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Storm

As the wind soared
And sanded our hotel
You woke scared
And we listened to the storm

The wind stole your swimming costume
From the balcony
And tossed it into the night
And lost it

And I held you
As you waited for the tidal wave
That never came

Lust

The Fat Lady
Does not disguise
Her lust
As the young monk
Walks past

Close your mouth,
Fat Lady

Name

Where was my name before it was mine?
Unbegotten
It lay in a ditch
Of rotting reeds
Beneath sloughed reptile skins
And pine cones
Unripened
Unknown

Unsung
The clouds that hurried
Moonlit above dark earth
Knew it not
Neither was it voiced in thunder
The wind did not sing it
Nor was it found in the split of a stone

Unstitched
It did not appear on gym kits
Or school registers,
Tax forms, toothpaste surveys
It was not entreated to store credit
Nor digitally encrypted
Nor found on long-expired leases
Nor etched on bone

Other Roger Stevens
Smugly created complicated computer systems
Or archly textured buildings
Or kept themselves to themselves
Or wrote learned theses

Once called, the letters crept from dictionaries,
Or well-worn shiny-edged spelling Bs
Were lifted from lexicons
The Es swanking about, always popular
The V skulking in the corners like a thief

And my name was conjured
From a backwards echo
A retrospective prophecy
A splash of sunlight
On a passing gull’s wing
An overheard remark
In a darkened room

And my name was written
As a forgotten footnote
On the afterward
Of a tumbling leaf

The Sex-o-matic Christmas Gift

For Christmas this year
I was hoping for
A Wilkinson’s Sword Sex-o-matic razor
The world’s first 6 blade razor
With 5 conditioning strips
Giving 4-way directional shave-a-bility
(For everyone’s face is different, unique)
A choice of 3 ergonomic handles
(To give just the right grip for me,
For my hands are different, special, unique)
A choice of 2 colours – macho-maroon
and oh-so-sensitive silver
And a super special offer – a CD
Of sounds to shave to;
A jet plane in quadraphonic detail flying past
A waterfall, with exotic humming bird and elk sounds
A woman’s voice, low and sexy,
Purring in the next room
(Hurry up, big boy!)
And a chill-out track assembled from
The best of Portishead, Moby and Nirvana out takes.

I can’t tell you
How I was looking forward
To unwrapping my Wilkinson’s Sword Sex-o-matic
The world’s first six blade razor
From its special Christmas presentation pack

But alas, I was unlucky
Receiving only books and CDs
And a collection of Argentinean Gold Artefacts
Neatly wrapped in heavy brown calico
With a whiff of diesel oil

Maybe for my birthday in October?
Or, by then, the new Sept-o-matic 7-blader
Might be available
Now that will be a present to remember

Liverpool

Strawberry Field Gates



And did those Cuban heels in four four time
Walk along Mathew Street down to
The Cavern, where I’m sitting now
Thinking about the Beatles' fame?
And did the ferry’s chugging beat
Fill Ringo’s head with Mersey sound?
And in the Anglican Cathedral shop?
Did Paul sign postcards with his name?

And passing by the Rubber Soul Café
Did John think that name would make a great LP?
And did George walk these corridors, and once stay in
This Travel Inn - the same as me?

Who Lived in a House Like This?



The man living in Paul’s house
Looks a bit like Paul
(He may or may not be related.)

John’s house has a blue plaque.
For that honour
You have to be twenty years dead

Ringo’s house has a satellite dish
It is white
And quite understated

George’s house has a nice hanging basket
A purple plastic bag
And it's painted a mystical red

Back to the Future

Hi, fellow bloggers and interested passers-by. Well, that was a hectic Yule. But a very nice winter break. A very nice visit to meet our old pals and fellow bloggers Michael, Hazel and Archie (see flobberlog blog) – then to other very nice old pals (not quite as old – that is old in the sense of having known them a long time of course) near Manchester – and then a few days in Liverpool which was very nice. We went to an Everton FC match – and watched them win in the last minute of extra time, I got a special hug from the Everton supporter sitting next to me – then we did the tour of Anfield which is, in case you didn’t know, home to the greatest soccer team of all time – L I V E R P O O L . There I touched the precious sign as I walked through the players’ tunnel to the ground and sat in the managers seat in the dug-out. Very nice.

We also visited the two cathedrals, both built last century – so very new. The Anglican cathedral is the second largest in the world and built along traditional lines and the Catholic cathedral looks a bit like a large concrete space capsule from the outside – but is very atmospheric inside – with lots of stained glass and coloured light.

But for me the best bits were the Beatle-related touristy fan-type things. Saw the Fab Four’s birthplaces, went to the Cavern, went on the Beatles tour – stuff like that. It was magical. It was mysterious. It was fab.

So now it’s back to work. Band rehearsal last night where we were filmed for Hungarian TV. It was for Ken, of course, to publicise his new book. They did get a nice shot of my fingers, tho', whizzing up and down the keyboard. It's the Creative Writing course tonight. And at this moment I’m busy trying to gather my working life into some semblance of order. Sort out a few poems for the blog. Sort out what I’m going to be doing over the next few months. But more of that anon – no doubt.
In the meantime – hope everyone’s new year is off to a great start - those of us lucky enough to have that privilege of course.
See you soon.