Archive for modern poetry

Reillustrated

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on July 1, 2020 by dc

Even your
Tattoos
Are laughing
At you.

All Those Messages You Never Sent

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on June 28, 2020 by dc

All those messages you never sent
And now the world’s a different place,

Divisions are cracking around monuments,
Everyone’s got an opinion,

Curtains are twitching like tranquilised strobes,
Everyone’s worried about something,

And here you are in your own irked bubble
Counting all the things that hurt;

History’s hiccups and the late night heartburn
That flicked up acid and grumbled around,

Morphed in the shadows,

And now it’s suddenly in the centre of countless towns,
Confusing angry crowds and curdling frustration,

A mess of sounds ascending high,

The echoes of caged Saturdays and drunken rants
About the state of everything
From mental health to the pound
And from the price of food to trains,

Then back again
Till your nothing but the gap
Sat between solitude and wild boredom,

Pausing in patterns,

A loose cog in the machine,
Jarring every time things revolve.

On The Edge Of The Town

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on June 13, 2020 by dc

I’m balancing on the edge of the town,
A soft breeze hushing me nowhere,

Winding through the wasteland
And kicking loose stones,

Taken with solitude
And blown with hot dirt,

Across the ruined spot where
The soldiers wandered home.

I stop and stare at the ground,

The dry earth has risen and started to peak
Into small terracotta roofs pointing upwards,

Tumbleweed detritus skips across the mounds
And a wind whips its afternoon moan.

I sit on a fridge and get lost in the nothing,
I feel the groans from the monolithic industry all around,

I hear the heartbeats of hustling mice,
The scurry of beetles and a rumbling,

Bird song processed
All bent and reshaped;

An April rain falls and I’m inside the wet,
Loosened by breath,

Pulled into the dust from the factory floors,
The rhythmic grind of machines and the hiss of freed steam,

The perpetual thud of gnarled energy quaking,
The singing pistons and greased mechanisms,

Salt slowly dancing in the sweat of the bustle,
A hundred bass lines rotating,

Spinning generators harmonising with turbines
As transformers pump discords,

Furnaces howling as metal shards melt
And their fate drips like tears trapped in chaos.

There are workers here who’ve never left and rarely paused,
An electric sense of pride in nothing but grizzled routine,

I’m not sure what gets made here
But without it we’re nothing.

Another Lost General

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on June 8, 2020 by dc

The lichen had spread
Until only half a face
Remained,

Another lost general
In a town hollowed out
From the bombing,

Abandoned and left to decay
In that good old fashioned way.

The stains from rainfall
Left him crying black tears
As he slowly disappeared,

Looking deep into the sky
As corrosion had its way,

Creeping and conquering
Until all that remained
Was a shape,

A creature stretching out
Into endless ruination,

A single grey eye

Winking into the sun.

Peel Away

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on May 22, 2020 by dc

Her dark violet eyes
Stare out the window,

There’s a fuzz on the ocean today,
Echoes are now tides,

The coastal roads wind
And they’re bumpy sometimes.

She stands in a black dress,
Hair cotton white,
Legs shaved,
Talking like a trucker,

The kind of strident that steadies;

Old acid queen dreams
From the Haight Ashbury scene,
Shotguns and drug busts
From the land of the gold rush,

Chimeric onstage provocations
With Lewis Carroll flutterings.

She can draw a white rabbit blindfolded,
The bohemian who defined a generation
Has a brush behind her ear,

Drunk wives phone for advice
As paint dries and waves lap,

Shells rattling in soft percussion,
One tap at a time,

One man, one car, one house,
One child, one job, one voice,
No more multi-tasking;

Cymbals shiver, a bass drum thumps,
Odd memories pulse

Then peel away.

Contorted

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on May 11, 2020 by dc

Piss wet and wild
In a heavy liquid
Called ‘Kill Yourself’,

Writhing in shiny silver briefs,

He arches his back
And contorts his body,

Sweat and blood shimmering
On his sinewy torso,

Wounds sealed with gaffer tape,

Crazy eyes framed
In smudged raccoon eyeliner,

A robotic wig of foil strips
Refracting the light.

