Poetry Blog by mike watts

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on Night Terror (Sun, 7 Jul 2019 05:08 pm)

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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.



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,


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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.



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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


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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...

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