Saturday, October 29, 2005

Dream

A man raided my parents’ house
He wore brown trousers and a white vest
He looked like Alexei Sayle

The front door sagged open
Like a corpse’s mouth
I yelled for a neighbour’s help

The man ran out
A memory clutched to his chest
I dropped my bag

I had no time to wonder
As the chocolate bells
I’d rescued from the Christmas tree

At the top of the road
(In that late January rain)
Splattered on the pavement

The man and I grappled
His accomplice ran from the door
Neighbours appeared

The robbers were arrested
And my memories were recovered
But after I woke

I knew
I’d never go back
Into my parents’ house again

Writing in the Dark

This is not a chic area of Paris
Outside the night life rumbles
like indigestion. People argue
Outside my window. A motorbike
Roars past. Tyres squeal.

I look at the clock.
It’s a quarter to four.
I’m writing this down in my notebook
In the dark. I hope the writing is
Legible.

In the morning
I see that I have written this poem
Over the top of another one
And so I begin the task of trying
To decipher my own poems.

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

Read the Sign

The sign quite clearly says
Do not feed the wildfowl bread
It encourages the Canadian Geese
Who bully the ducks and moorhens

The sign quite clearly says
Do not feed the wildfowl bread
As bread encourages the algae
And the build up of toxins in the water

So why are you standing there
With your bin bag of bread
Scattering crumbs to the geese
Like a stupid bird shepherd?

Can’t you read?

St Albans Haiku

I heard a boy say
Look at that duck! The
One with the Egyptian head

Thursday, October 20, 2005

Pere Lachaise

Pale yellow and fading green
Acacia leaves tumble like stone birds

A naked woman poses
With uneasy familiarity

The angel-winged cherubs
The bat-winged skulls

The hoarse laughter of crows
Rising into a grey marble sky

Change of Position

I had been standing on her two feet
for some time
when she remarked -
Stand on your own two feet
for once!

On My Head

I had been standing on my head
for two years
before I discovered
that the simple act of jumping to my feet
released the weight of the world
from my shoulders
like a helium-filled balloon

Sunday, October 16, 2005

Fish Sandwich


A thin girl in a turquoise top
Looks at me and smiles
Or maybe she is smiling at her boyfriend’s joke
Or the lopsided sign behind me
Or maybe she is gazing
Into the middle distance of her memory
And recalling the time
Her mother fell and was caught
By a clown in a spotted smock

We are sitting at the Canadian Bar
On the Left Bank of the Seine
Just round the corner
From where Picasso painted Guernica

And Jill looks over my shoulder
And, seeing the opening lines, writes in my book
Does she want my fish
For a sandwich then?

And I laugh and say, Fish?
A fish sandwich?
And Jill laughs too
And says no – fist!

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

Newcastle Serenade


On the train to Newcastle
I can hear a small orchestra
Violins and woodwind
Drums
And a crooner

I look around
There –
In the luggage racks
Musicians
Giving the train
A sophisticated swing
It’s almost jazz

And the conductor
Sways down the aisle
With the microphone
I am tempted to join in
But instead
I point out to him
That this carriage
Is a dedicated quiet carriage
And so could he please take his orchestra
Elsewhere?

Contemplation

Sometimes time ambles
Now, for example
As I practise
Celebrating
The art of living
In a fast food chain
Whilst waiting for an aeroplane

I could be sitting at my computer now
Gazing at the slate roof above the front door
Listening to the birds in the mock-orange tree
Contemplating
The interlocution of words

But I’m not
I’m sitting on some plastic seating
Eating a pizza

Whoops-a-daisy

Sorry about that! I was trying to upload a new picture for my profile. I couldn't get it to work and so, as I was a bit pushed for time, I gave up. Little did I know that in my absence the computer would try to upload a little coloured square.

Sorry also about the lack of blogs. I've been so busy. Hopefully will be putting some more poems up soon. Bad news on the book deal - it all fell through at the last minute. So it's back to the writing desk.

Hey ho.

My poem on BBC2 did happen - although I missed it. I thought it was on Blue Peter but I was wrong.

Mr Organised - that's my middle name.

Friday, October 07, 2005

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