Archive for September, 2008

The Need for New

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on September 30, 2008 by dc

Tyre tracks
Cut open the sports field,

Ripped they sit stubborn,
Interrupted with litter,

A bin bag flaps,
Caught on a tree,

An open bellied fox
Lies feasted on by bugs,

A wave of ravens rises
Scattered by a gunshot,

A summer sun disappears,
Kidnapped by the clouds,

A photograph faded
As memories wilt.

Old Man Glass Hands

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on September 28, 2008 by dc

He wants
The holes in the sky
To stop following
His stride
And the
Gathering gales
To blow the other way.

He wants the sun
To gently warm him
And a hanky
To dab his brow,
An obedient dog,
Friends to listen,
Church on Sundays,

A neighbourhood,
A neighbour,
A garden
Filled with sparrows.

With the Fringe Actress

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on September 27, 2008 by dc

Down the alley
Where the crackheads
Meet the Christians
And the church bells gently sigh,

Underneath the graffiti
Where the taggers sign respect
And the school kids
Leave beer cans and trollies,

Is where I first
Heard you swear
With the eloquence
Of a drunken playwright.

I watched the spit
Shine on your lips
And laughed at your arms
As they swung with confusion.

I had half a thought
To hush you and hold you
Between the harsh coloured walls
Where the midnight losers piss,

Singing twisted throat sounds
And balancing their chips.
I wanted to drop my burger
And worship you for minutes

With the confidence
To improvise thereafter.

Rush Goalies

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on September 24, 2008 by dc

The ball
Like a dog
Amongst pigeons,
Shirts with ripped
Like car crashes,
Arms in the air,

‘Me, me, ME!’

A fat boy
Is sweating
And spitting out
Bits of a pasty,
Is ambling around,
Kicking others
In the shins.

Exploding with gusto,
They’re like
Ants across sugar,
Moths ‘round
A flame,
A fight starts,
Ends and
Another begins.

25 – 26
As the
School bell

Electric Children Falling

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on September 24, 2008 by dc

Here is the soil I am eating,
Here is the new endless dirt,
The broken shed,
The sanctuary,
The last pulse of a dead fish,
The sounds
Of electric children falling,
Playing in a ditch
And calling for another,
Brothers in the gutter,
A new dawn for the dying.

The spectrum is a war grave,
The stench is dead and fake,
On top of all the bodies
A leader sits and waits,
A chalk-board with its diagram,
A caution in the foot notes,
It’s easy when you’re spent
And no one really cares,
Caterpillars look like the future,
People stop giving advice
And everything tastes like chicken.

One night under the carpet,
Another lying on stairs,
Idiots drift like fog
And thoughts appear like ghosts.
In a dark, dark corner
Of a rotten, gothic villa,
There are books worth reading,
Crosswords worth filling,
Words are nothing but games,
Trapped mice sit like dice,
I am wise to these moments.

Licks of Black

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 22, 2008 by dc

A nearby quarry holds landslides,
My stomach flames dance,
I change my mind like wet socks
And then smell all my worries.

My muscles tense up like wood-beams,
Gloom kisses my ears,
I walk miles through a storm
And whip dread into fear.

I keep dreaming for something,
A clue to these worry clouds,
Through the licks of black grazing
And the dusk as it drains,

There are outlandish horrors
In this countryside night,
Forces that banish all positive thought
And cave into terror with ease.

I need someone to tell the strange, withered hag
In the distant moonlit field,
Who trains crows as I rest,
That I shall never return to witness her filth,

Some sign to warn the devils in the barn
That I shall never slip back
To the bent nails from long gone
And catch all my thoughts on their desperate rust.

Through the trails of my sleep
Landscapes snap like crooked jigsaws,
Bad decisions wake children
And twist up into jungles of skin,

There are things in my head now
That could almost be love,
Chaos tastes like fresh dew
And mistakes are a walk in the park.

In the middle of sweating
I stir and smell tar,
Someone is calling,
The quarry is silent.


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

Break loose with me,
Roll by my side as I saunter,
We’ll eat spaghetti hoops from a tin,
Smoke banana skins in a shed,
Eat road-kill and mushrooms
We’ve picked from the lay-bys,
Cook with broken pots and pans,
Shout at each other like tramps
And sweat like we mean it.

Be my one, be my only,
Hunt me down when I stray,
We’ll never be lonely,
Crying like gutters on Sundays,
Hiding up oak trees with ravens,
Riding our bikes into ditches
And turning clocks backwards
With soft aching hands
As we run from the future.

Stand up for me daily,
Treat my words like they’re hairs
On the fingers of old men,
Bushy and tufted,
Reaching out for a reason
As the knuckles they brush on
Soften to wrinkles
And the palms start reversing
To hold you and dream.