I buy all my clothes, save underwear, from Oxfam and the same,
Ready made meals never see my kitchen -
Instead large pans of boiling Epicureanesque broth and grain
Bubble and steam ready for their little freezer boxes, neatly labeled.
I read dusty little unshiny secondhand books; Lacan, Foucault, Rumi, too many to mention.
There’s even a little Brian Cox and Greene in ...
Friday 31st December 2010 9:09 pm
Also by Jo Carter:Ian McShanes Legs |
Some Sort of Baby Food
It’s just where to start, just where to begin,
The boy with a bomb in the Ostermilk tin,
With a chemists collusion the passing of cash,
Salt-peter, sulphur and ground charcoal ash.
The boy was quite young being just eight or nine,
The making of gunpowder well in his time,
A bomb or a banger ‘just questions of scale’,
Friday 31st December 2010 8:54 pm
A shape discovered in my book, drawn by someone elses hand
I had to look again at it to fully understand
What strange folly, ere is this?
And who or what begat?
What sly creature armed with pen did infiltrate my flat?
I pondered this, i pondered hard, i pondered long and deep
The question of who did it disturbed my very sleep
What madness is this figure here?
Friday 31st December 2010 6:31 pm
Peer amid the Pyramids
Can you count the grains of sand?
There are more than enough there
to build pathways to a new land.
Cement them all together then
and let's do the same with man,
make the effort to bring strength
and peace that all can understand.
For in the end there will be a need
for peace if mankind is to survive,
as only without these conflicts can
we hope to ha...
Friday 31st December 2010 5:12 pm
Beware before you purchase
A morticians used limousine,
Attracted by low mileage
And gentle lower speed
You’ll be a mug
The glib and glowing description
Don’t be fooled by mint condition
And mirror like body,
The absolute opposite
To marked and shoddy.
What the salesman won’t tell you
Is that over t...
Friday 31st December 2010 9:49 am
I'll watch and I'll stand
and let a passing cloud
hit by moonlight
make a rimmed spectacle
of a distant wait.
I'll shift my weight and
and recall wordless
I put into words
those useless conditions.
It's the words,
with their wanton
that bleat silently
against the ear
Friday 31st December 2010 12:30 am
Also by Tommy Carroll:Daughter: In the year 2020 | The Nearly Moon |
Been involved in this comeptition since July, really need people to register on the website and then click on the stars below the video to vote for me!
Thursday 30th December 2010 9:20 pm
Also by Mark Mr T Thompson:Personal possibility | A less formal (peformance based) approach to analysing my lyricism | Poetic theme developed | Moving the same theme towards poetry | More on a theme | Hardly original, but still my perspective | Something a little more formal! | Manorlogz |
Oh polar bear rolling,
So tousled, so rumpled
such spikeywet furrings
so fluff and so jumpled
And growlings and strokings
And grumping and gruffing
And paddy paws loving
Bear tender and rubbing
And rolling and butting
And nuzzling caresses
Oh polar bear loving -
It always impresses!
Thursday 30th December 2010 8:49 pm
Also by Ann Foxglove:you called me | questions | silver polish | primroses and tadpoles | Surround me - London cries | plump blond girl | ghazal (ruby slippers) | ghazal ( Fibonacci swirl) | ghazal ( snow for me) | mole | tunguska | life'sabitchhaiku | is this a fibonacci poem? |
Through evening mists whisk
south-west trains with yellow
eyes illuminating murk which
tryst to shade those rural
shops or lighter urban streets
Commuters seated in their
carriages peer down on us
part silhouetted types and lay
back with their evening news
to puzzle or perplex at office
politics the gossiping or blues
Thursday 30th December 2010 8:00 pm
Also by Philipos:Moonshine. | Dangerous Bend. | Passing Clouds. | A Township Like Alex | Feeding the Birds. | The Truce. | Christmas Cameos. | Dusk Patrol. | Rockpools | Hospice Cat. | Fresh. | Plagiarised. | Timewise. | When. | Daft Festive Dog. | Consumed. | Kerb-side view. | Whimsies | Botswana | Halo. | Abbey Road Remembered. | Maths | The Appointment | Hybrid Ghazal | Off The Verge. | Pre-Planned | Platitudes | Fuzzy Logic | Irreverence | Portraits (1) | One Man's Tobacco |
What Fassbinder film is it ?
