looking at a painting in a gallery
the distance
finding the number of paces
for the painting to speak
not to shout or whisper
not to be shared
or to be lost in the crowd
to sit long or to stand
how long to wait for the voice
or to realise that no voice
has enrapt you
to become the painting
to look them in the eye
what?
I am (name) we say
pointing at our breastbone
reassured by a name
whispering ‘yes you are’
never (well once) wondering
how much of ‘I am’ can be
whittled away
until the last thing left is
what?
writing a poem
the non-trance equivalent of being in a trance
stepping back in mind as the sluice gates open
watching a poem
run along the channels of the lines on a page
genocide
remove the person
who squats
in the mind of a person
who says you are not that
sort of person
when of course we all have
that sort of person
inside us
who indulges us
by saying you are not
that sort of person
kill that person to ensure
that you will never kill a
person again
genocide is in you
kill it
global warning
after my sea swim
i am bruddy freezing
the sea level rise places me
no closer to the shore
global warming leaves
me no warmer
some time after
you say beware
i say i don’t believe you
i seem to be biased
but when you say biased
i do buy it
i really do
but it is
cold comfort
on this day
of your cold warning
the anguish of a poem of anguish
not wanting to read it
but by the end of it
it was too late
to rewind time
is not our gift
so i killed it
but in my memory
it refused to die
so i killed myself
in it’s memory
do me a flavour
the first daffodil
so welcome in the spring
but ten thousand of the bloody things
bile for mile after mile
st david’s had his day
i’m going for a leek
oh i say
