no one lurking, no baddies
waiting with guns out. We walk through the
Square, out in the open, my two fingers posed
for action, my Bowie knife ready to throw,
off we walk towards the park we slowly go.
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 2:52 PM UTC
Who are we kidding
when we place a bottle to our lips and
try to call it a marriage of some sort
the last thing I remember
a straw between my teeth then
your ear in its place
fast forward to me counting the steps to your door
1, 2, 3.. 6.. 14..25
I was barely 13 before I was taught love was a call to arms,
not a veritable verb
you told me it was good enough
holding it in my palm
and really I should’ve known
when every attempt at romance was nothing above a whisper
how I was your best kept secret at 15
at 19, I still unravel under the influence
my cup is empty from the nights I gave you so much it
tumbled
into the morning after but all that was left to grab at was
your hair on my pillow,
you were spontaneous like that, weren’t you?
and I,
hey, why won’t you just lighten up?
You fancied flight and I only wanted the pebbles
crushed beneath my plimsolls
telling me all I ever needed to know,
that
the smallest only get stifled more
and before I knew it
I was a crushed up beer can,
insides still wet *god **** it*
coursing real liquid in real time
just
so
I could live to love you
and you tell me, sobriety hurts
like I’m only beautiful when I’m a blur
oh sweetheart,
if only you knew how pretty your eyes were
before they rolled to the back of your head,
and sweetheart,
I hope you make it home tonight.
and that home,
is you retching on the floor,
on your knees because that’s where you liked me best.
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 1:33 PM UTC
Janice said
she wanted to show me
how well she skipped
with her new skip rope
I watched
as her small hands
held the wooden ends
and her arms
circled like windmills
and her feet
lifted from the ground
in an odd dance
the rope going over
and under
over and under
have a go
she said
no it's OK
I said
let me show you
how good I can draw
my new gun
from my holster
I said
tapping
the toy gun
at my side
a brown hat
(an uncle's trilby)
plonked
on my head
she watched me
her red beret
on her head
the lemon dress
I liked her in
the black plimsolls
touching toes
I took out the gun
and spun it
around my finger
like I’d seen
in the Jeff Chandler films
my old man
took me to see
my other hand
spaced at my side
I put the gun back
in the holster
and on the count of
1-2-3
I drew the gun
in the blink
of her lovely blue eyes
as 1-2-3
bad cowboys
(invisible to her)
fell and died
can I have a go?
she asked
sure you can
I said
so undid the belt
and holster and gun
and handed them
to her
to put on
which she did
in clumsy fashion
all fingers and thumbs
once she was ready
(at her own
female pace)
she said
count me in
so I said ok
and counted 1-2-3
and she went
for the gun
and sent it
spinning
through the air
catching sun light
on the silvery parts
as it fell
to the ground
with a clattering
spark flying
cap banging
sound.
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 3:44 PM UTC
I show Lydia
the toy Bowie knife
which came
with the cowboy outfit
my parents had bought
for my 9th birthday
and there's a 6 shooter
and holster
and other stuff
I say
we're standing
on the platform
at Waterloo
watching for the next
steam train
to come in
it looks quite real
she says
can I feel it?
I hand her
the toy knife
and she rubs
her finger along
the blade
looks sharp
but it's not at all
she says
handing me
back the knife
I put the knife
into the belt
of my jeans
and we look
for a train
if Hem had that
he'd throw it
at me pretending
I was his
knife throwing
assistant she informs
your brother's a ****
I say
she smiles
what's that?
I think it means
an idiot
I reply
I look at her
standing there
with her thin arms
and straight fair hair
and that always
worried stare
that off grey dress
the black plimsolls
and white socks
here comes one
Lydia says
pointing towards
the far end
of the platform
and I see the smoke
in the air
and the sound
and the smell
that steam trains have
and we stare
as it approaches
taking in the black
steaming beauty
of it as comes
on by
drinking in
the power
as it lets off steam
huge and noisy
like a dragon
in a dream.
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 3:29 AM UTC
I open the door
to my parents' flat
and Lydia's there
looking over the balcony
gazing down into the Square
she turns and says
I can go
to the cinema with you
mind you it took
a bit of persuasion
to convince Mum
I was best
out of her way today
as my dad came home
last night drunk
and singing to her
and my big sister's
in a mood and wants
her Spiv boyfriend back
despite having
one awful row
and so she said
yes get out
of the madhouse
so here I am
I close the door
behind me
and stand next to her
on the balcony
looking down
at the sights below
good
I say
taking in her grey-flowered dress
faded pattern
white ankle socks
and the plimsolls
she always wears
come rain or shine
so what did
your old man sing then?
I ask
Irish song I think
I was trying to sleep
so didn't try
to understand the words
Mum was hush-hushing him
and then he wanted to dance
with her along the passageway
and she's telling to shut up
and he sings louder
and my big sister
moaned in her sleep
about that Spiv boyfriend
I spot the baker
leading his horse-drawn wagon
along by the lower flats
and the horse has a nosebag
and is eating indifferently
to it all
what time does the film start?
she asks
9am
I say
she's excited
and I note her hair
needs brushing
but say nothing
I just say
got any money?
she nods her head
yes Mum gave me 9d
and says get a lolly
but is that enough Benny?
is it?
sure it is
I say
but if not
I'll buy it
I add
seeing her smile
and feeling glad.
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 2:18 AM UTC
Storms seldom reach into this tarmac dip - but I find my chairs broken, wrong-angled and awkward, on the grass-struggle lawn.
Sun hides. The day still dawns and I watch. Copper plays over rain-dark wall, licks the plastic idyll of neighbours’ houses.
This house (moss-tile, rust brick) sits at the base of a hill - A full stop to their pale-clad, block-paved lines of must try harder.
I don’t attempt to keep up. The drive boasts a warm rainbow of stone, a zig-zag flourish of green sprung with yellow -
A dormant hive. Project pieces. Puzzle bits strewn. My what-if imagination stung gold - Summer-soaked moments yet to fly.
Bad luck fills a brass horseshoe and the world sulks ill at ease - ***** unwelcome - between plimsolls and boots by the door.
They used to ask about the shoes. Now, as light pours over the sanctuary bell, I laugh at the ghost of their honey-glass question.
Mar 13, 2021
Mar 13, 2021 at 2:44 PM UTC