open mic

 open mic

up close

a verse becomes 

a conversation

tongues wag

well let them

we are just

this far apart

six feet deep

 six feet deep

do you know what they said

do you know what they are suggesting

they are going to reuse graves

they say we are running out of  space

what is the purpose of a grave

what does it do

store a body’s putrefaction 

store a memory’s embrace

there are questions i could ask

there are answers that i do not want to hear 

jesus ~ all i can see is a JCB

jesus ~ does it matter to me to you to me

do you know what they are saying

do you know what they are going to do

noooooooooo

oh noooooooo

OH NO!

this poem is six feet deep

the ordinary poet gets overlooked

 the ordinary poet gets overlooked

for he/she is not a member of a minority

physically 

emotionally 

genderally 

psychologically 

ethnically

you name it ally ally ally

the ordinary poet gets overlooked

nothing to see here

just her/his words

move along 

nothing odd

nothing to see

move along now 

just an ordinary poet

who may be saying extraordinary things 

but they are unrecognisable as originating from a minority

a minority that surely must exemplify the extraordinary 

what else 

to the ordinary reader

the ordinary plebeian

move me along now

if these words do not move you 

if neither you or me are extraordinary 

the ordinary poet will always be overlooked

by the ordinary reader 

now isn’t that extraordinary 

well cut off my legs and call me shorty

(my dad used to say that)

extraordinary 

wendy in the art fair

 wendy in the art fair

is one’s mind reshaped by sculpture

do the neurones in an excited state

reconvene in a novel shape

that thoughts are so enchanted changed

and all the world is quantum shifted in

that entanglement of viewer and viewed

you tell me

take another look

‘do not touch!’

go on i dare you

autumn

 autumn

slowly in the slowly aisles

the leaves are in their turning

with fine threads spinning thoughts

of teas poured long down shadows golden

the forecast of storm arriving late in the trees

that have waited long these darkening hours

specks of rain on upward leaves 

falling down the light

smeary the rain panes are running now

distorting all the flowers in the yard

that are refusing to go over

it is all so amusing

how the sky is running like dogged sheep 

when all around is a shivering blanket 

drawing the day closer now as a

spark to the hearth is bearing

turns the month closer now to

winter’s claim foreshortening 

to the end of the year

at the end of the year

there are apples still for stewing

         ‘play it sam 

               play

      as time goes by’

of course it is all over

 of course it is all over

we have been in denial for ever

how to lengthen our final days

no one tells us that

yet

where is our diluvian ark

either there isn’t one

or we are in the storage queue

for a boat that has departed 

of course it is all over

drain

 drain

and you will cross it where i tell you 

the road on your journey through life

predetermined 

perfunctory somnambulism 

there is no point in railing a sign

the detour is also predetermined 

get used to the rain 

reflect on the pools 

it maybe the only choice you have