the married man
walks into a jewellers and says:
What jewellery expresses days gone by
and they just keep going by endlessly
pulling you into the future
days gone by
endlessly, pulling you into the future.
and the jeweller says:
(after Laurie Anderson)
Thursday 30th December 2010 1:06 pm
Also by Banksy:Brylcreem Days | I am a little wabbit | The Filth | Ankle-Biters | going nowhere & everywhere | The Golden Gate | tell me it's not true | Casablanca | The Times | things that get right on my tits #1 - Fusion Food | couch potato | for you | Valley of the Dolls | yesterday's confetti | across the hall | a poetry joke (not many about) | six seconds on a sunny afternoon | the old hospital | Gran,you'll never believe it ! | a man of letters | fair's fair | the piano teacher | sheep in ermine |
December evening crisply cold
solitary stroll in falling snow
with soft breath starflakes cloud dispersed
soundless feet through lamplight of old globes
like full moons lifted in Atlas arms
along the muffled avenue
mellow yellow puddles gleaming at their feet
and I remember Lux flakes as they drifted
from the gaping box into the steaming washtu...
Thursday 30th December 2010 12:31 pm
Also by Cynthia Buell Thomas:First Love (revised) |
You are just the sun.
Here, gone, left, right
And I merely the moon.
Passers by of the same sky
Over each other's horizons,
Cancel one another out.
Thursday 30th December 2010 11:44 am
Fire in my head
Burns in my heart
Rams in my gut
Soothes in my flesh
A sword to stroke
Love thrusts on it
Up and deep
It’s more than this
Riding on you
Giddy up down
And you in me
The thread is my blood
A psychic bind
A fetish chain
Which ties us
Always to you
And each other.
But never for long...
Thursday 30th December 2010 12:25 am
Tags: fire flesh love passion obsession
Where do birds bury their dead?
I know they do…
Walking in woodlands,
Parks, leafy streets
Cross-cut with instant meadow
Inter-lacing gardens, cross-hatched
With secretly nesting winged-wonders
Emerging to eat, scavenge, court,
Talk, endlessly talk..
Now the muffling commune of ice
Has freed blind stores of food
Beyond this killer camp of cold
Thursday 30th December 2010 12:24 am
Also by Moira Eribenne:Iris | The way you walk |
We are all dots … just waiting
to be connected to each other.
We mirror fingerprints to find a match.
Planets align as ink lines draw freely.
For a while, on borrowed time,
we find formation in crimson skies.
In backlit flight we say goodbye
To a once engaging perfect line.
Wednesday 29th December 2010 9:48 pm
Is it just me... or do I appear to have sex on the brain lately? Hmmm, it's not healthy!
Wednesday 29th December 2010 8:12 pm
Also by S.J.:Black dog | Vibrators are a girl's best friend | Christmas Lament | Mirror Signal Manoeuvre | Morning Glory |
Cancer had been chewing at her
For a couple of years before she
Finally succumbed to it
She was 40 and had
Two grown-up kids
I received the news by text
Whilst I was in bed
This made sleep pretty elusive
But when I eventually found it
I drifted into a series of powerful dreams...
Wednesday 29th December 2010 8:01 pm
Also by mike watts:Bring it on! | Jackanory | Thinking back | Earwig | Crime scene |
eyes are following me everywhere i tread
eyes,eyes,eyes filling me with dread
they are chasing me to everywhere i go
following to places only i know
green mean eyes blue prying eyes
brown eyes of the darkest hue
they are hiding in the shaddows giving me no clue when they might appear
eyes,eyes,eyes how they sear into my soul
eyes behind cameras and cctv controls...
Wednesday 29th December 2010 7:53 pm
Tags: eyes paranoid paranoia alienpoet poetry poem hooks
I get confused when poetry compares women to flowers.
I guess men waste words on paper
just for the sake of getting laid.
It isn’t like she is actually chlorophyl or petals.
He can’t promise eternal love
or endless orgasms.
I recycle every soppy poem I write.
Maybe I’ve never been in love,
or I’m just not a prick.
Wednesday 29th December 2010 6:21 pm
Also by James Butler:Mormon | New York Snow | Underage and Pregnant: A Nativity |
It's been a disgustingly long time since I blogged! I'm not quite sure why I've been so remiss. But I HAVE been writing, so I'll share something now. This is a little mini-narrative I concocted, when asked to write a poem on the theme of either 'violence' or 'silence'. I think that the following falls into both categories. But see what you think...
