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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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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Stigmata

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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...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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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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the only way to burst a balloon
is to 
believe 
that the gases inside it 
exist 
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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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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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,

Consumes.

It does not chew it's food,

It devours it.

No table is enough to

Satisfy it's cravings.

When every opportunity feeds

Unt...

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HARD

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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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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Seditious seeds-

that

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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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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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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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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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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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

1

            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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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feels unreal, really

it really does feel unreal.

Feels unreally real.

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FOR FH

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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   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 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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Only
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,
empty,
alone.
And I forget.
My life ...

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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.

Read more …

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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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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(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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‘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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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.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MDE2qn5nOg8

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Tired of being told I'll never learn

that I like to make it harder

pain is a magnet

it gives feeling.

Torturous pin pricks remind me I'm alive

each word, each curse

a verification, a validation

of shame.

Tangles of self-hate creep around my thighs

gripping my waist to take hold

sucking me in...

to a forbidden mourning.

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'The Lady of the House
Wia,
Whom he loves'

within these ruined walls
you lived
loved
played
laughed
cried
worked

- died

long gone now
only dust remains
yet carved painted stones
bring testimony
of your life
and warmth
down through the years
and suddenly
you are almost
close enough to touch

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Red carpet, burn marks, blur of piss and Mad Dog 20:20.

Foggy bursts of floral perfume masking ciggies

slyly smoked by giggling under-aged lassies.

Who're you to judge, who're you to tell?

She fixes her lippy, dreaming of kissing,

lips smack against frayed toilet tissue.

Slug back warm beer to help forget who she is.

Not that you can, or you ...

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It's one of those significant birthdays on Sunday (I chalk up the half-century, if you're wondering!) but here's something I wrote a couple of years back:

Another birthday looms,

Though, at our age, we fail to mark it

In any form of childish celebration,

Unless it is a special one

That ends in zero.

We’re now too old, we say,

For that...

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                                                      ROSE.

A solitary figure walks down the aisle

Banked high with flowers on either side

Smiling his Sunday best Sterident smile

Recalling the day she became his bride,

Carrying her simple wedding bouquet

Cornflowers, roses and anemones.

This is what makes a good marriage, she’d say,

Standing on tip to...

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Is this Modern Love?

Find out.

http://www.maxwallis.com/modern-love

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Charles stares at Julie through the window,

sees the flick of blonde hair framing her face.

He strokes his chin as she points at something in the room.

A friend she is with laughs and waves.

Charles needs a plan.

Something to grab her attention.

So with all his focus, he defecates where he is sat.

He stares at his waste, picks it up

and with his...

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Have a look at this website that pulls together a lot of links http:/flavors.me/clawfish anything you like let me know (makes it sound like porn)

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Little Lark Press launches! 

I've wanted to begin a small press for years!  I've finally done it.

First (and currently the only) upcoming book is an anthology of poetry on addiction.  Addiction being a broad term, I am looking at work that follows any vein, including but not limited to:  drugs, alcohol, food, the internet, sex and love.

Full guidelines can be found at http://www.lit...

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Poetry events come in all shapes and sizes; no two are the same, but now and again you attend one which leaves you with the feeling that all events should be just like it! Last Saturday (Sept. 3rd) I was invited to perform at a poetry weekend in the small Stirling town of Callender. The town itself is lovely; and the welcome you get is just as nice! For example, having arrived I made some enqui...

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Have you ever woken in the dead reprieve of night

Where darkness holds you captive, reality the only light

A troubled mind so focused that will cannot deter

From the crisp and crystal clarity with boundaries such a blur

That coldness seeping from your heart to chill your very soul

A suffocating sense of dread that reason won't control

Panic's clasping manacles stir...

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