Archive for british poetry

There’s A Scarecrow In My Pocket

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on May 6, 2022 by dc

There’s a scarecrow in my pocket
And a draw bridge in my stance,

A pride that’s made from bottled gains
And a hope that likes to dance,

Two pebbles shaped like deformed hearts
Rattling into one another,

And a weapons grade euphoria
That fills these holes with colour.

She Left Us Counting Clouds

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on April 30, 2022 by dc

Taking shortcuts across wasteland,
Clapping at the seagulls
And arguing with my shadows,

As they stretch in the light
Then snap back.

I’ve been dreaming about
The girl that turned to ashes,

Dancing through purgatory
With her daughter’s tears in her eyes,

Whispering for solace
Like a breeze through swan feathers.

I’ve been thinking about that other life,
Walking round her debut art show,

Her chosen memories reimagined in collages
Cut and pasted beneath made-up skies,

Hope slowly soaked into her landscape’s rich husk
As dawn’s yolk covers everything yellow.

It was 8am when she left us counting clouds,

Distant conversations bubbling
Like church organs underwater,

Tremoring through the tide,
The billow of the bass as it crests,
Rising to fall like a siren’s last call;

And now all we can do is remember.

The Almighty Nothing

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on April 9, 2022 by dc

A tectonic shift
Slowly grinding,

A hand of clouds pushing
From grey marbled skies,

An earthy rumble
Stumbling and sighing,

Dew steaming on summer lawns,
Discordant birdsong,

And a glow that gave in
When the sun rose.

A paper bag frown
Crushed to the kerb,

A portent of patterns
Two hours after rainfall,

A sadness repeated
In mottled pavements,

Veins of gathered tears
Shimmering in the grit,

As obelisks look on
From the hillsides and cry

And the almighty nothing
Breaths in and keeps humming.

He Told You He Was

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , on March 26, 2022 by dc

There was the desert in his mouth
And a blackness in the air,

Hoarse from howling whispers,
Grey hairs surging with every mistake,

One glass rocking on a table’s edge,
Two minutes left till the bell rings;

A broken comb filled with her hair,
Old papers wilting in a rack,

Teeth ground to a grimace,
Coffee stains dressed as old arguments

And the sounds of cars passing
Like a distant avalanche crashing down.

It was time to give in and give up,
Call off the florists and bakers

And walk back through the park
Without a clue, shoes or alibi,

Watching yesterdays ghosts walk hand in hand,
Unscarred and unshaken,

All goose-bumps and duologues,
Checkers and chess;

All his life he’d thought guessing
Was a religion of sorts,

One God judging every move that he made,
Two sturdy trees he could swing from.

I Went Looking For Hope

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on March 11, 2022 by dc

Under a blood red dusk
With time on my hands,

I went looking for Hope
In a huge, scorched field;

She wasn’t there
But her friends were,

And they were gossiping
And throwing stones
At the birds,

Laughing when they struck
And loudly cheering to the sky.

The birds thought
The stones were food at first,
And a dozen left wounded.

I went home and waited for a text.

It’s Only Wednesday

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on December 1, 2021 by dc

When your homemade ceramics
Are just creative cries for help
And all the chips they collect
Sit like a scars on your body,

When your mudslide mind
Shifts a crevasse to your mouth
And then chatters like hoodlums
Sat in gangs around potholes,

When your toddlers name their fingers
After pigs from petting zoos
And find themselves crying
After trying to milk a cat,

When the mantle-piece antlers start swelling
And the fake polar bear rug begins bleeding,

Close your eyes and inhale all the rainfall,
Exhale demons and then pat-a-cake stress;

Let your wig wander west,
Pick words up off the floor,
Let your tongue loll post-screaming
And let those dolls stay undressed,

Flop yourself back to bliss
Somewhere soundproofed and dark,
Bend your dreams back together
And lick your slate clean.

You are not one hour ago,
You are the simple inhalations
And exhalations of now,
You are only this moment,

No one can find you
And you’ve got the biscuits,

They’re safe.


Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on November 9, 2021 by dc

Walking through the ruins
Of the past’s imagined future,
Echoes vie for vanishing air
And colours leak across lifetimes,

A luminous fog descends,
The sky dissolves into patterns,
And a landscape warped by erosive epochs
Slowly sucks on the sweet fallen debris.

Across a time-lapsed history
Cut and pasted by scholars,
Brows wrought like volcanoes,
Forever altered by every rumble,

I stand lost between a sulk and smile,
As I vanish into an endless sunset,
Left giddy by transitions
As every then becomes now.

Lost Child

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on October 23, 2021 by dc

There’s a man that looks like Jesus
Rubbing beeswax on the mausoleum doors,

A huge obelisk has uprooted a yew tree
And a skull has rolled under a bush.

Worms dance in the damp, disturbed soil
And birds flock for a feast,

As a lost child with stolen chocolate in his pockets,
Clasps it nervously till it slowly melts,

His raven black pupils dilating,
Soaking in the scene,

As his parents hunt the graveyard,
And all the ghosts wonder what happens next.

New Surname

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on October 10, 2021 by dc

I wasn’t sure, I simply vanished,

The air splashed wildly
And I was camouflaged by carpet,

As the truth slipped under the sofa
And rolled into a gyre of nothing.

Everything was snaking, colours morphed,

Radio chatter danced like shards of light
In dense morning forests,

The boiler hummed deep in thought,
Igniting odd monologues strickened by doubt,

The room breathed questions
And shrank on every inhalation,

Yuka plant leaves reached out for the window;

And you sat in the corner like a Hallmark card
Repeating the same old platitude,

Teetering on the edge of the mantlepiece,
With a new surname and a son that likes poetry.

Meanwhile at Bushworth Hall

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on May 31, 2021 by dc

Tired and struggling to focus properly,
Godfrey put down his tacky thriller,

Took away the two remaining checkers
From the drink stained Backgammon board

And stared at his chipped art deco clock,
It’s petulant hands always running ten minutes slow;

He took his pipe from his lounge jacket pocket,
Wandered unsteadily down the hall and opened the front door.

Outside the wind blew unrehearsed smoke rings through the mist,
Autumn’s leaves glided and left whispering vapour trails,

The neighbours’ dog Jeff practised howls at the moon,
As the sheep on the adjacent field shuffled further and further away,
And an owl hooted commas and the odd question mark.

As Godfrey took incessant puffs on his pipe,
Spitting odd bits of tobacco from the wet on his lips,
He knew deep down Alastair wasn’t returning,

His Hyundai i30 Fastback was still on the drive
But the words ‘JUST HAVE IT’ were written on the bonnet in shaving foam
And the keys were hung on a bent windscreen wiper.

He’d headed three miles home barefoot,

Addled on DMT and home-brewed rhubarb gin,
Cuts across his forehead from his arguments with the deer antlers
On the walls by the back door porch,

Hair wet from Godfrey’s broken bidet
And a torn shirt sleeve from the wrestling;

Alistair also lost a toe that night,
But at least he’d gained a friend.