Poetry Blogs (2020, Collage Poem)
a foxglove lives forever down roman way
watching videos been recorded on Zoom in confusion
Warm southerly poem in the latest style
she's running scared
in the video matrix, seven poems for seven times,
lockdown in a woke world, as nights are sooner
and the transient have the final word
behold, spake the King - my streets
made of marble my canal’s water turned to wine
a chicken nugget...
Monday 31st August 2020 9:50 pm
Spinning out of control history going mad
Gunpoetry Plotters spinning music by the River of Time
drunker and drunker with each nearer step he took on the road to Manchester
A susurration of stanzas and verses skim across the rooftops of Stockport.
relentless ripples of summer clouds
Grim it up, brother
Grim it up, sister,
graduate from sad.
a driver pausing in the...
Monday 10th August 2020 9:17 pm
A heart that sleeps has a silent love that is never heard
and Vincent paint their house yellow
The below is smaller, the walk is stronger.
The journey to social disorder is closer than you realise
without any drugs.
There's more, you thief of night
with butter dripping from my brush
something stolen from the edge of midnight
unsocial distancing while on free government...
Monday 13th July 2020 10:58 pm
Nigel was right of course
straight out of the other side
walking across the zebra lane
on that promenade
the treachery of Facebook.
The Green Man is sleeping until winter
but spring rain will awaken him next year,
haunted by the repetition
it was a day like this
when she was a tree
and he wore her like a cloak
When she was smoke
clinging to a death bed,
no wasted anger arra...
Monday 8th June 2020 11:14 pm
Wake up to the glory of a legendary Nigel we do not know
Nigel was gone when we rioted that night time
Nigel was gone when we ran out of chicken pie
It was the day they told us to learn again in insanity
Nigel was first of course
Taking to unplug with Nigel
We are taunted or haunted by memories of the future
The inkwell was full of pulsating excitement
hitting the right notes in music a...
Tuesday 2nd June 2020 1:42 pm
I’m dreaming I’m Bohemian
Last time we met, gyroscopic diner punches back, back, back
punching mp3s isn't the same as punching records
This lockdown is never ending - send me more Vodka
The wrong place, at the wrong time, Icarus falls into the English Channel,
to be washed up on the white cliffs, and the Queen is left immortal,
as the freedom monarch...
Wednesday 13th May 2020 10:49 am
Overtaken by cyclists heading into sunrise in your dreams
Broke grains on Monday, counting red angels
Drunk on darkness smiling on the shadows
A phone call only a shadow away from your fingertips
We are the survivors stunned, in Stockport
Digging deeper, reflective
Talking to the walls
Church bells toll for every day without a death
We are the poets leaving our words open...
Thursday 30th April 2020 10:02 pm
Dreading the task of a thousand spots
Lost worlds now more than just regrets or soiled paths not taken
Walking through life with coke, crack, and endless possibilities.
In the amber of panic a book of hauntology is born
The biggest April fools prank ever
Miniature portraits of a poetic diaspora under curfew still deliver haunting lines
Gaining a better view at the edge of the world
Friday 3rd April 2020 1:48 pm
Righteous and correct, the clown wilts
Rumour has it I saw someone in costume
From a magazine advertising hard goods.
It’s left my heads in bolts and screwed up.
Unlock my imagination.
No you can’t have a pancake: it’s Saturday!
Run your fingers through the rubble
At the altar of vengeance
Rumour has it, God is forgotten and pancakes need Nutella....
Tuesday 10th March 2020 11:33 am
There’s a rumour going round that street
Pushing past their little destinies
Caught short Shakespear relieved himself against the corn sheaves
The fox startled bit the leg of the harvest jigger
The painting has little time to dry, as poets' pens begin.
To take down a street of music, blended to new worlds of rhyme.
Underneath the moon
The rabbit did not sto...
Monday 10th February 2020 11:11 pm
In the new dawn of dreams
Adolf sits on his final throne of dirt dug deep,
Wondering if the English Bard would have loved him so,
Don’t go down that street!
We are wild-walking beings with a side of dark heart.
Sheep have beautiful contours and very furry
Hurry up Steinbeck, you’re rambling
Sitting on tailored lawns through polished glass
Not as cool in old b...
Tuesday 14th January 2020 5:23 pm