Poetry Blogs (list poem)
From The Attic
A wooden chest, labelled ‘Uncle Jack’
Slowly I start to unpack:
Inside there sits some dusty books
Carefully placed so if someone looks
They will not see what’s underneath
A collection of human teeth
A fine, silken, black top hat
A jar half full of congealed fat
Some boiled sweets in a paper cone
Something that looks like a finger bone
Tuesday 16th April 2019 4:51 pm
A List Of Things We Buried In The Garden
- A photograph of better times.
- An empty bottle of scotch.
- A well thumbed copy of ‘True Crimes’.
- A useless, broken watch.
- Seven bottles of little white pills.
- A pair of latex gloves.
- A folder with a thousand bills.
- A bunch of dead foxgloves.
- The broken vase they occupied...
Tuesday 9th April 2019 11:42 am
Thursday 23rd August 2018 12:11 pm
Happy. Genial. Merry. Jolly
Blottoed, blasted, etched and blitzed
Mellow, foggy, hazy, squiffy
Tipsy. Tiddly. Brahms and Liszt
Dazed, zombied, tanked-up, trollied
Ganted, gubbed, guttered
Bladdered, blathered, leathered, plastered,
Sozzled, sloshed, scuttered
Hammered, battered, caned, mangled
Spannered, mullered. Half-cut, lashed
Twisted, warped, slammed, wasted
Monday 27th July 2015 3:22 pm
Apple, Plum, Orange, Lemon, Lime
All give us their sweet Fruits
Alder, Birch, Hawthorn and Sycamore
Spread from solid roots
Elder, Fern, Gingko, Hazel
Sweet Gum, Hornbeam, Fig
Bald and False Cypress, Beech
Grow their fearless twigs
There's Holly, Mountain, Ash and Pine
Poplar, Spruce and Yew
Elm, Eucalyptus, Cycad, Conifer
Walnut. Monkey Puzzle too
Japanese Snowbell, Shellback ...
Friday 14th March 2014 6:28 pm
Make a stand
You can make a stand against wrong-doing or stand for what is right,
You can make a stand as a pacifist as to stand is not to fight.
You can make a stand with a fist aloft or stand with a lowered gaze,
You can make a stand that’s popular or stand without seeking praise.
You can make a stand by marching or stand up by sitting down,
You can make a stand if yo...
Sunday 27th November 2011 9:51 pm
I wished I wasn’t so sensitive.
I wished the raised hands of my dad
couldn’t smack tears into my eyes
I wished to vanish behind the black
curtains of my shut eyes
I wished I didn’t mind that my white mum
visited my school wearing African robes
I wished I didn’t believe in ghosts
so I could keep my stain in those shadows
I wished my home wasn’t broken
my parents cou...
Saturday 6th March 2010 4:14 pm