Poetry Blog by mike watts

Recent Comments

raypool on Big Danny's girl (Mon, 8 Oct 2018 10:28 pm)

Poetikaly Anointed on Big Danny's girl (Mon, 8 Oct 2018 09:03 pm)

jennifer Malden on Night Terror (Mon, 8 Oct 2018 05:29 pm)

Martin Elder on Night Terror (Sun, 7 Oct 2018 10:58 pm)

Rose Casserley on Night Terror (Sun, 7 Oct 2018 02:36 pm)

Tommy Carroll on Night Terror (Sun, 7 Oct 2018 10:40 am)

raypool on Six beers (Sat, 6 Oct 2018 06:03 pm)

Don Matthews on Six beers (Fri, 5 Oct 2018 02:34 pm)

Brian Maryon on Six beers (Fri, 5 Oct 2018 11:36 am)

Taylor Crowshaw on Six beers (Fri, 5 Oct 2018 11:01 am)

Big Danny's girl

Wakened by nausea,

I make the sink

and let it go.

 

Too much of everything,

spreads itself,

 

a Jackson Pollock

of booze and buffet

hits the porcelain

as I heave and growl.

 

Emptied,

I run the tap,

scrape the back of a hand

across my chin.

 

I tug at a curtain.

 

Late morning,

and daylight is  a

hot corkscrew

I’m not ready for,

...

Read and leave comments (2)

Night Terror

The Toms around here carry on like

drunken gangs, upsetting bin lids

and bottles, fighting over females

and fish heads,

I am shaken by their madness,

as they weave, hissing and spraying

amongst the shadows.

 

The moon brings out the worst in them:

when bulbs are cooling

and toilets suck away

a final piss,

I listen, as they scream

like burning witches.

 

...

Read and leave comments (4)

Six beers

April was a bingo friend of my mothers,

seventy years old with jet black hair

and a shock of gold teeth

stacked across her gums like bullion.

 

I’d been offered fifty pounds to paint her shed

and as much as I despised

that sort of thing,

the money clinched it.

 

I fired up my silver Nissan

and drove across the city to her house.

 

I’d put on an old jacket

...

Read and leave comments (4)

September song

I’m busy with Amy,

A student of philosophy,

picking blackberries close

to the rail track.

 

She’s young,

hates my music,

films and authors,

but every Sunday,

after lying to her parents,

wiggles free from her jeans

and climbs in beside me.

 

Some days,

when I pluck out another

rogue grey,

the gap between us sniggers,

and when we make love,

I’m c...

Read and leave comments (3)

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message