Saturday, 16 March 2013

Stories from a train

Begin with context
(from an inner blank), all you’ve got
these last few days.

Open your mouth and start
to talk. Waggle your tongue and grate
a larynx, poke an index finger

away from the dyke and let out a flood;
a torrent of words that finally, finally,
finally, will have their say.

Winter: central heating;
Spring: try garden wall;
Summer: where you’ve been;
Autumn: snow and branches start to fall.

More fleeting than characters in any book,
twaddle-words fly fast and empty
up to a hole-in-the-sky without the need
for smoke and mirrors, or an aching heart.

Wednesday, 13 March 2013


Eat cake,
including all crumbs
until it’s gone.

Imagine cake again;
lingering but different.
So what? A miracle!

OK – contrived and somewhat
cherished by recent events
and stomach hydrochloric acid.

But despite what sages
hint; in that sweet mix, you and I – and you –
can have our cake, remember it too.

Sunday, 10 March 2013

An inch of your life

One foot – a blur of sense
Two feet – reach and smile
Three feet – donkey’s hind legs
Four feet – run for shandy in the den
Five feet – parents fall from grace
Six feet – a time of fantasy and hair
Six feet – offspring in the womb
Five feet – piping whistle at the throat …