what’s in a name (a poem for Ankh)
does not largactil sound like mud
like walking through mud
chlorpromazine a chrysanthemum opening
the sun rising from behind a mountain
i know ~ they are only words and names
but hey ~ that’s life ~ innit
call me something nice
shout out your poem
yes ~ the need to shout so loud it can cross from the grave
for the dead are here sleepwalking to the graves
they have never left from birth to death
they have never seen the sun cry
the moon laugh
the stars fill so many poets’ pockets
are you listening to me
well ~ are you
an elegy in a siding
the cleaner
she slipped through between the trucks
as she often did on her way home
they shunted her off to heaven
with her head flattened like a pizza
between the shiny buffers of the trucks
this is true
there are more stories
but this in enough for now
sunday best
they wore mink stoles
the ladies on their way to church
they always looked the other way
their rabbit foot broaches
tipped around with silver
brought no one any luck
my mother said
as we watched them from an upstairs window
every sunday god was on time
smiles were rare
what a collection they were
following you on twitter
and i follow you
scroll your night line
waiting for your train of thought
to arrive
late as usual
i pick up
it is no answering machine
but the answer
waiting in line
for the steadying
of the turmoil of understanding
at last arriving at the terminus
i see you waiting
as usual
when the cockerel crows
one day a big noise wrote ‘silence’
silence greeted that aplomb
writing ‘the words won’t come’
they went back to roost
in the hedgerows of a mind
sitting on a plot of eggs
when the cockerel crows
i will publish
