Archive for poems


Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on July 23, 2020 by dc

Witches moan from the roofs,
Day glow apparitions buckle,

Small rolling rocks dance
At the foot of the bed,

And old visions curdle,
Renacted as worries;

Throwing stones through old factory windows,
A mother’s friend pleading for quiet,
A dead rat in the yard,

An old lover leaving for good
And that punch that I took to keep peace.

Compilations of funerals and wedddings,
White light and tears,

The mouth of a crying toddler,
His teeth falling out into dark,

A wasteground on the edge of town,
Scattered with bricks and lost trollies,

Half destroyed buildings
Corroding as they hope,

Faces in the sky glimmering in sweat,
Loved ones glitching into the foreground,

The wet of their eyes
A new rain.

Her Wild Blue Squall

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on July 20, 2020 by dc

A primordial commotion
Aroused by strange demons,

Her wild blue squall
Yowled through
The summer of love,

Blowing minds at half power
As her raw exorcisms unwound.

An unleashed fluctuation
Freewheeling through chaos,

Multi coloured beads
Bouncing on her chest,

Eyes closed as she tugs
On her soul,

All aquiver in love’s
New convulsions.

The sensitive hedonist
With a worn, trampled heart,
Dust kicked and scuffed,
Hooked on danger and filth,

Shackled to bittersweet ecstasy,
Clawing triumph from tragedy
In a shuddering,
Thundering high;

Then she’s post coital,
Sweat trickling down her neck,
Wondering what’s next,
Gypsy thinking,

A slim cigarette
Hanging from her lips,

Kissing the smoke as it curls
Then softly drifts away.

His Electric Church

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on July 14, 2020 by dc

He’s heading back to that old electric church
And the warmth of its flock’s sweet surrender,

Head hanging out the window of his silver corvette,
Lollygagging in the sun,

Travelling like a velveteen gypsy,
Gallivanting free in late summer’s hot mist;

Trees shake and the yellow birds scatter
Like a soft fire sizzling the sky,

An ancient pulse hums in the pit of his stomach
And the animistic landscape howls,

Higher than the lips of the spitting clouds
Whistling down across Woodstock,

Freer than those Monterey flames
As his black, battered Stratocaster burned bright,

Voltaic and wild.

Onstage in the evening his gentle soul electrifies,
A wail of colours soak and entrance,

Flags catch fire in the car park,
Mirroring a new blood red dusk,

Roof tiles rattle and murmur for miles
As another congregation vibrates,

Mesmerised by exaltation and love,
Like burning stars on hot charcoal stripes.

There’s a quiet as he descends from his pulpit,
A simple slowing of heartbeats,

Softly lamenting in the afterglow,

And there’s a delicate wet in his eyes as he smiles
One last time to his dreaming disciples,

As his rapture echoes pure.

A New Curved Reflection

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

This subtle dystopia
All tilted and warped,

A new curved reflection
With vague changes and kinks,

Yellow signs daubed on walkways,
Parks taped off and abandoned,

Curling queues outside shops
And people waving from distance,

Closed pubs and empty roads,
Classic sit-com repeats on the TV
And a strange sense of stasis,

As a stuttered breeze
Breaths though this town.

We’re leaving all our loose change in pots
And forgetting routines,

The pavement outside our house
Sits quietly soaking the monochrome rain,

The sky spills from gutters,
Flickering shades of soot grey
Like an old worn out film,

Angry sirens and bird song
Melt in a huge, oily puddle;

In the back garden
The tree reaches and sings,

The grass hurries high
And sways happy in laughter,

The worms come up to shower,
Foxes forage through bins,
Badgers coo,

And every third night
We wake hunting for breath,
Wondering what to do.


Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on July 5, 2020 by dc

In the state of flux
Nothing is good enough,

Thoughts stick then detach
Like empty cardboard boxes
Catching each other
With sellotape tendrils,

White noise stutters,
The furniture tuts,

You open your windows
But your curtains never bellow,

Words flutter on the page,

That brilliant one line
Won’t quite make a song

And the lounge smells of burning,
The lights sometimes blink.

Everything’s decorated in yesterdays,
Old thoughts hung in sad, weary frames,

Every draught has a hum,

Odd flies invade through
Tiny gaps in the window

To harass and just wait for the cracks,

A peacock feather snapped,
An empty magazine rack,
A tube of long eaten snacks,

The detritus;

You regress,
You retrace your steps,

Those ideas you threw into the sky
In a fit of excess,

Now sit in a dank, grey puddle,
Escaping under the back gate,

Kissing the hidden snails
And slowly twitching to sleep
All huddled and lost.

The Child Born A Man

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on July 2, 2020 by dc

His grizzled throat bellowed ripe in the chaos,
A blues carnival melting through bloodshot abandon,

A screeching harmonica reaching out through the dark,
Arrhythmic stutters from the gutters of a misshapen world;

His eyes fill up with fireflies,
He floats like a falcon tracking rabbits,
Tensing his talons mid-air
And inducing his new muddled prey.

The wild dictator blows his rusty battle horn,
A twisted sage summoning mantras and kinks,

Conducting a foot stomping earthquake
And growling into the future,

Toes twitching like an old railroad track
Shaking inches before impact;

The man who slid music scores under key locked doors
And tortured bandmates into magic,

A mind itching like the scuttle of lizards
Rattling across roofs on a hot summer’s noon,

Howling to move and keep moving.

He haunts the after-show with fox fur and nonsense,
Soaked in dense sweat and coarse laughter,
Another pocket of plans and ten newly haggard melodies,

Telling fanciful tales of the child born a man,
Guessing everyone’s shoe size and speaking in riddles,

Feeding sugar to the ants,
Entranced by how they move,
Survive and dance in patterns,

Enamoured and shattered as he starts to relax,
Like an old, wizened dog in a storm of young cats.

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.

The Drama In An Angle

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on June 19, 2020 by dc

Paid up front, no blinking,
Astride the pulse of excess,

Blessed with dangerous smiles,

Flashing feathers and nipples,

Arm pulled back ready to slap,

Flirtatiously growling
And baring her teeth,

She’s riding high.

An androgynous warrior,
Histrionic yet cool,
Skin shining like fever sweats,
Near naked and glistening,

All polished ebony angles,
Cheekbones and mirror-balls,
Vermilion lips catching the light as it shimmers
And that flat top with the perfect fade;

A room entranced on one breath,

Hypnotised as she narrows her eyes
And then lets her wild whites expand neon,

She’s the drama in an angle,
A sleek panther stalking her prey,

Set loose in a palace of dreams,
Conducting her sex cabaret.


Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on June 17, 2020 by dc

Fake farmers pouring
Unctuous serums into flasks
As the dawn sky moos

Another Lost General

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

The lichen had spread
Until only half a face

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.