Archive for british poet

It Was A Sunday

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on June 17, 2019 by dc

Flickering
Like an odd,
Dirty fleck
On misty specs,

A castle slowly
Crumbled
In the distance.

All frail and forlorn,

It swayed and then
Sank in stages,

Grumbling final moans
And then sighing,

Lost in a hope
Long forgot.

The waves swept
Incessant and carefree,

Nothing grieved,

The shoreline bent
Like a crooked wince

Until the sand
Disappeared from sight,

And we walked hand in hand
As the sun started setting;

Flocks of hungry gulls
Feasted on the waste
Left in stray,
Washed-up netting,

Clouds danced,
All duplicated rhythms
And digressions
Loosely spreading,

We headed home
Without messing,

It was a Sunday.

Advertisements

Jittery Quiver

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on June 8, 2019 by dc

A restlessness glazed
Then propped up to dry,

A mirror image
Gently warped in dense silence,

That slow, drawn out second
Before the stuttering,

Caught by a jittery quiver,
A misguided thought,

That 3am flutter,
The brief blurring of sense,

A melting aurora
In a pixelated pinch,

A quick knuckle crunch,
A miswired spark,

As stars start dancing
Through the skylight

And the frivolous
Moments all blink,

Things sink
And then rise,

A deep breath
Then a sigh

Elongated.

Insects

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on June 6, 2019 by dc

A docile menagerie
Of tropical insects and fools,

Coping without intrigue,

Just lollygagging their way
Through each day
Then repeating.

A handful of dazed workers
Stuck in routines,

Moseying through blurred rooms,
Dusty cages and hallways,

Orbiting life,

Numb with the thought
Nearly everything’s gone,

Nearly everyone was wrong.

Stroking the half dead plants,
Coughing thoughts and
Crusty mantras,

Lost in the wild buzzing drone,

Reading sun-stained books,
And eating daydreams for lunch;

Lofty foreigners
And freakish lords loitering
Around vases and sculptures,

Sipping on tear-tickled champagne,
Gobbling olives,

And feasting on sautéed chunks of flesh
Torn from freshly endangered mammals,

There is an audible harmony
Of lip smacks.

Heaven’s choir is polluting the garden
With angelic melodies,

Butterflies speed across fizzing lawns
Like hope was a banquet
And morning was her future.

Its enough to make you choke
On your sandwiche,

And they did.

Every last worker choked on their sandwiche,

And no one ever found them.

They had no families or friends.

Even their dreams are now dead.

Only the insects remain.

Professor Strange Times

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on June 2, 2019 by dc

There’s no doubting the fact

I’ve been documenting the behaviour
Of these idiots for quite some time now,

So long I’ve become almost immune to their fatuity,

But something seems broken of late,
All glitched and cock-eyed,

Their vocabulary keeps resetting,

They stand all triangular and rigid
At formal functions sweating,

And there’s no real betting
Which way they’ll head next

But I’d guess it’s most likely obtuse.

That Excess Creosote

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on May 4, 2019 by dc

We’ve all seen
That excess creosote

Running down
Occasional fences,

All tears and humility,
Fortitude and regret,

And most of us
Have said

Bugger all about it.

Not me.

Abrupt Blackout

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on April 19, 2019 by dc

When the bulb fizzles out,
The glass stays warm,

All hushed fascinations,
Inhalations,

Fresh dilations
And pfft.

A pivotal moment,
A popped sigh
Cocked askew,

A hovering suspense

With those brief
Tickled shivers,

And soft
Hissing whispers

Of unassigned types.

Leaves

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on April 17, 2019 by dc

Cascading leaves dance
Shimmering in the sun spots
Fragile as they sway.