Poetry Blog by Clive Culverhouse

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Stephen Gospage on Asteroid (13 hours ago)

Paul Sayer on Asteroid (14 hours ago)

Clive Culverhouse on Asteroid (14 hours ago)

Aviva Rifka Bhandari on Asteroid (14 hours ago)

Clive Culverhouse on If The Flames (4 days ago)

Clive Culverhouse on Writer (5 days ago)

Clive Culverhouse on Myre’s Mire (6 days ago)

Stephen Gospage on Myre’s Mire (7 days ago)

Clive Culverhouse on Songs Of Prometheus (Fri, 23 Oct 2020 01:49 pm)

keith jeffries on Songs Of Prometheus (Fri, 23 Oct 2020 11:33 am)

Asteroid

you remind me of someone

we died in each other’s arms once

when the asteroid hit

strange how it’s taken us this long

to run into each other again

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Dear Jews Harp

he had an inkling
as to what the world was
as to what the universe was

which is why
his sitting on the porch step
playing a beloved jews harp
was so poignant
among the other spheres

and as if, through it,
they contributed dearly
to his rhythm

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Writer

stop sitting in that Paris street

you know I hate it when you crash

through all the flags that people wear

and all the chords are played by shoes

in the music of the crowds

 

with melodies of rushing by

while you sip coffee graciously

the whole wide world will brush your arm

and stirring won’t control the flow

your thoughts are slowly leaking

 

eventually the da...

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Myre’s Mire

they wanted my eyes

they wanted to see what I had seen

they longed to see what I had seen

to know how I laid bare my step

on sugar path

on foaming hill

in raging twist

against the wind

to throw my stones across the land

to walk, as I, deluded

 

there was a house of wood and stone

a sign outside

its name, my dream

and know not I why this I saw

scratched ...

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Songs Of Prometheus

there will be a baby crying

in the next room, but not yet

people are still standing around

my bed and I’m still on my last breaths

they won’t leave until I have gone

a brown leaf about to fall

 

I remember the white foam of waves

not rampaging bulls in Spanish streets

but subtle colourings of children’s books

gently paging in rippling tides by bare feet

sand on toe...

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Shamaness

I remain a stranger

to my husband’s kin

it’s strange I miss their stranger’s skin

but bring taboo to skin they’re in

if words I speak upon their name

 

I hide my words

in fear of harm

displease the trees who delivered man

and breezed them on a wind to farm

the land trees put aside for them

 

in my hands, a harp I made

bear and eagle, age they gave

a single...

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Nobody

there’s nobody for him

in the streets

 

bells toll distantly

bossed chin, stubble

 

he sits by himself

he sits away

 

from himself

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Realms

he wasn't moving, he hadn't moved for some time
his comrade froze beside the lifeless body, this was
a time he had put beyond his reach, like glass that
separated worlds, different airs swirled their dinners
of nutrients inside and out, realms, stroking both
sides of a window cutting in half what once lay bare,
upon springs upon autumns, a grease of steps to a
smuggler's lair, to a baron's ...

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Wicca

I was given the earth

not to keep but to sow and to share

such a beautiful mine like a beautiful yours

no wrath from some mouth

no pursed scorn from some upturned lip

just elements

truest in soil under our fingernails

just elements

of the most perfect rose

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Mission

I dug a huge momentum out of the ground

so big it made grooves in my back and lanes

in my feet and people watched and shouted

approval, some clapped, I staggered under

its weight and did not see who I passed just

moving without buckling along streets painted

yellow and gold heading to where I thought

the gods might dwell, hoping to catch them in;

busy, I suspected, from bur...

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Shockwaves

a baby cries in the dark as

somehow the gunshots are not

rocking it to sleep

despite repetition, constancy

an allure no monster accounts for

the devastation of tears

the building cries

amongst its rubble

twisted steel, shattered hills

edging away from war cities

a baby cries at the sirens

blending to cacophony

the baby yearns to hold a bomb

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Pagans

you always said there was something

about the trees, and mountains peaks

were good places to sit, tuning in TV

sets as though we held the world, or

maybe the blisters from climbing did

a better job of showing how we lived

either way, the trees we revered did

all they could to tell us how we died

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The Asked Man

placing a pen upon the desk

aligned with paper

grooves of wood and knots in stain

as if absorbed in thought and mind

they seep from below

as if the stars there influence a blueprint

of aeroplanes

of vision

or easel’s frames direct the brush

that strokes

pushing colour

pushing shade

and crystal imperfections

guiding a cutters tool

of life and all it throws

...

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Let’s Escape Tonight

let’s escape tonight

leave this drum behind

without packing

without our phones

 

just take our scars

and sculptured bones

we notched upon each other

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The Pact

Nicorates stood, behind him in rows, down alleys,

of temples and coliseums and shrines, amid meat,

and yet his sandaled feet grew colder in wet mud

puddled by rain, relentless, in its noise, relentless,

among columns and cracks. Where curt rolled up

curses were poked and stuffed in for the Gods to

retrieve. But all day he stood. So well beyond his

déjà vu, which had gradually ...

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If The Flames

If the flames

do not turn your bones into ash

your bones will rot

deep in the ground

but only for Them

for You’ll come around

and as They’re carving into stone

You may walk again

through countless fields

and endless roads

They will remember you

for only a blink

of the Universe’s Eye

but the fields and roads

shall know You

for all Eternity

 

 

I...

