I've been trying to disseminate some of my poetry recently - I will be appearing in 'Krax' in the summer, and have just had two poems accepted for a new e-zine 'Social-i'. Thought I'd put my 'old' poems up on here (ones written in the last two years, anyway), just to get them 'out there' ...
This is a poem that was published in 'Anon' last summer:
Exclusion
By the dining room door
A Labrador lurks,
Whilst Dad, obsessed with work,
Carves the turkey
And delves into the murky
Depths of my cousin’s
Education.
By the dining room door
A Labrador lurks,
Whilst Dad, obsessed with work,
Carves the turkey
And delves into the murky
Depths of my cousin’s
Education.
This poem was published in 'Albatross' in January of this year:
Quintessence of Dust
‘The team welcomes you’
‘The team welcomes you’
is scribed on the blackboard lodged by the door.
A yellowing skull balances on a dust-coated lamp,
as toilet seats, beam-hung and arrow-topped,
direct you to the cornered facilities.
Motley squares
chequer the ceiling windows.
The DJ’s pulpit juts out over the confessional,
so appreciated by the Sambuca congregation.
Waitresses swarm,
complete with an offer of ‘curly fries’.
Plus that dithering smile
somewhere between obsequiousy and expectancy.
'Fosters?'
With a flourish: the upward toss of the glass
exhibits perfect hand-to-eye coordination.
The pint-pot is shaken to produce a 5% head.
The lone, silent man,
wedding finger bare,
clutches his John Smiths.
A ghost beside the decorative barrels.
The next two poems have been accepted for 'Krax':
Period
The cursor pauses over the scarlet cube:
Fe = Iron.
While the tobacco pouch,
Grudgingly released,
Spills strands onto the desk,
The poet contemplates chemicals.
The cursor pauses over the scarlet cube:
Fe = Iron.
While the tobacco pouch,
Grudgingly released,
Spills strands onto the desk,
The poet contemplates chemicals.
The F Word
Her name is musical;
Iambic.
She likes saying it.
Tandem male queries, broad and low:
‘What does the “F” stand for?’
No longer dreading to hear the genderised protestations,
To counteract with years of Scottish heritage,
She reveals the abbreviated particle.
They repeat her name in its entirely back at her,
Absorbing the full effect.
She recognises the brow-lowering;
Smiles.
‘Fraser? Isn’t that a boy’s name?’
She waits for the sitcom reference.
Her name is musical;
Iambic.
She likes saying it.
Tandem male queries, broad and low:
‘What does the “F” stand for?’
No longer dreading to hear the genderised protestations,
To counteract with years of Scottish heritage,
She reveals the abbreviated particle.
They repeat her name in its entirely back at her,
Absorbing the full effect.
She recognises the brow-lowering;
Smiles.
‘Fraser? Isn’t that a boy’s name?’
She waits for the sitcom reference.
This one has just been accepted by 'Social-i', along with a poem called 'Wanted' in my previous post:
Troy
I met her eyes:
Fuzzy brown behind the milk steam.
Long-lashed and unblinking, she stared,
Then reached round for something just out of my eye-line.
Something pink.
I reach for more coffee beans,
Fancying
That I’ll be a fleeting vision
In her future.
Amidst thoughts, images, and lists,
School ties, prom dresses and mortar boards
Slouches a man: blue-capped and well-heeled,
Forever sipping, wiping, stocking.
They leave. The pram turns the corner.
I rub my left ankle on my right,
And yearn for immortality.
I met her eyes:
Fuzzy brown behind the milk steam.
Long-lashed and unblinking, she stared,
Then reached round for something just out of my eye-line.
Something pink.
I reach for more coffee beans,
Fancying
That I’ll be a fleeting vision
In her future.
Amidst thoughts, images, and lists,
School ties, prom dresses and mortar boards
Slouches a man: blue-capped and well-heeled,
Forever sipping, wiping, stocking.
They leave. The pram turns the corner.
I rub my left ankle on my right,
And yearn for immortality.
I've just sent this one into 'Shadowtrain'. Fingers crossed!
Sign In
JDchic_16@hotmail.com:
Cross-legged and desk-bound;
Spectacled soul-searching.