“I’m not waiting for you”.
Wednesday 29th December 2010 3:17 pm
it is not cowardice
to opt out and walk away
when it becomes misery filled
then it is not worth it
when the bickering goes on
goes on ad nauseum
then bliss lies elsewhere
it is not about regret
the germination of future bliss
practical considerations hatched
out of the egg of failure
don't tell me about regrets
it is setting the captives fre...
Wednesday 29th December 2010 1:27 pm
Also by jabulani mzinyathi:sounds of hypocrisy |
Poetry N Motion August 2010 videos - "Kim" and "I Like Strong Women But I Can't Stand Bitches" (again)
These are two new videos of the August 2010 edition of Poetry N Motion.
If you want to know why I have issues with women, just check this one out...
Here's the second piece I did. I've been slated for it since but it's worth putting up just for the audience reaction...
Tuesday 28th December 2010 6:48 pm
Also by Alain English:(untitled) | The War You Don't See Review | "I'll Be All Right Tomorrow" and "Touch" reviews | Shannon Trust Reviews - Final Part | Prose and Cons | NO-ONE KNOWS | Art By Offenders | Shannon Trust Reviews Part 2 | Shannon Trust Reviews - Part 1 | Politics Roundup Part 1 | More Poetry Reviews | Final gigs of 2010... | Poetry Reviews |
Students are rioting once again
Throwing rocks at the ‘filth’ behind shields
We’ve not seen this since Maggie’s reign
It’s about time the young got political
Wait! Well-brought-up students have principles
It can’t be them who attack, smash, sneer
Well-brought-up students, they’re all smiles
It’s such fun protecting their future career
But violent rent...
Tuesday 28th December 2010 6:02 pm
Also by Antonionioni:(End of) the golden age | What about Macca (Part 2) | What about Macca? (Part One) | Truth and justice |
Be numb to me
get off your knee
cease from demeaning
my esteem for you
with your lucid hate
the hourglass leaks
coloured sand pours
rainbow streaked tears
where the rains bleached
this sunburnt heart
with the acid of your disdain
these wearied hands
no longer reach for yours
your reflection is marred
and the mirror put away
Tuesday 28th December 2010 2:55 pm
Viewed from below
the world is shallow
an irregular trickle
that settles so little
time and space just to wallow
and splash a feint shadow
to flush out tomorrow
and fashion a tableau
in which God and the Devil
by turns pull and tug
a perpetual struggle
for control of the plug.
Tuesday 28th December 2010 11:51 am
The icicles have started to drop
In a reprieve over zero degrees
These daggers, these sharks teeth beneath
Clung to the eaves like frozen feelings
Waiting to reveal
Still whole but diminished, eroded still able to feel
Shadows of themselves they fall- all finished
On the floor, its like they corroded.
The pools make lakes with the lonely
wilting around zero who goaded
Monday 27th December 2010 3:49 pm
On this night, old snow lies thick,
hardened into rigid smudged creases.
In every house where children sleep,
a deafening silence of anticipatory slumber.
At Mass the devout smile cynically
at the unusually full congregation.
Homeless bodies defiantly condescend
to seek warmer shelter and a festive meal.
And with the glue, still damp on “sale” signs,
Monday 27th December 2010 1:04 pm
It started life as a poem called 'The Voyage Of The Prudence', written in 1989 for a bit of amusement only. But then this poem somehow became a stage show called 'Hunting The Great White Prawn': it grew to a hour and and a half in length and involved, as well as its two characters, a band. It got successful around Folk Clubs, Arts Centres, Comedy Clubs and Festivals before imploding due to the ...
Monday 27th December 2010 11:32 am
I gaze vacantly, hopefully nodding and grunting in all the right places so as not to lengthen the tirade of mindless idiocy, pitter pattering upon my beleaguered ears, Surely its obvious about my intent to save more brain cells from sleeping to death?
Could anyone be so stupid or unaware?
I feel it more with each beat, a volatile uprising within, bubbling rage at such blissf...
Sunday 26th December 2010 12:17 am
Also by alan barlow:the ghoul | saturn |
On Christmas Eve
when every shop is shut
every thing you ever dreamed of
bought, stacked, unpacked, wrapped
every thing you couldn’t buy a distant memory
everything you meant to buy a shrugged shoulder
every card sent, every penny spent
every child snuggled warm in sleeping bed
On Christmas Eve
when every last thing is said and done
there is a speci...
