Poetry Blog by Richie Muster (2012)
Martin Peacock on If Poems Were Paintings (A Scabrous Fantasy, Written After Watching J. Koons at Work On BBC4) (Wed, 5 Jun 2019 07:28 pm)
Who else, save that one person
in need of relaxation
would stoop to taking a bath?
From the very first instant
said bather isn't cleaner
but more and more wallowing
in their own scum-laden filth.
Tuesday 18th June 2019 10:15 am
If you're only prepared to meet the bastards halfway
how can you ever say you've won?
You haven't even drawn.
You've only called halftime,
after which they'll have moved the goalposts
(again!), dug deep pits across the pitch
and fudged the rules of the game.
They'll have planted a spy on your team too.
No, if you want to stand any chance of winning
you'll have to pl...
Sunday 9th June 2019 4:55 pm
How sadly it's come to this:
of our egos' mad desires.
Now all this nightmare requires
of us to finalise
matters is to analyse
our crude methodology
and, sans apology
give the Earth one last, good kick -
yes, that ought to do the trick -
then drink to its poor health.
We've raped it of all its wealth,
we've torn it and tortured...
Thursday 6th June 2019 7:46 am
This poem was painstakingly transcribed by 23 unpaid
interns labouring under my cool, indifferent 'tutelage'
(and who, after each day's work is finished, in bars and cafés
across the city will pretend to their friends how valued
they're made to feel as students and protegés of mine.)
Sunday 2nd June 2019 6:45 am
A Few Lines Conceived In Poor Mimickry (A Mere Matter Of Minutes After Concluding A Biography Concerning That Conceited, If Colourful Cove, Coleridge)
I, too have watched a myriad words die,
all for want of you, fearless audience -
your special someone with that kindly eye
and ear who could best, sans wilful offence
urge me to test myself, by composing
a thousand lines and honing them to one.
Your wisdom, without combative ego's
ingrown need to sound 'clever' (not far gone
in self-esteem, I mean) might serve adv...
Sunday 26th May 2019 7:20 am
Tomorrow's cohort have cause to complain:
we've squandered their birthright (this fragile earth,)
burning resources for personal gain
and left them all this mess. For what it's worth
though we've claimed no right nor shown contrition
for leaving their world denuded of life,
with nature in such a raped condition,
stripped-mined by greed at the point of a knife.
Tuesday 21st May 2019 8:21 am
Keen amateur footballer,
playing centre forward for teams
in two local leagues (between jobs.)
Fought in the trenches,
enlisting as a private
and demobbed as a sergeant
at officer-training school.
Awarded the Military Medal
during that terrible 'Kaiserschlacht'
for repelling an attack in force.
All by himself.
Post-war, turned down an offer
Sunday 19th May 2019 12:37 pm
I live for the dream of hell to pay
and better words to arraign each thought;
alas, Dunning-Kruger bars my way
and up my tongue gets tied. Options float -
teasingly, playing peek-a-boo-you,
buckling swash through my jaded mind's eye,
first dancing into, then out of view -
leaving me clutching as straws flit by.
It's like the end of the Crystal Maze
Saturday 18th May 2019 8:38 am
I wish these rocky days were at an end
and I could go at last to join my friend.
I have no great desire to stay on here
and would much rather simply disappear.
No-one will really mourn me, should I go
to that great drinker’s tavern down below;
much less is there some lover who might grieve,
were I to pop my clogs and take my leave.
I do believe he’s lounging with a beer,
Monday 13th May 2019 12:50 pm