She compartmentalizes
People, feelings, and materials:
Family, lovers, friends;
Orgasms, arguments, references;
Receipts, theatre schedules, newsletters.
Vertically stacked:
Divided.
She folds attachments into small, yellow boxes.
JDchic_16@hotmail.com:
Cross-legged and desk-bound;
Spectacled soul-searching.
She compartmentalizes
People, feelings, and materials:
Family, lovers, friends;
Orgasms, arguments, references;
Receipts, theatre schedules, newsletters.
Vertically stacked:
Divided.
She folds attachments into small, yellow boxes.
These others are just random poems that I haven't quite got round to sending in to magazines yet ...
Curry-oke
Sweat-drops sting and ‘baby’ breaks:
The heart of a frustrated karaoke singer
Bottoms out.
Exemplary performers receive a korma.
His vocal chords fossilize:
The bitter-drinkers
Petrify.
Sweat-drops sting and ‘baby’ breaks:
The heart of a frustrated karaoke singer
Bottoms out.
Exemplary performers receive a korma.
His vocal chords fossilize:
The bitter-drinkers
Petrify.
Empty
He’d left his wallet
Next to her Lowry card on the night stand,
Along with some throwaway remark
About bringing his Hockney round:
‘That wall needs some colour.’
Absorbed in its refreshing plainness
She stares at it,
Picturing him at his desk:
Pinstriped and strained,
Blue eyes dulled from call-centre queuing.
She contemplates
How best to refuse his bike’s porch shelter.
He’d left his wallet
Next to her Lowry card on the night stand,
Along with some throwaway remark
About bringing his Hockney round:
‘That wall needs some colour.’
Absorbed in its refreshing plainness
She stares at it,
Picturing him at his desk:
Pinstriped and strained,
Blue eyes dulled from call-centre queuing.
She contemplates
How best to refuse his bike’s porch shelter.
First Light
Sheet of black glass punctuated by stars.
Stillness waiting, waiting: immobile scene
Waiting for day, for the well-lit hours.
Double-arched bridge framing the towpath green.
New light breaks through the clouds: a rosy hue
Defines the bank’s black trees: one bough by one.
Pale dapples appear on the boat bows blue,
Owl caught motionless against the red sun.
The glass shatters: ripples disrupt the sky
Painted on the water; the surface stirs.
A kingfisher: a blue buzz flashing by:
Spying, diving, catching, scattering! Light blurs.
A boat’s horn sounds – from reveries I wake.
The peace evaporates, a new day must break.
Furniture complex
Fading in pastels:
Guest-room shades remove life. I
Apply foundation:
Pale out tear marks.
While
The uneven carpet shakes:
Too much brushed beneath.
Physic
Red wine: a ruby drug
To tranquilize the mind.
A bloody anaesthetic.
Dionysus’s gift
To the dancers: he makes them blind;
Heads deceived by grape’s trick.
No longer a spirit’s lift:
A liquid thug.
Red wine: a ruby drug
To tranquilize the mind.
A bloody anaesthetic.
Dionysus’s gift
To the dancers: he makes them blind;
Heads deceived by grape’s trick.
No longer a spirit’s lift:
A liquid thug.
Tracks
Meeting his reflected glance,
She’d surrendered, exaggerately,
To the inevitable compulsions:
Lip-licking;
Eyes flitting to and from the Northern-Line glass.
Sinking into chef-talk and referee critiques,
She came up against the expected barrier:
Colourfully blatant and painfully psychological.
Repulsing herself,
She ignores how his pupils dilate.
Heaves her Skechers-clad feet on the £50-fine seats.
Meeting his reflected glance,
She’d surrendered, exaggerately,
To the inevitable compulsions:
Lip-licking;
Eyes flitting to and from the Northern-Line glass.
Sinking into chef-talk and referee critiques,
She came up against the expected barrier:
Colourfully blatant and painfully psychological.
Repulsing herself,
She ignores how his pupils dilate.
Heaves her Skechers-clad feet on the £50-fine seats.
This one kinda speaks for itself. Doubt anywhere would publish it ... May have to wait til my collection :)
When
Minge is too comical
Pussy too sexual
Vagina too technical
Cunt.
