Archive for modern poetry

A Joy

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

Sat in an electrified hubbub,
Settling into a joy,

Eyes wet as a rush kinks my face
And songs fuzz the room in a high,

Plied with sweet hydropathic gin
I feed off extraordinary stories,

The squall of human nature
And it’s delirious decline,

Bent canticles in a right wired night,
Moments hoped then actualised,

Tides of laughter wooing the room,
Your arm wrapped round mine as we shine.

The Function

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on November 13, 2019 by dc

Three chewy prawns
On a large plastic spoon,

Grieving in a lettuce leaf,
Dreaming of better days;

The reception was filled
With the same old faces,

The curtains hung
Like gently swaying corpses

Stretched out
Into velveteen tedium,

The carpet groaned stains
And the atrium farted dust,

Lethargy battled
Wafts of cheap perfume

And a ripe, gloomy air
Of disinterest and small talk

Hovered like smoke
In a colonial lounge.

He wanted to complain
About the canapes,

But his voice was already
Sat back at home.

Sound Bitten

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on October 13, 2019 by dc

Set thick
And then slowly
Chiselled from malice,

High on the nutrition
Of curdled histories
And afflictions,

There’s a will in the minds
Of these heathens.

Knocked down,
They get up

They kick out and bring rage
Like wild dogs fighting shadows,

Ravaged sallow and embattled
All leathered, feral and bedraggled,

The kind that like to
Dream of gallows.

Hear the new chants
Of these sound bitten unnaturals,

Smearing blood on their
Monogrammed handkerchiefs,

Presents from grandparents
Who spent their lives growling
And then died in a huff,

Pulled from pockets
Stained with promises fished
From dirty rivers weaving
Through lost towns,

They sup excuses like zoo goats on bottles,
Gloved hands smearing their lips clean,

They make audible ahhs,
They meet up in the dark

And we still don’t know all of their names.

It’s A Car Park Now

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on October 12, 2019 by dc

Long after the surrounding fossils
Were brushed down

By archaeologists and looters

Hunting for the holy dot
Of a mighty pinworm egg,

And just after the year
They were finally forgotten for good,

Two lovers rest side by side,
Dry bones locked in comfort and hope,

Jaded skeletons sealed and unseen,
Asphalt above them

Mixed thick with the dreams

Of keen workers
All protein and steam,

Just eager to get the job done.

We Sleepwalk

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

We comment on this classless town
By dropping our trousers
And spilling our drinks,

We share stories
And rotate the marinated lies,

We gamble and groan at the moon,
Sing songs in dying languages
And fumble the truth.

We watch people pass through,
Pause then take flight,
We kiss their distance,

We rarely leave and rarely grieve,

We roll up our sleeves
And melt into the furniture,

We set up niche websites
Selling spent dreams and fallacies,

We catalogue rushed photographs
Into files on stolen laptops
And call them memories,

We slump into cushions
Humming hypnotic songs,

Drift into cat naps,
All necks stretched,
Mouths flapping,

Limbs with a mind
Of their own,
Roaming lost.

Sleepwalking we talk
Between doorways,

Ignorance hand in hand
With its peace,
A feast in our thoughts,

We stagger into contentment,
The stairwell, the kitchen,

A somnambulist’s frisson,
Marshmallows and
Songs from the ether,

The pan-piped fantasies
Of growing old slowly,

A Thomas Cole landscape,
An ambrosial existence;

A wizened tree on a hill,
A gentle walk with fresh fruit
Plucked from nowhere,

A white horse galloping,

A soft, looming fog,
The smell of autumn leaves,

A mountain goat,
A picnic,

And a huge concrete wall

Surrounding our breaths
As they rise.

The End Of The Protests

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on September 7, 2019 by dc

Escaping that sense
Of pure instant joy,

Unbalanced on a ladder,

Gary followed his placard
Into the mincing machine,

It took his hands
And arms first,

Then his head
And every thought
That he had.

All the onlookers agreed
They’d never felt
So disturbed and aggrieved,

As the conveyer belt
Conceived
It’s new shimmering meat.

Even The Cracks Have Cracks

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on September 3, 2019 by dc

Even the cracks have cracks

Is the name
Of this new
Photo montage,

And the near shattered glass
Is a metaphor hanging on
For dear life,

Ugly reflections
are rife,

Transparency woos
And then fools

Like a knife
Stood upright
In a dishwasher’s shadows,

Chosen and potent,

Exposing the moment
This new omen sat frozen,

All focused and fracturing light.