Archive for poetry

West Hollywood, Late 1972

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on May 9, 2020 by dc

His hair’s thick
Like the flap
Of corduroy flares,

The back of
A black llama’s neck,

A horse’s whipped tail
Or an old velvet drape.

His smile is an ache,
A chiselled curl,

The light patch
On a leather couch,

And the warm spot
In an old saloon
Slicing dusty sun.

His voice is an interruption,
A ramble torn wild,

Cogs twisted
And splintered,

Rattling rocks and rust,
Lubricated by
Whisky and rain,

Then fermented.

Pull Factors

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

Those tropical winds
Wafting out of cheap heaters
Turn dreams inside out

Wherever It May Be

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on April 10, 2017 by dc

The sky’s perpetual machine keeps rolling,
Sunlight flickers through the sauntering clouds
And the songs of the breeze whisper wild,

Escape disconnects from a disappeared storm,
Silence drops and discovers a stillness,
Benefits buzz optimistically hushed

And we lie as the ground rustles slowly.

The Rally

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on February 22, 2017 by dc

They make believe chaos,
Side with the shouters
And plot all discordant,

They scream for unity
And then build walls,

They scattergun soundbites,
Slideshow confusion
And warm up their armies.

They’re strangers playing risk
And they shuffle us for fun,

They’ve stitched us up
And left us spent,

Now it’s time to come undone.

Sacrificial Hiccups

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , on January 21, 2017 by dc

From the unmarked graves
On the cusps of dusty hills,

To the messages on fallen walls
In the hearts of war torn towns,

There is a need to just
Pause and take breaths

Now there’s nothing left
But the icy sheened eyes

Of the puppets
And the infamous thieves,

The blood on the chins
Of the ruthless,

And the stains that shouted loudest
Through rectified dark skies.

Dry Lips Gifting

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , on March 20, 2015 by dc

You couldn’t really
Call them words,

They were
Murmured melodies,

Half way between
Groaning and laughter,

Dry lips gifting
A quick whispered epilogue,

The tiniest circles of spittle
Gently frothing to a close;

It’s the sound people make
When they suddenly realise

There’s no longer
Any need to explain
Every awkward mistake,

To balance out
The feelings of others
And talk just to starve silence.

To some it’s a sigh,
A release,
A full stop,

To me it’s the sound
As a distant star pops.