Archive for british poetry

The Empyrean

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on October 13, 2018 by dc

Fixed stars
Glimmer below the

Tubular rings of fire
Pivot above moons
Made entirely of gold,

Celestial blushes collide,
Burst chromas set free
With primordial kisses,

Round squares of light
Navigate their mapped chaos,
Every planet accounted for;

And from this sweet swelling void
Of the divine and unquestionable
A sacred arm stretches out,

Through the chemical fog,
Besieged by cursed logic
And spent with fatigue,

It flaps, it rotates,
It waves and then it’s gone,

For some there’s a meaning,
For others there’s none.


His Skies Swallow Clouds

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on October 10, 2018 by dc

These days his monstrous brain
Struggles to receive messages,

It’s all sibilance and static,
Frazzled in a hovering gloom,

His skies swallow clouds
With ravenous unease,

Delusions fizz and pop
Like old cocktail bubbles,

Sipping on cluttered ideas
And hiccupping farcical burps.

Snakes shimmy dry shuffled signs
On spent hallowed ground,

Sacred whirlpools drain
And disappear in confusion,

Eccentric digressions
Develop weeds and strange flora,

It’s all repetitious yips
And yaps that crack and hiss,

A full stop’s ink dilating,
Sliced fruit without the pips.

Frank’s Wednesdays

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on October 7, 2018 by dc

Shower, breakfast,
Inhale then exhale,

Ten times,

Get dressed,
Ascend into the vortex,

Plagiarise heartache,
Converse with God,

Assemble some shelving
And organise thoughts.

Leave the house by 7am,
Take one plastic bag,

Think about mother,
Relax, loosen tie,

Suck on a mint,
Whistle at wildlife,

Turn doubts into puddles
And kick them for fun.

The plan,

Offer advice to farmers
On market day,

Counsel strangers at stalls
And taste all the cheese,

Lecture lost children
On the best way to lie,

And whisper odd cliches
To mothers on buses,

Teens sat on benches
And the post office crones.

Visit mother,
Keep it real,


Interaction and love
Can cure any ill.


Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on September 30, 2018 by dc

An enormous black dog
Reincarnated as

An old typewriter
With too many keys,

Ink wounding the paper
When fingers attack,

Tired stories snarling,
Restless like trembling dust

Drifting on the edge
Of consciousness,

Straying past its borders
and into the deep wild of the backcountry,

Gripped by insomnia
And feral doubt,

Tuned to the calls
Of the dirt dusk ravens,

A taste in the air
Dry as bone.

It’s all wrong.


Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on September 27, 2018 by dc

An ebony night cuts
Through the horizon,

Shimmering like mislaid obsidian,

Resplendent above
The dark turquoise sea,

The light of a fading village
Glinting patterns across the waves,

A dance of languorous luminescence,
Golden disks in the shapes

Of octopuses and starfish,
Seahorses and Gods,

Primeval fables bubbling
Across a hundred generations,

Histories mapped in volcanic rock,
Every hill, every path, every stream

Venting ancient seismic groans

In the primitive dark,
All myth bent and low,

As Poseiden quietly piles
The beaches deep in sand once more

Invisible to all.

Always Do Sober What You Said You’d Do Drunk

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on September 27, 2018 by dc

We talk too much in our fast canoes,

Buzzards circle
And sobriety howls

As we pass between mountains,

Two monuments stood staring
At each other for eternity,

Shepherding the river
And conducting the chaos;

Animals wail from the forest

And a small redwood chapel
Winks through the trees,

Water licks the rocks wildly,
Our horizons tilt and careen,

We stare back at each other
Apprehensive and pensive,

Our mouths wide shut,

Drunk on hope.

A Luminous Finger

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on September 26, 2018 by dc

An aurora’s tail
Whips the night sky,

A luminous finger
Strums on its zither,

Phantom faces
Cavort and careen,

Spirited frenzies
Puppet the heavens,

Phantasms groan
Through magnetic emmissions,

All electric green strokes
And rearranged kisses,

Christ sits in the clouds
Frying tortillas,

All mesmeric contours,
Vivid and flushed,

Rushing through stories
That fade without endings,

Beginning with a small
Disturbed hush.