Poetry Blogs (Graham Clifford)
Do not describe the sunset, regardless. Never
write about the buttery moonrise,
especially near the beginning: everyone
just switches off, and if they don’t
Do not mention war; any of the many.
Those possibilities are nothing to do with me.
They belong to others, to a family friend
who knows mountainsides blooming
great mushrooms of dust.
Everyone has had enough of trees...
Tuesday 26th August 2014 10:26 am
On the island’s south side
a solitary town fizzes
like overloaded circuitry
on dark, motherboard hills.
Across a sticky, smooth-tiled walkway
an amusement arcade spills
a test of sexiness based on how clammy your palm is
and the hitting game.
You spin in coins so they register
on sensors worn numb.
A padded st...
Sunday 2nd June 2013 11:06 am
In cars, I'm him.
I make the shapes he makes –
one-handing the steering wheel
as if grasping some mane,
I cup the gear stick bulb
like it's a brandy bowl
and coast to junctions
scared as sharks to stop,
though on open road
I’ll box in better cars than mine,
a sudden stickler for the limit
I slap down and squeeze your knee
celebrating damming flow,
Saturday 9th February 2013 9:39 am
It’s 1:30 am.
He takes me away from the others unpacking,
opens the front door to the first night
in our first home and squirts WD-40
over both hinges, explains
WD is water dispersal,
NASA concocted this stuff
to keep fields of rockets
from turning orange, then burnt umber.
He heard this on his pocket radio
cycling along blustery North London roads...
Tuesday 5th June 2012 8:54 pm