Saturday 25th December 2010 12:20 am
Also by Isobel:Gaudete | Explaining My Religion | Iconic | A Tribute To Cynthia Lennon |
Loading the player…
In many countries alongside the concept of Nice Santa who brings gifts for the good boys and girls there also co-exists Nasty Santa who carries a stick for beating the naughty children. In France he is known as Le Pere Fouettard.
My Santa you will never see upon your Christmas card,
The counterpart of Pere Noel: his brother, Pere Fouettard.
I know if I’m a good girl tha...
Friday 24th December 2010 10:19 pm
Also by John Coopey:70m Dash | Colliers and Kids | The Pit and the Pendulum | Gaspers | One Anglaland | Two Litre Capri |
(To “Hark The Herald Angels Sing”)
The Christmas pudding’s gone all soggy,
And I’ve burnt the Christmas cake.
The mincemeat’s oozed out of the pies,
It’s all been a big mistake.
The Yule log is one huge joke,
Santa’s sunk into the snow
Upside down – he’s done a bunk,
And the robin, that looks drunk.
I don’t know what we’re to do,
Even the turkey’s g...
Friday 24th December 2010 6:02 pm
Also by Lynn Dye:Essex | Oh, For A Modern Man! | Sharing | Ghazal |
Loading the player…
You're only up the stairs,
moved recently from view,
you hear my happy shout,
and yes, I love you too.
Only in our bedroom
putting something right,
frowning in concentration
with sleeves rolled up tight.
Capable hands and forearms,
you're smiling at my call,
whistling through your teeth,
tapping on the wall.
Only in the next room...
Friday 24th December 2010 5:29 pm
Also by Alison Smiles:42nd Noel |
- I am a little rabbit, hrum - hrum,
I like sweet carrot, hrum - hrum,
I'm like a ferret, hrum - hrum,
Live in a burrow, hrum - hrum,
Though it's narrow, hrum - hrum,
Now I am eating cabbage, hrum - hrum,
It's for my courage, hrum - hrum.
- Dear little rabbit, tell me your habit.
- Hrum - hrum!
-Happy New Year, dear rabbit!
Friday 24th December 2010 9:29 am
Also by Larisa Rzhepishevska:Give Me Your Password | Day And Night (Russian romance) | Friend | A Voice In the Wildness |
Thursday 23rd December 2010 2:43 pm
Also by Steven Kenny:One That Got Away | Revelation |
untamed aggression turns the water black
commits suicide in the operating theatre
his last action: resisting the anasthetic
the guitar strings break
disrupting the outoftune melodies
the orchestra falls silent amongst the stars
piercing themselves with their instruments;
the musicians lips are sown together
Wednesday 22nd December 2010 12:03 pm
Also by owen calvert:weed seeds on a cumtissue |
not many know
he has a twin.
Embreo split like yin and yang
encompassing the universe's majesty.
Death and rebirth.
Light and dark.
Fear and love.
And all that's in-between.
One child playful as oompa loompas
all dancing and silly songs.
The other the underside of a scratched CD
Wednesday 22nd December 2010 3:37 am
Also by IndigoAngelUshiku:We're All in this Together | Palindrome Girl |
I couldn't recite it if I tried
My greatest work
By your standards or mine
For the nature of it's conception
Burned bright like embers
Hot as brimstone.
I wrote all I wrote
to forget Times of temptation
And tribulations; too great to number
Days overcome by wonder
And pondering with production
Except for abstract bearings
But then again wha...
Tuesday 21st December 2010 7:50 pm
Also by Ridge A. Dillard:Wasted | Never Was | Scars(the poem of life's learning curve) |
You will miss me
when you are alone, she said,
when the tide of life’s cold wind
freezes about your head
when the sunset burns red
and only you are there to see
when the laughing of the stream
mocks you in your stead
when your arms wrap around nothing
as they search your empty bed
when you melt at seeing a smile
but wake from dreaming it instead
Tuesday 21st December 2010 4:43 pm
Also by Dermot Glennon:Where dragons and maidens are no more |
I’m still alive kicking up a storm
Crash bang bitch talk
Yes oh yes
The sort of talk that I like when I have a mind
Don’t you know?
Like you didn’t know
Lay me like a blade cold as chrome
Crawdaddy kisses down my spine
They burn like ice
Mind and eye filling
Spilling over and over with stingsong
The gone wrong too ...
