Poetry Blog by ray pool
Dear Quentin Crisp, I feel you should
have been re-planted as a tree,
preferably a willow, having learnt
the tricks of beauty in cross winds.
Your leaves could be as silk
pocket handkerchiefs tumbling;
thin branches your arms wafting
like the tired springs of automata.
Flowers should be left at your feet,
so dandy and neat,
a message of congratulation pinne...
Wednesday 16th May 2018 10:52 pm
A train terminating in Troon
brings Harry and Megan to town.
The Lord Lieutenant will carry the pennant,
there'll be swapping of keys and a spoon.
Harry will wear his kilt,
Megan dressed up to the hilt,
Mrs Fitzpatrick will open her cafe
Penelope Keith will be there
with wonderful teeth and hair,
Megan Markle will be sure to sparkle,...
Monday 14th May 2018 10:20 pm
A thief comes in the night
scooping memory from reluctant skulls.
Next day, a little more gone.
He tucks the memories under his coat,
casts them to the four winds like ashes.
Another grey head laments, where is my mind?
Next he steals orientation;
The thief is always busy throwing things away.
"No use to me, he says,
I cast fates t...
Thursday 10th May 2018 10:43 pm
We inherited the Empire
Hearts of Oak
and school desks,
surrounded by proud maps
of our world possessed,
teachers living on in ancient jackets
or long skirts, rheumy eyes
haunted by the war,
while our inkpots were primed.
A scooped trough held pens
with push - on nibs
scratching some semblance of sense
to those who judged
fair or foul intent.
Tuesday 8th May 2018 9:46 pm
The woman pushes her babies
five at a time in the well-used buggy,
bag lady to the untrained eye;
but the babies are dolls we see
all cock a hoop jammed in
jostling for air and space.
No one passes the time with her,
and she seems unaware,
too rigidly focussed to notice others'
consternation or disbelief.
Then there is our relief
of walking past, putting dist...
Friday 4th May 2018 10:09 pm
The flash of a blade on giddy steps,
the camera a sniffing dog
searching for clues in puddled dark.
Two shadows meet with desperation
then flee from prying eyes.
Passionella waits in the sombre light
of a dingy room,
looks down at the street
watching for watchers,
the gauloises glow.
A soft knock comes.
He is there with his crooked smile,
Tuesday 1st May 2018 10:34 pm