Poetry Blogs (Sep 2011)

Popular last 30 days


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I conceived you

over many many years.


without form

you slowly arose,beautifully unfolding


growing into

the guardian spirit of my heart


together we have arrived.



we are



(by Patricia Wilde)

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I wondered why that set

Of Mediterranean sky

Was domed between these whirls of weather we get,


Why, through the jibs

Of the low oaks, the sun-shafts

Kept digging me in the ribs,


Why I could feel

The shock of spring seas bursting against a far coast

Vibrant under my heel –


The sudden toil

Of all kinds of coming-alive thi...

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stone dragons guard these

soy sauce sprinkled streets

a broken mirror shattered

into many tiny parts kindling

kaleidoscopic images of art


dustbins are the treasure

trove of rats growing

large on gratis asian foods

as flickering neon-lights are

beckoning the up town mob


rich eastern sauce drips

down the wheely-bin

mixed with human ...

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Also by Philipos:




I was fit and feisty at fifty
It was no big deal
Because that’s how half a century
Is supposed to feel.
In my sixties I’ll take stock
Start making great plans
Ignoring all the “You Cants”
And embracing all the “I Cans”.
Can I be sexy at sixty?
And try all the fashion and fads,
Wear stockings and suspenders
And Joan Collins shoulder p...

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Where Dat Stuff Come From? by Imamu Amiri Baraka

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painting by Evamarie Juniper Bittleston

“Blues come after slavery cause blues got a life right here to sing about, real life not just in lost Africa or in the sky after we die; See the brothers say when we was in Africa blue was our favorite color but when we took that trip blue got bent then what it meant was something we lost something that made us sad (you blue Jim) or something beautifu...

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Major New Gigs in London and Aberdeen

Wednesday 9th November
Camden School of Enlightenment
Camden Head
100 Camden Street
Map: http://g.co/maps/qv88a
Time: 8pm
Entry Free
I'm doing William McGonagall in nothing but a top hat...
Saturday 12th November
Demented Eloquence
Cellar 35 underneath Noose and Monkey
31-35 Rosemount Viaduct

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Also by Alain English:

La Chunga Review | Shakespeare Authorship Question in advance of the film "Anonymous" | RRRANTS Gig on 2nd October |




Maria Dzumaga is dying.

Her stubborn chin has softened

and her cumbersome teeth will no more fly

across dining room tables,

when people who should know better

protest the removal of plates and utensils

before their meal is eaten.

She has ceased to leap from flights

of stairs and first floor windows

in order to annihilate her feet.



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I'm a finalist...

...in the Red Cross poetry comp.  My poem will appear in their pamphlet, one of twelve.  Great news on my birthday :)

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Woman stuck in the 360 degree traffic jam

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Driving home in the falling dusk, another day has already passed, she is constrained by plastic and steel, her visions are obscured by windows tinted against the world and in the following of her road home she feels the drowning tide of traffic flow systems, they steal her breath, leave her buffeted and gasping in their changing currents. Around the traffic island shoals of cars swim, dodging a...

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only fools

the only way to burst a balloon
is to 
that the gases inside it 
to inflate
add a little helium 
and that little bit of plastic
might rise.
once i put my name 
and address on a tag 
cos as a child i was delighted
a stranger might find it
and write to me. 
the balloon burst somewhere
like a hopeful bubble
and i thought 
of the address tag lying i...

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nature's gems

fascinatingly intricate

gossamer web

of an absent spider

wet with dew

sparkling like

a million diamonds

in the morning sunshine

of autumn


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Also by Lynn Dye:

Catch 22 | Anniversary | Crimson Lipstick | Teardrops in my Coffee | Consumerism | New Bed | Amber Moon | Pension Crisis | The Cuddle Chair | Between A Rock And A Hard Place |


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Fear, expresses no emotion.

It neither wraps itself

In cotton anger, or

Brittle sanity.

It lives in the deepest part;

Of your dream.

Taking up room -

Where the life-force should be.


This living ghost,


It does not chew it's food,

It devours it.

No table is enough to

Satisfy it's cravings.

When every opportunity feeds


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Every generation has its own hard men

who rule the block, kick the new kids ass’s.

Who rule every bar, don’t take no for an answer,

are not to be messed with and demand respect.

They use the weapons of their trade, knives,

brass knuckles, guns, bats and more.

Take them away and their fists are a back up,

sure fire way of defence, offence.