Tuesday 21st December 2010 3:45 pm
We are snug blanketed under a layer, thick and soft
the wreck of the garden beautified by it
the rooves insulated
gate iron curlicued
thickened in outline
a stuttering blurred underlining
Walking and feeling the tense squeak
unfamiliar gait to ache our thighs
we are un-gendered,
crack of face, eyes skenning
Tuesday 21st December 2010 8:28 am
Tags: bloody freezing,cold,dark,seasonal affective disorder,snow
Here is a very cliche, very self indulgent but sincere poem I wanted to share with all of you. Thanks for reading and commenting on previous poems :-)
This year I took the leap of faith
Jumped off a couple of roundabouts
Strolled down a few different avenues
when the snow has melted on roofs and trees
and birds sit on the wires once ...
Monday 20th December 2010 12:43 pm
One evening in the gloaming with the hour approaching late
I heard a sound, just ask my cat, he may corroborate.
I quickly went alfresco, thought I'd better take a look
A crowd of farmers gathered round to watch a donnybrook.
One farmer in pyjamas with a rubicund complexion,
Officious and unlaundered too, I thought, on close inspection,
Screamed words so execrable ...
Monday 20th December 2010 8:38 am
Twas mid the glowing hours....Afore Christmas
That all thoughts aloud ~ Were sent off afar....
Whilst the golden age of silence became ~
An instant.. No longer shunned by the stars...
To witness the gingerly calm of peace....
Amidst the sunset of a candle burning...
Slating the shadowy cloaks with decease...
Sunday 19th December 2010 7:39 pm
God could have sent his Son
a million different ways.
But look at what he chose.
I'll tell you what it says.
It says open your hearts,
It says be generous and free,
Look outside your little box
That's what he's saying to you and me.
Mary was not respectable,
Pregnant before she was wed.
Open your hearts to unmarried mothers.
That's really ...
Sunday 19th December 2010 3:28 pm
Also by Dave Bradley:unwanted wants | Shopping Ghazal | Daily Battle | Where are You? | Shahla Jahed is dead |
‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
But don’t feel contented instead please beware,
Because soon that old creep Santa Claus will be there.
I know what you’re thinking ‘he’s just a kind old man’
But don’t let him fool you, you know that’s his plan.
Therefore it is only my duty to suggest ways to divert,
Saturday 18th December 2010 3:58 am
Once-upon-a-time, a barman worshipped the Sun.
Worked nights so didn’t see much of it
but in his head he’d got stories of
the Fire God supreme,
vanquishing monsters who'd eat out your dreams.
He called the Sun ‘Hero’,
believed it had six pairs of arms,
giant wings of flame
and the handsomest nose in the galaxy.
Made moons blush
Friday 17th December 2010 1:38 pm
Tags: alcohol,anxiety,bar,bed,belief,benefits,contact,depression,dole,dominic berry,dragon,dream,drink,drunk,faith,flapjack,flat,freed up,gay,god,greenroom,hero,ill,job,light saber,moon,night,performance,poem,poet,pub,queer,sick,sleep,star,star wars,stress,sun,theatre,unemployed,vegan,vegetarian,wizard,work,worship
The nets are hung in the fishermen’s huts
at the old end of town, where the road runs out;
the houses cling to east and west hills.
The wind fills his eyes with tears
The seaside was somewhere you escaped to;
candy floss, fairground rides, shrimps
in fresh pools; crunchy egg and eggshell sarnies,
sodden fish and chips, pier closed for repairs
Thursday 16th December 2010 11:48 pm
Tags: family,nets,old age,seaside
I was travelling in America in October and while I was there I did this poem at Chicago's famous Uptown Poetry Slam, 'where slam began', which was a fab night, go there if you can! Well I had to didn't I? This poem is about my fascinations and contradictions about that great nation, partly why I was there. (The photo is me, there, honest, just taken on my rubbish mobile.)
Thursday 16th December 2010 5:06 pm
Out there we have a world.
I doubt myself, my hands like lace,
pale anaemic whispers, and touch the air.
It is heavy like a pallbearer’s lung,
it is, where my eye meets, rust.
“Remember me” - What youth I have!
Thin and untidy, knotted and Ophelia,
under my fingernails, and innate,
leaping out of my throat. Unkissed.
There are ...
Thursday 16th December 2010 1:24 pm
Also by Marianne Daniels:Rhombus | The Yell Room | The Ask of Conversation |
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