Poetry Blog by John Aikman

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Ledger de la Bald on Grandmother's Gentleman Caller (Tue, 15 Feb 2011 10:45 am)

Fkx on Under the Wire (Mon, 7 Feb 2011 01:16 pm)

Laura Taylor on Love is a Stranger (Fri, 4 Feb 2011 08:04 pm)

John Aikman on Love is a Stranger (Fri, 4 Feb 2011 07:41 pm)

Ann Foxglove on Love is a Stranger (Fri, 4 Feb 2011 07:03 pm)

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on Love is a Stranger (Fri, 4 Feb 2011 06:34 pm)

Isobel on Love is a Stranger (Fri, 4 Feb 2011 04:15 pm)

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Alison Smiles on Love is a Stranger (Fri, 4 Feb 2011 11:58 am)

Love is a Stranger

Sometimes, love is

a cappuccino moustache
you don't know you have
which I kiss away

as we leave the cafe
and never tell you was there.

Love just has to touch your bum
as you delve into the freezer
to find the bargain peas
and the ice-cream that you like.

It brushes your hand as, between us,

we find the incorrect change.
You peer into your purse
as I fumble ...

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Triolet de la Petite Mort

entry picture

I know the places to caress

and kiss you to your little death

I'll slip my hand inside your dress

I know the places to caress

Let me alleviate your stress

until you pulse and catch your breath

I know the places to caress

and kiss you to your little death.

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Lost Ghazal

In a place we’d never been before, we were lost.

We talked and kissed away our dream, before we were lost.


It was beautiful only because you were there,

in a place we’d never seen, before we were lost.


We wandered paths in aimless bliss and,

I prayed I’d ever be more lost.


The dread awakening, as time slipped away,

to know you could never be more lo...

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Sometimes (extended rhyming mix)



Sometimes daylight doesn’t kill the moon.


Furtive lips and fingertips

draw starsigns round your lifting hips

until, pulsing like a distant star

with a sudden shudder of despair

a hundred moonshards hit the air

and paint your skin in shattered galaxies.


Like mercury it runs

through lines of least resistance

the topography of

belly, ...

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Sometimes daylight doesn’t kill the moon.


A splash of hotness crosses skin

Quicksilver cools and

trickles from hip to sheets.


Guilt hangs like the moon.

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We were a strange eutectic mix that summer

Clattering our bikes and rods down farmer’s tracks

In search of perfect swims and privacy.


I had, by nodding agreement,

the best collection of floats, spinners and spoons

arranged by size and colour, in the best box.

You were the only boy I ever lent one.


Approaching, in Apache crouch, our favour...

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The Busker

'He's more rapist than harpist',
I joke as we approach.
We calculate the etiquette,
Of rewarding each wrong note,

I crack, and throw some shrapnel in his case.
The music stops, he lifts his face.
One useless eye,
Poking like a sea scarred stone on ravaged beach,
But ears that figure in a flash,
The sound of seventeen pence,


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She Put the \\'Tog\\' in Together


She put the ‘Tog’ into Together.


Try to put a duvet in its cover,

The duvet almost always wants a fight.

Wriggles like a most reluctant lover,

No foreplay? Want a struggle? O.K. Right!

To tame a twisting togster in its lair,

Takes time and trouble, and a good technique.

Of all domestic tasks you ought to share,

It’s dancing with a duvet, cheek to cheek.

So, Dad, when you complain ab...

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Under the Wire

Descending panting from the top
(where god is always in the lower case)
The wind bleached lichen
gives way to greener stuff.
We re-assert a modicum of breathless grace
and skirt the bog (why is such a vastness called a 'mere'?)
much as we skirt the subject
never managing to reach the nub of it.

At the bridge we part
before all our alibis expire.
In your face the rumour of a tear
and I am just a hank of woo...

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Grandmother's Gentleman Caller

Grandmother’s secret intrigued them,
but nobody sought to enquire.
Why pry? Why intrude?
It would only seem rude
She’d deny it, with eyes that flashed fire.

It would just spoil the fun she was having,
to ask why she seemed to walk taller?
So, nobody questioned the unspoken truth
about Grandmother’s Gentleman Caller.

No-one had met him, not even a glimpse,
save the occasional letter.
Swiftly snatched up and h...

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