Tuesday 9 December 2014

Preacher

The preacher mounts the pulpit, wipes his brow;
He starts with an amusing anecdote;
Then shortly with a dancer's practised steps
He heads for hell, and shyly clears his throat.
With sweeping gaze and gaining confidence
He tells them they're all damned and dead inside.
Augustine watches, proud, smiling in stone;
The sinners stare: there is no place to hide.
Outside the violent air cuts through the skin
As if to catch a glimpse of soul within.
The leaves are rustling, murmuring dissent;
Yet winds of guilt rush them off to repent.
The preacher burns with triumph to his core
He knows he's left them weaker than before.

Wednesday 3 December 2014

Nicknames

And one word could
Propel me back
Across the years
To foreign lands.
But transitory
Boomerang
I trust myself
To swish right back.

Old embers of
An unreal day
When you would lead
Me up the drive.
The foaming texts
Were fit to burst
A wave about
To break on sand.

But sand will prompt
An hour glass
To mourn the passing
Of old names
We used to spell
In capitals
When we still clung
To unreal gods.

For months I could
Not write your name
Except in ink
Poisoned with hate.
Without realising
What I’d done
I’d forced myself
To love the loss

Of you. You know
My one regret
Was that I could
Not gulp back pride.
Instead I blamed
A demon who
Would wear your name
Pervert your grace.

I don’t deserve
This epithet
I lost it when
I banished you
Like mad King Lear.
You were all that
Turned humble prose
To poetry.

My life will take
A different course
Away from all
We talked about.
The promised end
Will never come
Without you I
Can’t write the lines.

Miscellaneous Sponge

Guilty indulgence after lunch:
A noxious miscellaneous sponge.
Not carrot cake or chocolate fudge
Just lukewarm custard, drifting sludge.
The flavour was a little bland
But to dismiss it out of hand
Was to ignore its easy charm:
Simplicity that could disarm.

Although cupcakes do catch the eye
The stomach’s still unsatisfied.
First bite of brownie is divine
Yet fill the fork a second time
And throat is clogged with chocolate gunge
So choose the miscellaneous sponge!

Submerged like coral on custard seas,
The humble sponge spoke out to me:
“Remember me when I am gone
And languish in the unknown throng
Of undistinguished, dull desserts
That were not best and were not first!”

The sanctimonious sponge was done.
The course of its short life was run.
One final spoonful did the business.
I felt remorse, and begged forgiveness.

Your brief life did not count for much;
You never seemed to be enough.
Surrounded by less boring friends;
No epitaph will mark your end.
You were not great, but you were good;
You lived just like a human should.
Most blessed of the cakes we munch;
God bless you, miscellaneous sponge!

Monday 1 December 2014

New Year

A midnight vigil at the fireworks.
A squealing New Year’s promise. Hope it’s true.
But each year starts and ends just like the first.

At dreaming dinner each would help to nurse
Delusions; drunk on promises right through
To midnight vigil at the fireworks.

A year’s extension for dream’s deadline. Cursed
Be those that boast they’ll see their fancies through
When each year starts and ends just like the first.

Dying December lavishly will burst.
The sky will shatter. Yet it’s nothing new
This midnight vigil at the fireworks

Drink yourself silly; feels like you've rehearsed
Your stumbling steps; yet still deny it’s true
That each year starts and ends just like the first.

Each second will divide our time on Earth
As sharply as the last. Is each day due
A midnight vigil at the fireworks?
Still- each year starts and ends just like the first.

Saturday 29 November 2014

The Wolfman

First- he realised his nails needed cutting:
Caressing her body was leavings scars.
Perhaps he remembered being bitten
By friends who’d just see the moon not the stars.

A certain hairiness about the hands
That no longer touched for comfort lightly.
His body’s fulfilling new demands
Until to others he’s quite unsightly.

Advancing jaw can’t be held by smooth lips
(Smooth talking’s useless now canines are out).
His beautiful vowels are change to howls
And consonants catch in his blood-slaked throat.

He tears the limbs of an innocent lamb
Before he ate meat medium rare; left tips.
Corners a girl, tipsy and lost and
Blood not saliva is bathing his lips.

Tomorrow’s a new day- see him alone
Hiding his dignity; genitals sore.
Dazed and confused; is it this time he’ll see
Month after month he has been here before?