They Could Be Heroes

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on November 11, 2016 by dc

Equilibriums set
At the hollow point zero,

Pirouetting molecules
Of follicles,

Heroes;

Universes dancing
In a fish bowl,

Stethoscopes,

Parallel worlds
And the never-ending
Jesus hope.

Winter’s First Night

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , on November 4, 2016 by dc

There are songs I love
I’ll never need to hear again,

Paintings I’ve cherished
And left lining my memory,

Stories and poems left boxed,

They can all disappear.

I have filed away magic
And led myself into wandering,

New melodies hushing
The night’s bracing winds,

A quizzical wondering
With meandering ease;

And I have watched tramps kiss,

I have seen dogs sniff a million things,

Plus a thousand lost pigeons
All dreaming of coops

As they fight over spent seed
And coo under bridges.

I have drifted through
Winter’s first night,

Whispering songs I’ve forgotten,

Returned home.

It was cold.

The Aftermath

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , on September 18, 2016 by dc

They found your violence
In the aftermath of prayer,

Dust everywhere and confused,
Another bruise for the world to absorb.

They taught you how to live again,
A charm of magpies stealing feed,

The greedy birds expelling songs
Through the dawn’s grief stricken sighs.

You left your tinted glasses
Under your life’s last ray of light,

And the only thing they ever found
Was a tooth as black as night.

Nothing Via Anything

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , on August 28, 2016 by dc

The dreams you brought you bring again,
You sing a million offerings,

You give yourself to those in need,
You’ve seen the statues almost bleed

And still no God appears.

Two Teacakes

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on August 9, 2016 by dc

She took his heart and dog,
She took them ten pin bowling,

He called her filthy thief,
He called her broken window.

Two teacakes on the kitchen side
Left for several weeks all blue,
Demons in the cupboards,
A dirty doormat’s twisted view.

So many froms,
So many hexes,

So many swear words,
So many truths,

The stains that haunt
His hallway carpet,
And that slug that sometimes moves,

He’s the ageing turquoise bathroom tiles,
In a house that sings for fools.

A Haunting

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on July 22, 2016 by dc

He stays in this room
A ghostly disillusion
A TV report

Their Name Was Calico Dawn

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on July 1, 2016 by dc

A campfire barely burning
Built on someone else’s dreams,

A house out in the country
Devoid of energy,

The grief of something not quite right
Buried in a shallow grave,

Manufactured solitude
And the shunned hip-hip-hooray.

In-between the loops of rising suns
And a thousand well-thumbed maps,

Disasters sprang from stolen books
And the sounds of the railroad tracks,

Their thoughts spent resurrections,
All whispered jamborees,

And inside their battered jewellery box
They collected autumn leaves.