Archive for September, 2019

The Den

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on September 21, 2019 by dc

Piecing together
Sombre reflections
Of a misguided weekday,

Rolling peas around a plate,
Watching colours on the telly,
Blandly groaning excuse me’s
And ignoring all puddings.

The mood trundles
So we retire
To the child’s den,

Under chairs and picnic blankets,
Sighing with iced lollies,
Wishing for more time to ourselves

And the old Monday classic,
A way to make money
But somehow do very little.

We pick wigwams from catalogues,
Sketch pictures of squids
And guess songs from whistles,

We sprawl and reminsce,
Enhance stories and smile in HD,

I improvise an eyebrow dance

And we slouch into each other’s arms
Prepared to dismantle.

The Coo And The Cardigan

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on September 18, 2019 by dc

Lolling on my back,
Repositioning the clouds,

Muttering fuss
Amongst the buttercups,

Falling asleep
And keeping the spin
To a minimum.

Kissing the periodic shadows,
A new velocity in the breeze,

Circling and coddling,
The coo and the cardigan,

Echoing arguments
In the firmaments,

A turbulence

The End Of The Protests

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on September 7, 2019 by dc

Escaping that sense
Of pure instant joy,

Unbalanced on a ladder,

Gary followed his placard
Into the mincing machine,

It took his hands
And arms first,

Then his head
And every thought
That he had.

All the onlookers agreed
They’d never felt
So disturbed and aggrieved,

As the conveyer belt
It’s new shimmering meat.

Even The Cracks Have Cracks

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on September 3, 2019 by dc

Even the cracks have cracks

Is the name
Of this new
Photo montage,

And the near shattered glass
Is a metaphor hanging on
For dear life,

Ugly reflections
are rife,

Transparency woos
And then fools

Like a knife
Stood upright
In a dishwasher’s shadows,

Chosen and potent,

Exposing the moment
This new omen sat frozen,

All focused and fracturing light.

Last Day

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on September 3, 2019 by dc

Collapsed in
The stream face up,

A tangled canopy
Of broken visions,

The flickering branches,

Clouds curdling
All crushed,

The stench of fresh vomit
All mingled with mud,

Nostrils burning,
Dogs circling,

Laughing from the base of his gut;

Teenage chanting
In the distance,

Screams fermenting