Category: Poetry
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Quadrille #68
Perfectly Brief There’s a note stuck in the air, like you might do with a rose in water. A note — not bird song, not a metallic clapper or strings of cat gut, but a note, written with crescendo longing. It’s perfectly brief. One word: Wink. Quadrille #68 “Wink“
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5 November 2018
An American Sentence – I apologise for not raking up the leaves as fast as they fall. NovPAD Day 4: An apology
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26 October 2018
Some Candles Never Get Lit I feel an urge to light a candle, for my mum. A scented one. But that’s not allowed at The Oaks Residential Care Home, and my sister says, the oldies forget that they’ve lit the damned things; they catch curtains and carpets alight. And I don’t mention that age-wise I’m…
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16 October 2018
Leaning on Solid Space I am stood on a far shore. Powerless. I smell of old bones. Me, a tiny survivor, a day on the ridge of cold. The 28th day of the 9th month, it was like drowning in a raindrop. The inevitability of it all. And I wonder, did you say, Well, that…
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The Rise and Fall of Yucking
The Rise and Fall of Yucking Bile He’s yucking in the grocery aisles, yucking leeks and yucking kale, and wailing o’Yuck’o at brussels sprouts and beans green as a May spring day, and in the meat aisle, yucking liver, yucking fish, and then he retches at the sight of toilet brushes Twiglet #97…
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Twiglet #94
Mislaid Before we were steps, we were stones. Still. Stones. We carried feet and lemon bitter song, flourished in the dark, sturdy as the sun. We carried skin and bones, and hopes and faith, and a cold candle’s haze. Still. Steps. Laid out flat. Overgrown. We are returned to stone. for Twiglet #94
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Quickly on Blenheim
Quickly on Blenheim Story goes they were caught in a rainstorm. Sudden. Unexpected. Diana’s temple was their cover. Their umbrella. He proposed as the story goes. But he was a politician – nothing goes unscripted. — The rose garden is dry as crackers. Soil is puzzle-poxed. Black spot and cirrhosis. Rain is as scarce as…
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24 August 2018
Originally posted on The Journal: On the Occasion of the Poet’s Being Challenged There’s an air of atheism about a plastic flower, no matter where it is, it just seems wrong. And, I never grocery shop on an empty stomach, which is why I’m at this tiny tired cafe , sitting on a plastic chair…
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Miz Quickly’s Bad Poetry Day
Miz Quickly asked earlier this week, or maybe it was last, that we take a rotten poem and rework it. Improvement is the aim. Well, my eyes are not what they used to be; my aim is off. This is still rotten, but I’ve started dreaming about this sucker, so it’s time to move on.…
It's Still Life 