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CRANE FLIES | LOVE IS DEAD | STACKER DRIVER | GIRL | MESSAGE BODY | SCOTLAND | WOULD YOU TRUST A COMPUTER? | small press link poem publisher, send your work... | MY LITTLE COLD WAR | TIME WILL TELL… | VEGA | HIKE | TRAPPED | my FREE poem book download is here if you want it | GHOST DANCERS | NUMB | INTO HELL | LANDSCAPE OF TEARS | ORBIT | GOYA | FUCK UP FAIRY | TEAR | BOULDER | ARABOTH | ROCK GIG | GREY BLACK NIGHT | AGY poem | SHARLEEN COME TO ME LOL | POEM i read at blouse gig, not a tit insight lol | DID IT HURT LOL | DARK TOWER poem | HI TEK WAR poem | WAR, PEACE poem | WAR poem | SHEFFIELD GAL poem | advanced warplane poem | ALIENS poem | MEN AND MACHINES AND GIRLS POEM | TAT poem | hmmm is this about me... |

fightgenerationhard menlifetough

It's All Dat

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Beach Buddies

The soulful plea of mange puss
mews for tickles, prawn tails.


A waste bin of delight
feeds brown eyes,
fat dog eats chicken
lickity lipped, wagged.


String led, old dog eats rice.

The bbq's boys smile, 
mango bright, asks,
"I cook for you today?"


There are always new friends.
Most four legged.
All fickle.


No shade today,
dogs d...

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Arab spring

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Seditious seeds-


waiting seethes,

await awhile

for ripen time,

grow greener

and reach further up

than ill-timed bloom;

plow back injustice-

feed the fields-

a greater harvest 

than a snatched 

fruition ever yields.


Words and foto T.Carroll

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Also by Tommy Carroll:

Cooking for Infidels | D Minor |


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Born into slaving penury and then cowed

pigs they died for the Tsar in battle.

All led to slaughter- while at home

they starved to death in the towns

anonymous as their birth.


You offered them hope

an end to the toil of war,

you offered them dreams,

a printing press of promises

Peace, Bread and Land.

The proletariat would inherit the earth

and t...

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Hot wax

Cool enough to produce no guilt But hot enough for my pleasure Bit by bit I find my way Another little treasure. Even though the size is small It will take large boots to fill My important little trio With decent measures of controlled thrill.

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Left Hand Pathos*

Our Father
The confusion started
One day in idyllic late 1970s southern England
At a Catholic infant school
The sinister Mrs Williams might have been to blame
Maybe the fact I can't recall her name
Is just one of the symptoms
Of the possible primary consequences of converting handedness
(That of memory disorders) 
"Inclined to be be slow" 
On a steep incl...

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handednessThe Primary and Secondary Consequences of Converti

Out Of The Mouths ...


It’s finally stopped raining

and I really want to play out.

Roger (from down the street)

came round to see if I could come out,

but Mum told him no.

Mum said “It’ll be time for his tea soon.”

But when she closed the door,

I heard her telling the dog

that Roger’s not the sort of boy

that she wants me to play with.

Apparently he’s either got nits


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Hasta Mañana



A home-made tattoo wrapped up in a scroll

(not of honey and milk, but indian ink)

saw 50 summers, but winters no more.

A cooling board smoothes away pain.

An epithet formerly scrawled upon walls;

a roughly-inked alias on a right wrist

provided the title required to assist in

identification of you.


I will search for your words in your final abode...

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We'll meet again

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Seasons turn but I don't care

people come and go

bright blue skies and golden leaves

won't heal broken souls


People and leaves fall and rise

up against the time

missing those we loved so much

we all long to die

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Fortune of Tears


                                                            Fortune of Tears




            It is so harsh,

Cuts like the thinnest sliver of glass,

Meandering easily straight towards

Where melancholy has been my life-long past;

     An attrition of war with no real place to go even though,

They say wounds are to heal with time,


The scab on ...

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war poetry

A good clear out


I am struggling in a country that dumps on its pensioners

And its war heroes, that pisses on the pillows of the low paid

The defenceless and the disabled. I am born to a country

That allows the wealthy to gorge on the misery of the poor,

Allowing those in power to lie and cheat and steal with breathtaking

Arrogance over and over again. I pay taxes in a country where im...

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Also by mike watts:

The referral | Packing up | Scorching. |

In The Shadows Of Mountains

Several thousand years of built up force

It takes to make a mountain.

The popular friction of time

Surging forward on all sides.


Pushing mass upwards toward the sky.

Strict, unobstructed

As if freedom exists in this form.


As if the earth, wants.

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Also by Kealan Coady:

The Plan Of Nature | I Made The Earth Uncomfortable With My Hammer | Now And Then | Infants Become Skeletons | Look Back | Everything I Am Not And More | Ever After | Euphrasia | The Censored Sky Of The City | In The Fizz Of Winter | Meanwhile | Blank |

The Lady from Fowey


1786, saw the first of many unfortunates being transported to a penal colony in Australia.

