Archive for british poetry

Last Year’s Haircut

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on June 26, 2019 by dc

He leant in with last year’s haircut,
Kissed her digital image convincingly
And relaxed into his script;

Truth is he just mouthed things,
He didn’t even bother with stagecraft,
He just ruffled his hair and smiled,

There’s a simple truth in laziness,

Improvising shame and ruthlessness,
Unapologetic foolishness,
Stumbling around all ludicrous

In another person’s dream.

Powder Blue

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on June 23, 2019 by dc

Light cracks
And the stars
Glimmer through,

Motion fizzles
And skips,
Morning wonders.

Peripheries catch
Stippled specs
Distant dancing,

Odd sounds
And smear echoes,

Reality pops,
Delusions quiver,
Balance rocks.

In a fading
Corner of the room
Beliefs recede,

Worries tingle,
As insomnia hovers
Like a gull lost at sea,

Weary mantras retreat
In serenity’s
Stolen shadows

And the dawn whispers
Clues powder blue,
As the sky catches breath.


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.


Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on June 1, 2019 by dc

We’ve abandoned the barbecue,

There’s a cloud of insects outside,
Locusts I think,

They’ve been here since lunch.

They’ve completely stripped the foliage
At the base of the garden,

Near the greenhouse,

I’ve never known a swarm like it
And I’ve been on safari twice.

Andrew thinks it’s got something to do
With global warming,

But Angela thinks it’s because
Of some warm fronts coming up from Africa,

And Brian reckons it’s all about
The great summer we’ve been having,

They love plants and the weather’s been perfect;

But I think it’s one of those things
That just happens sometimes.

The Charlatan Walks

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on May 22, 2019 by dc

Flies gather in clouds,
Abuzz with belligerence,

Reptilian shuffles patter fast
In soft percussive rattles,

Gutters belch dirty water
And gnarled brassy rasps wail

As the charlatan walks,

A crusty handkerchief
With disillusions of grandeur,

Snapped bones and stigmata
Faked for the rabble,

All blame games and riddles,
Perfidious and goose-eyed,

A strutting distortion
Cooked-up from a hole.


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

4am greases
It’s sombre

Broken crows
Dance crooked,

Flies rest,
Litter waltzes,

Arrhythmic whispers
Cruise in on the breeze

And the dew licks
Its mumbles of intrigue.

A scarred old bus shelter,
Weathered and pissed,

A place to
Carelessly wither,

Leans in on
Invisible guests,
Slightly bowed to the kerb,

A deviated strip light
Flickering excuses,

A quiver of disaffected
Moths and foxes lost,

Gravel hushing,

A barren street name
And then nothing

But a bent, collapsed
Voice faintly groaning,

Which way is wrong?

That Cackle

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on April 22, 2019 by dc

That cackle,
Musty and burnt
Like a sodden cigar
Crushed underfoot
Outside the Royal Legion,

A curdled cough,
Snarling down the street,
All shivered gutters,
Twisted, leaking engines
And monologues paused,

A chapped and cracked
Thumb of a man,
Rumbling threats
In a grumbling funk,
Endlessly stained.