Archive for poetry sites

Meathead

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on November 15, 2019 by dc

It’s a northern Tuesday,
The high street
Nuzzles gloom,

Kids’ cries echo,

Outside the local bakery
A meathead flings
His pasty crust to the floor,

The weather turns,

Rain hurls from the grey,
Unsheathing its chaos,
Drenching in blurs

Like a mighty conclusion.

A barbaric wind
Whips up hedgerows
And spits out buds,

Birds collide,

Dazed traffic skis
Across flooded roads
And roofs rattle,

Bedlam cackles and dazzles,

Something’s unravelled
Simple but harrowed
And the meathead

Is soaking in doubts.

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 decided to complain
About the canapes,

On Twitter,

Anonymously,

With emoticons 😦

Disorder Painted

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , on November 1, 2019 by dc

Disorder painted
In the mist
Like Turner’s
Flailing ships,

Fog steeped storms
And waves,

A crumbling cave
And a mourning,

Unease dropped
Like a warning,

A bent colonial
Seafaring song.

Then a mystical sunrise,
A seep of burnt yellows

Stained in a
Deep rusty peach,

A sighing ocean
Exhausted

And its crooked,
Lapping tide.

Scattered detritus
Hooked on rocks,

Moss licked
In coves,

A cranny
Where those old
Snapped words
Our ancestors left

Are pieced slowly
Together in tropes,

Kissing the ages,

Left floating
Forever unfound.

Autumn’s Fallen

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on October 26, 2019 by dc

That improvised face
Framed by a swinging fringe,

All doubt and gently pressed,

The spaced-out wanderer
Wrestling with distant thoughts,

Plucking fruit from rotten trees,
Talking worries into huddles,

Pacing aimlessly,
Wired and fretting,

Straying down streets
All greys and rusty browns,

Like autumn’s fallen too soon.

The Pitch

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on October 20, 2019 by dc

The mould was broken
An asterism collapsed
And now it’s just you

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.

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.