   Among those convicted was a nineteen-year-old Cornish girl found guilty of highway robbery; an offence that we would call mugging to day.

   Quite a lot of well placed eminent people, who touched some part of her life.(All independent of each other and not in collusion,) could not ignore ...

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Also by Thomas McDonald:

The late Darwin’s Theory on Relativity | Mahdi Gras | Empty Rooms at mine and Mabels | up a gum tree | Schnell Shock | So it has been Written | Scnell Shock |

My Quintet

Good Day,

Time is going fast,

I wonder if it will last,

At least today we had a laugh,

So pause.

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Also by ChizzieRascal:

Replacing Santa | She Stood thin and very Straight | Unfortunately the title has had to be Censored | The Dead like to Party 3 |

The Secret Place

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The Secret Place



Merging with shadows

...in he creeps

pushes aside heavy black velvet

slouches on his stools purple brocade seat

wrought iron legs

creak scrape

over varnish stripped floor


Immaculate fingers

flick a switch

he is.... all lit up

lines,bags, jowls

leap out at him

the bare bones

a husk of who he really is


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Male drag artist female impersonator secret

Danger Rides Abroad Tonight


All was black outside the inn

As night winds howled in pain

And rattled at the chimney pots

And whistled through the grate


Inside the inn all shut up tight

The fire had burned down low

And huddled by the candlelight

A few lost souls had yet to go


The night was foul, rain beat down

The wind lifted the eaves

It was a long walk into town


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Also by Neil West:

Hearts of Darkness |

The End of Summer III

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After Summer,

Autumn is always brushed

Under the carpet

Like a half-baked afterthought

Before the winter arrives

With its blanket

Of snow rolled blues.


At the beginning of Autumn

There is a hesitation

In the breeze

Before the clouds

Darken the sky

And poison us slowly

With mustard gas.


There is a sadness

In the half c...

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Also by Andy N:

The End of Summer (II) |

summerthe end of summer

barefoot self

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I want to find my barefoot self

has she been waiting all this time

here in St Ives?


A little girl, I saw the beatniks on the pier

was mesmerised, left something there –

my raggetty-black-jumpered self

playing a guitar.


At Troika studio, pocket money spent –

something from the seconds shelf.

And a ceramic pendant, orange like the sun

on ...

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Also by Ann Foxglove:

owl | drift reservoir | peace | earth | remember the st ives festival 10th-24th september |

My Present

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I present you with a bouquet.

You can do anything with it,

Even to sweep the Soho street.


©Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)

24th of September, 2011

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Also by Larisa Rzhepishevska:

There is no sense... | A Sad Clown | In the Wood | President's Speech | Two Destinies, Two Hearts, Two Souls | Do You Believe Me? | TENDERNESS | Only In September Night... |



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BTW - I don't like to crow (!!)  but I hope you'll all remember - when the latest experiments at Cern (and as reported on the news these last two nights) confirm - that the speed of light has been exceeded & that E=mc2 has been shown to be (if not erroneous) at least not the end of the story... That you heard it first on WOL from Banksy - in my (humble, ahem) poem "Old Father Time"  that, well,...

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Also by Banksy:

mon petit shoe | shock n' aw | Gold | Armagh | Bukkake | Ms Spindrift |

John's Apples

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I have noticed John, my neighbour’s apples

Bobbing on the branches in the wind; grown suddenly heavy

And tinted rouge, in a green vista down his orchard,

Across the garden, outside my window.


Their leaves, these apple-trees,

Now crisping sere with morning frost,

Conspired all summer; transformed showers to juice

Pips, stalks and sucrose, and there they are, now...

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The snow falls, all is white there is silence.. In the depth of darkness there is silence... In the shadows behind us there is silence... Mouth opens, no words there was silence.. The ear cannot hear for there is silence.  A crying child in the distance for no one knows of its persistence, then there was silence... The calming of silence echo's words in my ear 'relax my dear for silence surroun...

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Also by Lesley Whittaker:


Husband for sale on Ebay


For immediate sale, starting 1.99,
a young white male, firm but kind
a piss poor cook but a wizard at fixing
all sorts, there's no reserve upon this listing
You can 'Buy It Now' if such is your wish
forget that he's never washed a dish
or dried one in his entire life
so laments his long-suffering wife.
No ties, or pets, or kids or debts,
make a pu...

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humourmodern liferelationships


feels unreal, really


it really does feel unreal.


Feels unreally real.

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Also by Dave Bradley:

Communion |


Poem for FH.

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How can I sit here ignoring you?

You pull and pull and pull at my sinews

If I keep still for long enough will you go away?

If I answer you will you return tomorrow?

You pull at me to be noticed, you cannot scream,

I see you, you cannot see me. You are blind

I feel you but you can not know I’m here

Eyeless and dumb you know nothing of me

You don’t know ...