The band heave out
Heavy drones behind him,
A rhythm that taunts,

Amps pipe the din
Of hurled beer bottles
Breaking against guitar strings,

Violence fingers glory
As mayhem daubs its tag

And spit flies;

They can hear this
All the way downtown,

He’s no longer a man,
He’s a chorus.

Not For All The Lager In Wrexham

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 7, 2020 by dc

I will not change my mind
On all the things that I hold dear,

Not for all the lager in Wrexham,

I’ve learnt from my lessons,

I trust and love without fear,

I’m not the flotsam and jetsam
Floating and rolling like tears,

Cluttering stuttered emotions
Year after cyclical year,

Nearing nothing
But that that same old park bench,

Head stooped,

Muscles clenched;

I fizz when I need to
And keep my thirst quenched.

Those Wandering Mammals

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on April 13, 2020 by dc

Those wandering mammals
That romanced around fire,
Drew past adventures on walls
And ate what they killed,

Thought the moon
Was the sun at rest
And the night sky
Was a huge sliding wall
Shuffling stars
Every time it sensed sleep;

They followed patterns
In the hope that danger
Would bow to their routines
And offer up rainfall and warmth,

They looked at new birds
Like startled deer
Caught between safety
And the sudden unknown,
They licked plants before picking
And shat into holes;

They rarely found joy
And lived their lives scared,
Hope was random and basic,
Love was merely protection,
Joy was simply survival and
Tears were the sea’s sour echoes,

Insects buzzed eternal,
Mountains joined the sky,
And their rivers never ended
When the world was built on why.

An Odd Pockmark

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on April 12, 2020 by dc

This garden’s epoch,

Odd orchids that breath,
Inflating then deflating
As the years rattle by,

Grass curling like hair,
Trimmed in the cyclical breeze,

Wildlife curdling and morphing
As decades spin in split seconds,

A melting pot of exotica,

Plants that died nameless
As they sprouted new prodigies,

Sweet symmetries shuffling
Between angular growth spurts
And distorted perfections,

Flowers competing for beauty,
A dance of nature’s supple muscles.

The Holocene absorbed and more
In an oasis of debonair verve,

Hidden as civilizations romped,
Preoccupied and diseased,

Unaware of the evidence
The Earth has an odd pockmark
Left forever unexplored,

An atmospheric scar
From an impact unexplained,

An almost utopia thriving;

Weeds shading fresh fruits,
Bushes twisted with colour,

Trees that only grow down
And stretch underground
Like a huge wooden nets,

Psychedelic floras
Kissing spores and modifying,

A soft, looping song slowly swelling
Across the lawns and vegetation
As ecosystems bubble and pop.

Ten millenniums worth of machinations
Whirring just beyond,

Technological revolutions humming,
Wars that stifled bird song,

The rapid reproduction
Of anything with a breath,

And the constant corrosion
Of that sour human touch –

All far away from this garden,

This untouched Galapagos,

An anomaly free of all anguish,

A virgin fluke left to flourish
And hush like a murmur

As everything else
Slowly burnt.

The Dumb Down

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on March 8, 2020 by dc

After the PR sound-bites
Had bled their way
Into the listener’s skulls,

Just before the new single
From a clean shaven Mormon from Utah

And half an hour prior
To the scripted kisses and press shots,

We found out it’s been
The perfect week to eat seafood
On the promenade in Whitby

And that coffee after 4pm
Can lead to a sleepless night,

Rock music has a time and a place,
Skinny jeans are uncomfortable

And bananas are the perfect
Breakfast on the go;

Then a serious moment,

It’s abundantly clear that
We all want what’s best for anyone
Who believes in making things better,

There are no instant solutions
But there are a wide range of options
Right across the board,

And the fact of the matter is
•It’s going to take time
To truly examine and gauge

•The dire situation we all inherited
From the previous administration.

Let’s be absolutely open and honest
The message is very clear and simple

•There are no easy answers,

We want to clamp down on violence
And make our streets safe again,

We want to create opportunity
And improve the lives
Of millions of people,

We want to see this nation thrive,

But it’s really,
Really hard.