DTs
do not go gently
to that peaceful spot
but rage rage rage
at the appropriation
of his lot
Saturday, 20 August 2022
the book launch
the book launch
the authors are wearing waistcoats
under their swept back whitening hair
their serious dark-rimmed glasses
purport that they really care
that their words will resonate
as they settle on the bibliomaniacs
in quiescence sitting there
their outstretched hands in proffering
the shelf same discounted price
barcoded adoration fills the air
Wednesday, 17 August 2022
by prior rearrangement
by prior rearrangement
having cleared my shelves
it is surprisingly clear
how many books have gone
in one year and out the other
and now
i can rearrange all my poetry books
alpha beta i can order theta all the way across
as many shelves as there are poets
in this tower of babel
and then
when the dust has settled
my fingers will tickle their spines
their promises of forever down
the string theory of words
convolutions of thoughts opening
their minds to my inviting hands
gently down the steps
gently into the water
a gasp
and it’s all over me
oh i say
oh i say
climate change
"we’ve never seen anything like this before"
they have never said that before
oh i say
these floods of regrets
tears soaking into the deserts of just desserts
hot
ain’t it
hot
a shade less than too much
tomorrow?
just you wait and see
forfa five fife four
forfa five fife four
the football dad results
hard covered note book
red bound
a thick elastic band
a thick pencil
poised
for that voice to offer a chance
the treble chance
or four aways
cigarette smoking ash tray dreams
that died with him
his final away game
the jackpot
i never asked
Tuesday, 16 August 2022
elegy in a shell crater
elegy in a shell crater
the mud muddle addled waiting
at the battlefield’s settling of nothing
so many similar simulacrum pocks
blasted in the crater goodbyes
the tree’s lament for the leaves that left
with the grass that flew and never landed
on the outfield beneath the now and again
the barbed wire grinning at the rattling
of a bayonet’s pointed remarks
that brooked no argument
slime and slime again
that cold sinking feeling resurfaces
am i the final word in this elegy
piss holes in the snow
piss holes in the snow
the old face
of a mirror’s impudence
"piss holes in the snow"
a voice from the past whispers
i cannot even blink away that thought
as true now as it was back then
probably
cracks me up
in a slow wry smile
at my turning
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