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Also by Peter Asher:

Hares | The Poetry Exhibition. | Leicester New Walk Gallery 2008 | Two abstract poems. |

Glamorous Exercises


   Low she bends upon her knee

         Trawling fingers

         Through the sea,

         And the waves obey.


Wide she flings her arms to flare

         Butterfly wings

         Upon the air,

         And the winds obey.


Upon her toes stretched ever higher

         She plucks clouds

         From sunset fire,

         And the flam...

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My Fall and His Grace



My sin hangs Him back on the cross,
And the traitor of Heaven clings to me.
I swallowed a little poison out or pleasure,
And my soul towards Him staggers to reach Him.
I let my soul stroll in filth and dirt,
And have carried the mud with me shrouded.
I look like a toad croaking from the ditch,
And I see Him invisibly looking at me,
And He shows His distorted countena...

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by, Melissa R. Mendelson

I try to be human,
laugh as they laugh,
and be a part
of their life,
but my life
has been unlived
for a very long time.
And I forget
to be human.
I don’t feel.
I think,
my mind a wheel
spinning and spinning
until the late
hours of night,
where sleep steals me away,
and then I awake,
And I forget.
My life rem...

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"blessed zone"

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These travelling shoes
lackadaisical partners
walk without weary wonder

they drift past
poplar-lined roads
into tangential horizons

and that is where
this wandering soul
goes off to, willing

and remembered only
by fleeted echoes
of short-memoried soles.





Please make your response or comment on my profile page. Thank you.

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A silly poem about hair.

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The following  is a

very silly poem

There was a girl named Shirley

whose hair was short and curly.

She never wanted to go anywhere

she hated her short curly hair.


Her mom would say, "Let's

go to the park."

Shirley would say

"Not until after dark."


There came a man

with a silly son...

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Also by Shirley Smothers:

Online Poetry book | Gray Earth |


Choosing a character in beat em up games


You could be a Russian ballerina with high heels

With high kicks of steel


A sumo wrestler with flabby muscles

Who slaps and wrestles you until you cant resist

Or a bitchy pretty young blond who seals your knockout with a kiss

Or even a karate guy with a Mohawk or a quif

Who smokes a spliff as he stands over your broken body


Oddly enough you can be a...

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Beat em up gamesplaystationvideo gamesxbox

A Breath of Fresh Air

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(Forgive the repetition of an earlier blog but I felt the need to offer respect and condolences to those in grief at Gleision in an industry I worked in for 20 years.)


As choking we emerged to sight, each blinking in the morning light

Not thinking that we ever might have seen the sun again;

By the pit gates loved ones waited, praying to their God that fate would

Hand us ba...

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Also by John Coopey:

Liposuction | Poetry Slam | A Wonderful Opportunity |

Length & Girth

‘Was your ex’s dick bigger than this?’

I asked

holding up my large battered sausage to her.

‘How big do you think that is?’

she asked.

‘9 inches,’ I approximated.

‘Well yeah, as big, but it was fatter than that.

He said it was

nine and half long and

seven around.’

I nodded and laughed

but inside

I think I was crying.

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Also by David Mac:

One Bum To Another | The Agony of the Flame |

Lest we forget



What do we wan’t,

Why do we want it,

When did we lose it,


Why did we come here,

Where are we going,

Are we there yet,


Who said we’d lost it,

When did we have it,

What was it for anyhow,

Where are we going,

Whos going with me,

Is there any point now.


What did I want,

When did it matter,


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A different point of view

Captain of the Rant's Basement Sedition residency - online trailer

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This is the trailer for Captain of the Rant's Basement Sedition - a series of spoken word and poetry events eevery Friday in October. The line ups are absoloutely fantastic - sixteen brilliant performances over four events in the cosy venue of the Railroad Cafe. Check it out.


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captain of the ranthackneyLondonpoetryrailroad cafespoken word

Panic Attack

Things gone from me -
beautiful orange fish, that swim, threaded;
a moustache, twitching in the sea,
and the music green and grey make
when dark, bewitching hills, embrace.
A summer window sill, sweet all day with sun,
spider plants, and a cat's soft nose -
they seem like a still thought, outside me,
Violins - my veins erase, tulips tut; my...

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Also by Marianne Daniels:

A Morning Ritual | The Death of a Tree | Convalescent |

There Be Fairies...

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There be Fairies in the garden,
for so I have been told,
some share the nests of sparrows,
while others are less bold,
so they sit out on the branches
of trees and listen to the song
from any birds that care to share,
a tune to show them they belong....
September 11th 2011

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Also by Dave Dunn:

Nine Eleven - Version 2 | Harry Stottal |


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