Archive for UK poet

You Can Have A Fry-Up When We Get Home

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

Those quaint old days
Stuttering down church lane,

The scent of yew trees and guilt
Mingling in the breeze,

A congregation gathering,
Bustling and honing their acts,

Parading their families
And perfecting their walks,

Cocksure strolling and small talk,
Piquant smiles and faint praise;

I’m playing with stones in my pocket,
Thinking about a late breakfast,

The fluffy well-cooked beans,
The hot pops of sizzling bacon,
The snap of a perfect sausage
And the dawn yellow egg yolks.

Then into the hall,

It’s all scuffled shoes and whispers,
Everything smells of buffed leather
Melted wax and the weekend perfumes
Of gliding wives and grandmothers,

Hushing and shh-ing for England,
As they shuffle to their seats,

Huddled quiet all waiting
For the vicar’s tales of death

and transcendence –

They stare at him intently
Like someone’s watching

And taking notes,

It’s one big interactive theatre
But the show’s so dull it hurts

And I’m shivering in a void
Of sleep-deprived echoes,

All distant excitations
Banded tight, impatiently waiting,

Rubbing dirt from my shoes
And itching my legs,

Rattling like collection coins
And questioning the penance,

Staring at a plastic Jesus
And dreaming about my breakfast.

Cat Battles

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on March 18, 2020 by dc

A dark, curdled alleyway
Melts out a yowled doom,

Tiny crying fireworks spinning,

Wild banshee gurgles,
Like Neanderthal tykes

Whining hellish laments,

A gnarled and broken aria,
All synthesised stabs

And flicked claws;

A snarling wind circling,
Blustered and fraught,

As a passing plane hums between battles.

That Déjà Vu Residue

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on February 29, 2020 by dc

No one knows,

No one cares,

No one’s underneath your stairs

And no one’s in your kitchen either,

It’s time you took a breather;

It’s time to take things down

A notch or two,

It’s time to wipe away

That déjà vu residue.

The Universe In X-Rays

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on August 24, 2019 by dc

The soft hairs of photons,

Quantum excitations,

Those elementary quivers
And phosphorescent shivers,

The universe in x-rays,

A psychedelic dance.

A wild galactic cluster
Of helical tendrills,

Suns pulsing neon,

Threads of light
Braiding chaos,

Interactions pirouetting,

Thousands of galaxies
Whirligigging attraction,

As the dust from dead stars
Drifts like seeds.

Wolf Pack

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on August 3, 2019 by dc

The cluttered filth
Of ravaged gutters,

Rusting raw under
The loose stampede

Of this city’s
Stray wolf pack,

The bankers and
The business creeps,

The parasites
And lads for hire,

The rotten ivy on
Brutal grey towers,

The monolithic monuments

That no-one can be arsed
To tear down,

Sickly smiling,

The littered rivers
Steady swelling,

Amidst the overwhelming forfeit
Of sacrificed justice,

Those tubthumping echoes,

A hindsight sat ripe,
All regret and insights

Into why we became.

It’s Called ‘Weekend Percussion’

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on July 27, 2019 by dc

Bring the weekend percussion,

Kids jumping into hedgerows,

The whine of hot tyres
And their whistles of smoke,

Drunk teenage girls
Rewriting pop songs,

Wired dogs growling
As the pub sucks its struts
From the street;

The lemon-eyed gallivants
And tropical fruit cakes,

The funk of kicked bins,

Widows jukebox reminiscing,
Divorcees house-training cats,

A hurly-burly fragmentation,
A ripped chaotic sound collage

Of pumping moxie thumps,
Skunk smells and all you love

If you came not wanting much.

The Laughing Fires

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

The laughing fires
And the trampled boxes,

Herculean lives
Built on stolen memoirs,

Ripe neglect
And a rustling breeze,

Freshly discarded
Pride,

The widowed clichés
Of addiction,

Fixations painted
On walls in the rain,

Tricks spent
In the gravel,

Puddles meeting
In shadows,

The veins of this city
Pulsing in flickers,

Bickering glooms
Spilling out.