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deathliferebirth

Seductress

I was fine in my bubble

just some Moses in my own parting

and yes, you ruined my thoughts

and spun me in antonyms

 

I always wondered

why I prayed for apocalypse before sleep

and waking up, still whatever,

whatever, was always

outside

 

whispering planets secretly in my ear

you left me jungles and deserts,

you handed me worlds I never knew

what to do with

...

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anxiety

Chicago For Hire

I took you back to my poem

we made words all night long

to the rhythm of the trains

on the track by my window

and the gunshots below

until the sirens were still

and the bag ladies

buried in bags in the snow

Chicago, Chicago

I took you back to my poem

and we rhymed

the whole night through

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Android Ninja Rabbits

like green screen acrobats

through city streets

voices swing and sideswipe

and faces throw scowled eyes

towards our down trod step

it’s like plants waving their fists at trees

who only do what trees do

not denying light on purpose

as stigma sets in ugliness

and bunnies are just existing

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discriminationsocial equalitystigma

Your Lips

I can see on your lips

you have clumps of earth

from rubbish golfers

and the fact you celebrate dawn

as a thing that happens by design

only adds to your concoction

 

just go over and tell them

what you think of their ineptness

so we can leave and find other

reasons for your lips

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Inner Voice

Nicorates warned me about you

not so much with words

more in dubiety,

a clairaudient hesitation

 

imagine an experienced woodworm

widely travelled and well read

making peace with a cluttered desk top

within which it now dwells

keeping it right, advised

 

that’s kind of it, really

suffice to say, Nicorates is rarely wrong

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Death In A Lunch Hour

he entered the room as if rice was about to boil over,

seeing faces of those he didn’t recognise look as though

they were reading the last line of a book they never read

before, staggered, asymmetrically pensive in times during

coffee servings and bites from donuts, but, given that it

was only midday, the flavour of the waitresses grumbled

in overlapping office lunch hours. littl...

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She Took My Hand

look at my hands, they’re not

the hands of a fisherman

they’re not the hands of a carpenter

look at my hands and tell me

how many miles do you feel

across deserts and plains, they’re not

the plains of a hunter

they’re not the deserts of a fleer

for days and nights of wandering, no,

look at my hands, they’re the

hands of a poet, they’re the

hands of an observer

a...

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Death To Death

…I stoned the lord of death to death

we lye, now, side by side

 

as

 

effigies of who we tried to be

among countless

revolutions

among countless

massacres

 

evaporating into mixtures

of all who passed

that day, united

 

beyond soils of new shoots

I, a deserter

I, a warrior

I, a beggar

I, a zealot

 

with the lamb

gathering stones…

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When Am I

when am I in a raging sea

when am I in a towerless keep

you see the armies flanked around him

labelled with exactness

when am I on a mountain ledge

when am I on a broadsheet

a dozen more of liberty

a number for the free

when am I by solitude

when am I by genocide

walking through my lonely streets

I ask

when am I by me

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introspectivesoliloquy

Messiah

they would have you believe

you were too sacred

to look under well-settled rocks

pledging allegiance

on streets like some hobos

but I’m putting my faith

in sages and mystics

discussing afflictions

burying little dead birds

when they come along

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Artemis

ABORT ABORT

but Donaldson was already drifting

further and further away from us

the thickness of his suit decreasing

as his courageous kindness

floated on within his demise

and all I could do was stare panic stricken

through the small window’s cruelness

as the white speck of my friend

became more and more surrounded

by the blackness of space

far removed from everyt...

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Annihilator

I am

all nine deaths

of

the anti cat

do not

curse me

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death

Therapy

my chair continued to turn

even though I had left it

 

outside the window

new shoots appearing, what was

the point of notes on my desk

 

he showed me a corner creased photo of his daughter

 

I could see it in his eyes

the sun caught his crisis

he was going to steal the moon

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crisisdespairlife

Showgirl

this death will be the life of me

patches in the sky

we used to call them clouds

before the bombs went off

and canopied us in a toxic shell;

the artist swapped his brush

for a brick

and threw it in tantrum

from a distance

at some cheesy idyllic canvas

and despite our decaying teeth falling out

with clumps of hair and skin

you slipped out of your negligee

a li...

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dystopianlife

Man On A Train

there’s a man

on a train

with his head

in his hands

 

I’m three seats behind

 

a man

on the train

with my head

in my hands

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lifemental health

I Heard A Man Sing

I heard a man sing

his guitar bleak

… apocalyptic

his voice was an empty room

 

only you have the décor

of engaging shades

 

I heard a man sing

he was the wrong Canadian

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leonard cohen

Anecdote

a lady of swollen years

sat knitting with glorious colours

she said her name was

saint something or other

I didn’t quite catch it

must have been the gum she was chewing

her lipstick was smeared

anyway I asked what she was making

she said stain glass windows

for the cathedral being built behind her

I wasn’t going to believe her

but I couldn’t help it

she rolled ...

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lifepeople

Enough Is Enough

How many times do I have to kill you

as you run across the floor, damn you,

trying to frighten me with your creepy

crawly legs all working a magic and

carrying my pounding heart on your

little body suspended above the ground

taunting me, well my friend, I won’t

play your game anymore, I will not

kill you this time but let you run free

for you are free to run forever. Now...

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deathliferebirth

Saints

I often visit the place

where we fell to our deaths

a cathedral now stands

on the site we shattered skulls

and protruded bones

while passionate stone columns

and blushing glass windows

tower over our pooling blood

which was always so you

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dramadrama queenlifeyou

Long Have I Stood

long have I stood

long stood have I gazed

long gazed have I thought

long thought have I suffered

long suffered have I

long have I stood

 

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anxietydepressionlifemental health

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