A long sentance in the present tense

The separate strands
Of the futures-that-could-be
Are a bunch of zips
Spilling out from a vase
To myopic infinities
The further down
Any line you look
From the fixed focus
Of the ever-moving present
Whose clenched teeth
Trail a snail line
That recedes ever more so
The further back you go.

Lion-Woe

The glamour was televised
Sword-waving mutant fights

Not
The narcoleptic apathy
Domestic arguments
About licking Lycra
Allergies
Overspending on hairspray
Fur-balled halitosis
Marks from the Claw Shield
Down the armrest
Of the interest-free sofa

Programmed pre-prognostication
30 seconds of British Gas adverts
That couldn’t be skipped
Before you got to ‘sight beyond sight’
And a recap of the recent past
Which
As it was just prior
To the immediate future
Was the present
Which was your own face
Growing increasingly exasperated

Struggling with the futility of the Thundercat condition
The nocturnal notion
Your nemesis is ever-living
So he can just…
Wait

He called the Samaritans once
“Snarf, snarf!”
Never again

Ivy

Dismissed as ornamental
You put down roots
Climbed aggressively
Flexed tendrils into crannies and nooks
Became self-supporting
Thickened with age

He bemoaned the bind
Of preening nip and tuck
The status quo maintenance
Muttered over the fence
Insidious, invasive
Grasping, sneaking, squeezing, smothering
Persistent, persuasive
Cherry blossom failing
Dreams of greener grass

It was a hatchet-job
No-one intervened
The portrayal postulated
You were poisonous
To the touch

He always thought you bitter
But he’d just held you back
You still feed the birds
Every winter

Words

Warming up for Speech Therapy at Nottingham Festival of Words, 19th October.

Food poems

To offset the recent maudlin missives, here’re a couple of more light-hearted ones spawned as comp entries.

 

A matter of taste

The tongue comes alive to a flavoursome five,

Marmalade swaps sweet and sour;

The very best bitter elicits a titter,

Especially if drunk by the hour;

Delicious umami will placate an army,

Though glutamate’s sticky my friend;

Aqua’s relief when it’s too-salty beef,

It’s all down to taste in the end!

 

Gone fishing

If pondering the right way

To catch a fish from brine,

Tuna’s like a telegram:

Best done by pole and line!

Sad noises

The defensive sparrows
perched on the fence;
they denied
the eggs were cold.

The family cat
looked right through me
the day before we found his brother:
he already knew.

Sometimes you wake
in tears,
I know.

There’s no embrace
in paw or wing;
when words fail,
we all share
body heat,
sad noises.

Darwin. Boom.

Roosting black in the flowerbed
Head turned eyes closed beak 
Nestled over scapula
Amongst the downy disorder
Of bipartite plumage
As though the feather-shined lower
Outgrew the downy upper
Unmoved by secuteurs’ snip
Soil clink of stone on trowel 
Or judicious watering nearfoot
Unwound blinking momentarily
Staring over the proffered glass 
Ashtray wormery worms wriggling 
I forget about strawberries
Head curling eyes closing beak
Back to the gloaming shoulder 

Slide patio door work-ready 
Look suited as you lie
Spreadeagled a foot from the spot
Sleeping in too early for sunbathing
In sprawling indignity 
Like a teenager somehow
Lying in or something 
Else knees in the air

Plastic bag get a grip
Body soft eyes closed head 
Lolling at the serendipidous bin day 
Dragged past dutch irises gravel
Planted down the lane down the side
Don’t pick them I said let them be
Petalled purple tongues xanthic stripes
Flowering thought of you flying out
Emerging if eyes were mistaken  
Closed head lolling breast
Still they call it 
the just in time principle
Phoenix rising from Eastcroft
A minor contribution to district heating
Round in cycles I thought
Round and round in cycles

When I got home the council had mown
Dragged empty bin by grass just cut
Scattered purple petals xanthic stripes
Would’ve been better in a vase after all
I concede as I pick strawberries left
To redden now riddled with holes
A day is all it takes to sate
Tiny slugs woodlouse burrowed
So deep and still I thought it
Gorged to death until antennae 
Waved out to the cut
Of flesh burrows 
Debrided for wormery worms  
Round in cycles I thought
Round and round in cycles

Special

Sand grains amongst silicates
Raindrops in an aerosol sky
All cry out to be 
The last plangent note 
sustained…
in a hushed auditorium

Wandering

Witch wanders goose ganders 
Feather on the tip of your shoe
What weather freak whether
You’ll do what you do
In cant incant song
Old room with a view
Unchant incant strong
Search find what is true

A eulogy to toe nails

Born clipped keratin, 
One of quintuplets,
At birth sadly separated 
From waggling parents, 
Four of five fellows that flew
To the dustiest, hairiest corners 
Of the world developed,
Divided debrided diaspora
Who were subsequently persecuted,
Accused of smelling gallic,
Rounded up, rooted out,
Then flushed away, 
Wrapped in plastic,
Buried, incinerated
Or otherwise ‘disappeared’
By the local waste authority.

Held captive by yarn,
The idiom that got away by not,
You could’ve turned a tiny terrorist
Become a splinter cell underfoot
Or cotton-bound blister agent;
In that dark sweat you spied 
Five unwitting replacements accreting
But accepted the sacrifice, 
Your own imminent irritant fate.

Well-disposed shard of time’s hourglass,
Flexible martyr,
O’ noble nail you knew,
An aim to reign unclipped’s 
Somebody else’s eulogy.