Archive for July, 2008

These Hands Hold No Tears

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on July 21, 2008 by dc

These hands hold no tears,
Just a mess of simple dreams,
Elastic trust and warmth,
A small, lost world
Of broken skin and lines.
They hold no promises,
No miracles or schemes,
They can only seize so much
Until things start to slide,
Until decisions once made
Come back to tease,
Shooting up these arms
Towards this shaky mind.
There is nothing here
To feast on,
No warning sign or pledge,
No place to hide forever
Or find yourself reborn.
There is nothing here
To save me
But still I wish you’d try,
No perfect words to hang on
But still I wish you might.
These hands they hold no tears
These hands are high and dry,
So where will all the water flow
When someone starts to cry?


Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on July 20, 2008 by dc

A feathered bruise of kinetics,
Neck poised like a one sided war,

Guts of burned hollows,
Wings like tilted cannons.

He has eyes like the tips
Of Amazonian poisoned arrows

And rapacious like the ocean
But drier than its wit,

He is ready to tear and destroy
All the sinewy flesh that he grips.

Undecided Fox

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on July 19, 2008 by dc

Undecided fox,
Curious fox,
A swaying candelabra
Of staring
Before the unusual freeze.

The instant where
Language is senseless,
Engrossing and twitching,
A visage in stasis,
A glance framed by fire.

Hours in seconds,
A crackling of sorts,
In a bright light of greyness
Something has broken,
Maybe he’s just
A rain-cloud alive.

Anything or Nothing

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on July 18, 2008 by dc

It could be anything
Or nothing,
A country walk down a lane,
A stroll through a forest,
Underwear in the brambles,
Loving arms by the oak tree.
There are roads
That we could travel on,
There are words that don’t exist,
There is time
To kill and wallow in
But the time
Is ripped to bits.
It hangs on the oak tree
And rustles in the bushes,
It staggers like lovers
And saves both our blushes
With dusk.

Dorothy’s Lucky Finger

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on July 18, 2008 by dc

Every Sunday afternoon
She would gather children
Around her garden pond
And show them all her carp.

On arrival they would notice
The finger that she pointed with
Had more wrinkles on it
Than a bowl full of figs.

They would stare at it,
Wide eyed and transfixed
Before looking towards the fish,
Smiling and gasping with glee.

She called it her lucky finger,
It made people listen
And kept their attention,
It had an air of real magic.

She decorated it with two rings,
One had a red stone in
And the other had a green,
She could hypnotise moths.

She said she’d once
Switched television channels
Just by pointing and thinking,
Her finger was a gift from the Gods,

It could gauge the temperature,
Make dogs dizzy,
Predict the coming of storms
And sense danger.

It was a thing of true beauty
Like a fossil or a rainbow,
A lighthouse on a foggy night
Or a dream that might just be real.

Her biscuits tasted stale,
Her lemonade was sour,
She smelt musty and awful
But nobody cared.


Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on July 18, 2008 by dc

I swallowed my pride
And it hurt,
Like a viral infection.
My glands got swollen,
My throat felt like glass,
I could taste blood
On the way down.

Sunk in a beanbag
Angry with the wallpaper,
There’s a mountain to climb
When you’ve swallowed your pride,
Blood tastes like metal
Like a small bridge to somewhere,
And that somewhere I hope
Is back in your arms.

Selling the Film

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on July 17, 2008 by dc

I want to see
Aeroplanes exploding,
Forests on fire
And the pandemonium
Of unexplained dramas
By the songs
Of failed poets.

I want to see
The gut wrenching fall
Of good-looking dullards
Too wet to ever explain
How their lives
Went wrong,
Or how they deserved
All their misery.

I want to see
The horrid deaths
Of people I never admired,
Idiots who never thought
Outside the box
And fools who kissed
Like their lips were just
Thoughts from the grave.

I want to know
I am still alive
As people like me
Are carried down the streets
Of another lonely town,
Dead like wood on a bonfire
As I stare at it all on a screen,



Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on July 16, 2008 by dc

There is
Nothing wrong
With fake,
Strangers with
Nothing to say,
Without tunes,
Without meanings,
Without beaks.

In the real world
The swan neck
Is over-rated,
Ostrich races
Bring laughter,
Lucky heather
Only stays so
For a day
And twigs
Are nothing
But kindling.

There are jokes
Sat on dead farms,
Who will forever
Drop eggs,
Eyes that stay vacant
And singers
Without voices,
There is
Nothing wrong
With fake.

Laugh Later On

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on July 15, 2008 by dc

They have to make
Special seats for him,
So wide is his girth
He can’t see his thighs.

I’m sat eating
Sausage and chips,
Somehow trying
To slow down my heartbeat.

My stare is vacant,
I’ve lost something,
An idea or purpose,
I hear a dog howling.

It’s strangling itself
On a lamppost outside,
That fat man can’t save him
He’s stuck here.

I prod my last chip
Into a huge pool of ketchup,
The dog passes out,
The fat man sheds tears.

This doesn’t happen
Very often,
Strangers just eat stuff
And spit words.

I usually just stare
At people’s faces and clothing,
Make up funny stories
And try to start smiling.

Sometimes later on
I go and place small bets
On horses and football
To see how my luck lies.

I go to the market,
Smell fish and cheap leather,
Buy weird, useless objects
And laugh later on.

Time to Swat Flies

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on July 14, 2008 by dc

What will you do?
Now the sky
Is a prison
And the sun
Is a prism
Of divisible light,
Now the day
Of your dreams
Has become
Inescapable night
And the earth
That you walk on
Is so lonely it frights.

You are the gusset
Of the panties
On a rail-track,
A message
On a phone
In a room
No one real
Has ever been.

So what will you do?
Now I’ve helped you
As much as I can,
Now my band
Has played ballads
And tried to kill
Bad thoughts
Like raccoons
Hunting bats in a cave.

This is slowly becoming
Another session of nothing,
Anodyne music for retards,
Huge empty words
For the deaf,
Despair breeds like insects,
It’s time to swat flies,
The world is your oyster,
The pearls are your eyes.