remember this
i never memorise
my poems flow forth
molten metal under slag
to extemporise
would freeze the spout
would allow the slag to shine
when all that is ever needed
is to burn under the branding
iron willed to their poke ayes out
to sear memories like lava
that consumes all countenance
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
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
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
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
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
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
