Poetry Blog by penguin
We’ve journeyed down to short-sleeved Chertsey
for my sister-in-law’s 60th birthday.
Get there early, 7.30, suitably thirsty,
knowing few of these middle-class, middle-aged bodies,
I’m wondering how I shall get my jollies,
take a leap of faith, and I’m exchanging volleys
with this bald-headed guy, big scar on his forehead.
We’ve talked of favourite bands and beers,
Tuesday 15th September 2020 9:48 am
Inside the bars are tuned in
to the Holy Radio Station,
broadcasting the Bible
from Genesis right up to
the Book of Revelation,
by life insurance adverts.
On the street, a woman’s tempted
by the babble of an Apple.
Wind, rain and fire
are bringing down the temples.
Men bearing crosses
disembowel the prophets.
The dead are being brought ...
Friday 11th September 2020 8:54 am
Elizabeth Woodville is my first nursing placement,
a spot where a man might be put and forgotten.
Sister Wesson’s routine with every new student
is to introduce the bed corners and curtains
then leave them to chat with some random person.
And so I’m conversing with one Howard Sargent;
he’s sharing a fag with a fellow patient,
who’s called Doctor Death - we’re already acqu...
Wednesday 29th January 2020 4:11 pm
It’s nearly time for your medication.
I’m drinking my seventh cup of tea
and thinking how much better you’ve been
since the start of the new regime.
That sounds like you’re sick,
or a political beast, not merely slow
and easily distracted; the worst
combination of tortoise and hare.
If the heavens were fair
your sister wouldn’t grasp
the lion’s share of love and loom...
Wednesday 4th September 2019 1:09 pm
Past houses where spouses are spitting at children
and satellite dishes are marks of distinction;
where villainous vermin shadow-box curtains
and takeaway cartons bespatter the gardens;
where nobody bothers to pick up the dog shit
while stood on the pavement twittering gossip
and stubbing their ciggies on steps without polish,
deploring the darkies and ordering curries
Tuesday 3rd September 2019 9:31 am
I’ve dug too deep and a reckless fork
has struck guts and gore
with a piercing hiss:
the smothering stink of dog remains.
I quickly cover a forgotten cadaver
but memory fastens upon the odour
and tugs me along again:
a guide-dog for the blind rejected
for showing fear when near traffic,
and a discomposing habit
of staring at the heavens.
Friday 30th August 2019 4:10 pm
She always wants the same thing as her sister
for breakfast, and when I read a book,
she opens hers, turns a page, marks her place
as if she were spooning every sentence.
Her birth mother says she doesn’t want her
to go to the school for dummies.
Her class teacher claims she’s fearless
and a real trouper; he doesn’t fathom
Monday 7th January 2019 3:34 pm