Archive for May, 2020

Can Arachnids Worry?

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on May 23, 2020 by dc

A finger caught in a web,
Just gently pulsing,

A simple throb;

At the arch of the door
The spider surveys,

Curious but unsure,

It scuttles then wavers,
Retreats then hesitates,

This hasn’t happened before,
Can arachnids worry?

The next motion is a shudder
And he’s spinning towards the floor,

There’s flinch and a yelp,

Every silky strand snaps,
The hallway’s a blur,

A week’s work collapses
Into nothing but fluff.

Can arachnids feel despondent?

It must be tough in all that gloom.

Peel Away

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on May 22, 2020 by dc

Her dark violet eyes
Stare out the window,

There’s a fuzz on the ocean today,
Echoes are now tides,

The coastal roads wind
And they’re bumpy sometimes.

She stands in a black dress,
Hair cotton white,
Legs shaved,
Talking like a trucker,

The kind of strident that steadies;

Old acid queen dreams
From the Haight Ashbury scene,
Shotguns and drug busts
From the land of the gold rush,

Chimeric onstage provocations
With Lewis Carroll flutterings.

She can draw a white rabbit blindfolded,
The bohemian who defined a generation
Has a brush behind her ear,

Drunk wives phone for advice
As paint dries and waves lap,

Shells rattling in soft percussion,
One tap at a time,

One man, one car, one house,
One child, one job, one voice,
No more multi-tasking;

Cymbals shiver, a bass drum thumps,
Odd memories pulse

Then peel away.

Paused

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on May 18, 2020 by dc

Everyone is quiet,

Hunkered down,

No-ones left
Their houses
For days,

People are blanking
The news,

No rumours,

Just sounds
And the odd thought,

What happens to
Perpetual machines
If no-one cares
When they start to fall apart?

Contorted

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on May 11, 2020 by dc

Piss wet and wild
In a heavy liquid
Called ‘Kill Yourself’,

Writhing in shiny silver briefs,

He arches his back
And contorts his body,

Sweat and blood shimmering
On his sinewy torso,

Wounds sealed with gaffer tape,

Crazy eyes framed
In smudged raccoon eyeliner,

A robotic wig of foil strips
Refracting the light.

The band heave out
Heavy drones behind him,
A rhythm that taunts,

Amps pipe the din
Of hurled beer bottles
Breaking against guitar strings,

Violence fingers glory
As mayhem daubs its tag

And spit flies;

They can hear this
All the way downtown,

He’s no longer a man,
He’s a chorus.

West Hollywood, Late 1972

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on May 9, 2020 by dc

His hair’s thick
Like the flap
Of corduroy flares,

The back of
A black llama’s neck,

A horse’s whipped tail
Or an old velvet drape.

His smile is an ache,
A chiselled curl,

The light patch
On a leather couch,

And the warm spot
In an old saloon
Slicing dusty sun.

His voice is an interruption,
A ramble torn wild,

Cogs twisted
And splintered,

Rattling rocks and rust,
Lubricated by
Whisky and rain,

Then fermented.

Not For All The Lager In Wrexham

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 7, 2020 by dc

I will not change my mind
On all the things that I hold dear,

Not for all the lager in Wrexham,

I’ve learnt from my lessons,

I trust and love without fear,

I’m not the flotsam and jetsam
Floating and rolling like tears,

Cluttering stuttered emotions
Year after cyclical year,

Nearing nothing
But that that same old park bench,

Head stooped,

Muscles clenched;

I fizz when I need to
And keep my thirst quenched.