Archive for poetry writing

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.


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

Even your
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.

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

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

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.

Into The Vista

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on June 6, 2020 by dc

Desert dunes usher
The ghosts of galloping beasts
Surfing a hot orange sea,

The horizon encroaches the sky,
Millenniums sigh reparations
And selfdom sinks
To fuzz, awe and wonder.

His face effaced
He listens to the echoes
In the tracks of horses hooves,

He wets the rocks with his tears
As the canyons share their history,

Woven into the landscape
He dissipates into the dirt,

His ego seeps into the vista,
Nothing and all is now one
As dusk sings and gently folds in.

Half sunk in the hot red earth
He watches Venus appear,

Another decadent angel
Sat lounging in the dark,
Looking for answers,

Sensing the sacred,
Locked interstellar,
They shine together as one,
Wrapped in peace;

He sweats midnight,

Head no longer in chaos
His snake skin shoes
Slither off into holes
As his mind gently coils,

His hiss purrs
And his carnival sleeps,

Decadence can dance another day.

Can Arachnids Worry?

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

A finger caught in a web,
Just gently pulsing,

A simple throb;

At the arch of the door
The spider surveys,

Curious but unsure,

It scuttles then wavers,
Retreats then hesitates,

This hasn’t happened before,
Can arachnids worry?

The next motion is a shudder
And he’s spinning towards the floor,

There’s flinch and a yelp,

Every silky strand snaps,
The hallway’s a blur,

A week’s work collapses
Into nothing but fluff.

Can arachnids feel despondent?

It must be tough in all that gloom.

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.