Archive for manchester poet

Bleak Tea Party Faux-Pas

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 26, 2011 by dc

And so it came to pass
That we were the fools,

For we thought
There was a reason,

A set of guidelines,
Standard rules.

But when the oceans
Start to burn

And the clouds
Turn into fists,

The only thing
Worth Knowing

Is that these biscuits
Taste of piss.

Remember When We Were All Fresh?

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 18, 2011 by dc

They took the toy out the box,
The jeep from the car lot,

They woke up with bed hair,
Chipped nails and pale skin,

The salon was a distant memory.

And now we’re here
With a filing cabinet
No-one will ever use,

And dirty palms,

A nasty taste
In the back
Of our mouths,

Sniffing on optimism
Like the desperate
And sweaty,

Alone with our
Crossed fingers
And daydreams.

We are briefly ghosts
Let loose on dead shipyards,
The scent of sea salt heightened
And the knots of something hollow,

Were it not for the hope
We breed in our nightmares,
We could easily just drift away

And laugh
Across the waves,

And never grave


Number 42

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 26, 2011 by dc

She always had
A teabag
In her ashtray,
By cigarette stubs,

She made love to chaos,

She had a tattoo
On her kneecap
And a birth-marked

In her scorched hands
Lay comedy’s tricks
And she played them
One by one,
Dry as bones;

A life of grim times
In a three minute song,

A history of woe
In a wink.

In a cathedral nearby
They prayed for her type

But her type
Had no real need for prayers,

Watch her rest
After tales
And she’d tell you,

A loose copper pipe
In her chinked tickled brain

And if the price
Rises higher she’s selling.

Cracked Sundays

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on October 23, 2011 by dc

We stare at each other
Through kaleidoscopes broken,

Two drunk flies on shit,
A conversation rolling
Down a hill,

A junction
At it’s base,

Wincing through broken glasses;

And we’re too polite
To continue with our
Dizzy repartee.

We stop,
Look both ways
And rub our hands.

There’s a song
That sings somewhere.

We laugh till we cry,
Part and then shudder


The Past Pickled

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on October 19, 2011 by dc

The past as it haunts
Jars and pickles memories
Till the skins come loose

And The Band Were Called Free Spirit

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 16, 2011 by dc

Eyes aglow
With crack house

Alabaster skinned
With a fortunate

We’ve seen
All these moves

The curled lip,
The awkward
Indie flamingo pose,

And now we know


Piss wet
And splintered,

Has forgotten
The tree

Saying Goodbye

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on October 9, 2011 by dc

I tried to break the rules
And found myself toothless,
Curled up on a shed floor,
Whispering to gods
That didn’t exist,

The flickering
Polaroid breakdown,
Aghast  under cobwebs.

I remember the smell
Of dried mud on the trowels,
The grass on the lawnmower blades,
The heartbeats that coughed
And the tears.

Where are you now
Songbirds that littered my garden?
Perfumed reflections,
Tranquil digressions
And the calm twisted
Bodies of dawn?

I still swarm over meadows,
The hunt for direction continues,
The brief warmth of air streams
Puckered then popped,
Shocked like an Indian summer.

There were glimmers of hope
Till the rain fell,

And now it’s a wandering,
Shivering secret
That I’ve kept in my pocket
For years –

I’m not looking for someone,
I’m dreaming revenge,

I’ve stitched up these rainclouds,
Every breath brings the lightening,
Shaking the glorious sky,

Black like the gaps in my teeth,
A fresh way of saying goodbye.