Archive for March, 2013

Modern Easter

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on March 30, 2013 by dc

They used to spend hours
Connecting eggs to Jesus
Now they Google it

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The Job Is Yours

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on March 26, 2013 by dc

He flicked through the photo album
Like a tramp with a half eaten kebab,

The cooling meat smiled,
Left his fingers all slimy and damp,

Hot with sauce and excitement,
The new pitiful joy.

He whispered, ‘that one’
And swallowed it whole,

No need for chewing,

A greasy streak left on his chin,
A wide smile as he sighed content,

All satisfied and simply done,
Like a sweet post coital slump.

‘The job is yours.’

This Apathy

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on March 23, 2013 by dc

This apathy,
This far from
Triumphant
Let down,

If only
It were alien,

A gaseous
Star,

The moss on
A meteorite,

A puddle
On Mars.

Even the
Moments
Of acting

Were better
Than this.

Flecks of
Half felt
Promises,

Dribbling
Loosely
Between
Lips.

All Subtle Then Gone

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on March 18, 2013 by dc

Moving to exhale
Invisible in night crowds
They’re dipping to rise,

Glass shards in black gloves
Quick flickering solutions
A sorrow has come,

Hidden in minutes
Snatched sins polished and finished
All subtle then gone.

A Fashion of Kicks

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on March 8, 2013 by dc

We walked like we talked
Unsteady yet debonair
A fashion of kicks

Breath of the Salesmen

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on March 3, 2013 by dc

They come like blisters
At an all night diner,

Shoes off under the table,
3am,

All biscuit smelt
And sugar rushed,

The new polluted,
Scarred and neutered,

No-one else can see them tricksters,
The smell of rising fumes and whispers,

The fag ends that dance and the leaves
That blow in from outside.

You were made to moan and sleep,
Now there’s no time for either,

A weary face that curdles menus,
Consumed by work and worry,

A hundred hurried swallows
And the dolly looking waitress

You’d lick the floor to fuck.

They come like a tap on the shoulder
That feels like the wind rushing in,

Makes you check for
Hurried heartbeats and sweating,

Upsetting memories,
Seventies decor
And the caffeine reflux

Calling your name.

Once again,
Time for bed.