Poetry Blog by John Darwin
Mat Woolfenden on All of our Fathers are dead (Sat, 31 Oct 2015 08:40 pm)
Early doors paraffins, the usual thing.
Locals lower gaze
as old John shuffles in
with his arthritic hip,
dribble down his chin.
He drops half a crown
in the Marie Curie tin,
decimal coinage never got to him
and he sups electric bitter
The landlord looks grim,
needs an ego trim,
thinks he's charismatic
but he's just plain dim.
Puts 10p on the ...
Wednesday 27th January 2016 9:11 pm
You've drunk too much,
don't have another.
You smoke too much,
don't swear at your Mother.
For a hand he raised a glass instead,
now all of our Fathers are dead.
Shave with the grain,
puff your cheeks out like this.
Don't ask what that machine is
When we go for a piss
For a hand he raised his voice instead
Now all of our Fathers are dead
Thursday 29th October 2015 8:49 pm
Something that you said
'He can't come with us, he's dead'
Stuck with me for decades
It still does.
Your Sister hoiked you shoulder high
Slapped you on her back
We chattered to the local shop
Bought Number 6 for old time's sake.
You mocked my endless misery
And told me 'don't wear black'
In our retro table football game
Played Norman Wisdom at left back
Forced me to dance to...
Saturday 19th July 2014 9:53 pm
Saturday 14th September 2013 6:00 pm
Thursday 1st August 2013 12:13 am
We have things to make and do, paths to blindly follow
DIY to botch and cock, won't wait until tomorrow
calculus continuum, algebraic formulae
wash the pots, darn your socks, make the fucking tea.
The ladder steps we've climbed the arses that we've kissed
regrets of books we've never read, epic films we've missed
faces never sculpted, the lack of lovers' trysts
Wednesday 3rd July 2013 12:06 am
The air hangs heavy as a Suffolk sow,
they’re Monday morning miserable
those office workers, tripped on time,
drag leaden feet through treacle steps
to tortoise to another desk,
peer over rims at tomb-toothed grins
to listen to the weekend’s sins
that hold no truth or interest.
Grey faces merge with grey on grey,
perspiration circles swirl on poor...
Thursday 7th March 2013 1:11 pm
Men can't dance
But can tread on toes,
Wander pub to pub, whisper wise owl tones
About the latest football signing
And how the kids and a woman's whining
Brought them here to drink.
Men love their kids
But tend to boast
Name their first born son by the same first name
And urge the lad to lay the ghost
of their own poor luck when they came this close
to some meaningful ac...
Tuesday 4th September 2012 11:30 pm
You’ve got Jonathan Edwards Eyes.
The ones he had when his sight
was blinded by the light,
before his soul was plunged
into eternal darkness.
Some men are at peace not to have in their head
a grandiose plan,
or believe, we’re not dead when we’re
that our wits will stay sharp,
hard work’s not a cage,
that love conquers all
Tuesday 17th July 2012 8:17 am
saw you come into the world,
or pee into the midwife's eye,
or have your arse smacked merrily
to bring your first breath on, or cry,
or dry your tears, or hide my own,
or feel protective rage come on
when careless strangers crossed your path
in infancy, in innocence;
I never felt the urge to kill, for you;
..saw if your life was colour...
Wednesday 8th June 2011 8:45 pm
If I never lie with you
I will never lie to you,
to the casual observer I appear to look through you;
I wear bad luck as baggage
and drink as a badge
I curse every move of that bastard called time
that put beauty in his path
comes close to your skin,
no imperfection can wrench anything
from the butterfly ...
Wednesday 18th May 2011 12:29 am