this too shall pass

this too shall pass

the anti-trump poems

are being written in their hearts

be sure to be a reader

and not one of the bloody farts

just a moment

just a moment

the poet

gave me a moment

it’s there on the brocade

with all the other moments

that amount to moments

however incomplete 

the memories are 

they are 

nevertheless 

more or less

the sum 

of 

all 

their 

parts

the day they shot the poet

the day they shot the poet

they deported

the last disposition of a poet

that would have told tomorrow

of today of how it died

in all the brutality of suddenly

they have shot tomorrow today

and hearts unrelated to this

cry 

for the poet as a person

who wrote and wrote

but will never do so again

we say never again

again and again they shoot never again

so that they may think they own today

but death has folded the list 

of their wrong doings 

it is lodged in too many hearts to be extirpated

for who will deliver their mail 

or deliver their take-aways

and of course the poem 

full of their just desserts

my reply to Sarah’s poem

 my reply to Sarah’s poem

yes i say to

each couplet that demands the answer

that i have prepared 

before the next lines insist

and yes yes gets bigger and louder 

is that my phone

or you ringing my neck

no listen listen

this is a serious poem

for old and young alike

and you folks in the middle

moonstruck

 moonstruck 

the moon is a rock

love is just chemicals

don’t you just love the moon

the way it loves you

running through the clouds

which are just water vapour

don’t cry those tears

such a waste of saline

but if you must

then cry me an ocean

to drown the moon

as this rock of ours spins

take my tip

 take my tip

she died

slipped away as they say

eighty six

left enough of her life

to fill one hundred bags

that all went to the tip

life is just a trip to the tip

she didn’t say that because

who needed another bag

stating the bleedin obvious

 stating the bleedin obvious 

i am not averse to a verse

for that’s the rhyme and reason 

why the hearse drives past with

it’s floral treason …

         poetry is not dead

         just laying in state

and past that catafalque

tomorrow’s poets earn their tears 

and a few dropped fears 

through the coloured glass 

see how the sun dances 

on their upturned rifles

shhhh

what will rhyme with shhhh

           it’s your shout now