Poetry Blog by Rick

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Rick on lunchtime Oxford-logic (2 days ago)

mona s on lunchtime Oxford-logic (3 days ago)

M.C. Newberry on lunchtime Oxford-logic (3 days ago)

Tom on lunchtime Oxford-logic (3 days ago)

keith jeffries on lunchtime Oxford-logic (3 days ago)

Hannah Collins on lunchtime Oxford-logic (4 days ago)

Rick on Oxford snapshots (4 days ago)

jennifer Malden on Oxford snapshots (4 days ago)

Don Matthews on Oxford snapshots (4 days ago)

keith jeffries on Oxford snapshots (4 days ago)

waiting in Coventry

"waiting in Coventry"

 

(remembering Liz Taylor)

 

as a striking ‘still-a-man’ but ‘would-be-woman,’

tall, elegant, straight-backed, slim,

hair corbelled with roller bun and pony-tailed

Japanese style

serves diners in a Coventry eaterie

‘their’ Cleopatra breasts brush the trays ‘they’ carry.

 

envious,

I steal surreptitious glances

as ‘she’, as ‘they’ are wai...

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lunchtime Oxford-logic

in a Covered Market sushi bar

I sat next to a guy

who, sipping green tea,

said he was a blogger.

 

‘hmm interesting. money good?’

‘pays the mortgage.’

‘what do you write about?’

‘the kindness of strangers.’

‘thin on the ground these days.’

‘who cares? I make it all up anyway.’

‘conning people okay by you?’

 

he stroked his donnish beard,

 

‘strictly spe...

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Oxford snapshots

Oxford is not what it was

if that is, it ever was

 

it was ‘town and gown’ in 64

when I slept rough

in shop doors and bus shelters

nicking breakfast biscuits

from ramshackle stalls

to dunk in 6d a cup sour tea

at the Covered Market 

all-night cafe

 

the Market is now ethnic boutiquerie

antique emporia and wifi cafes

 

and the city?

‘town, gown, selfi...

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in a Leamington Spa pub

she sat alone

alone with some bloke

loading the table

and her

with shorts

 

he’ll recoup that investment later

 

wearing badly fitting jeans

bloke slouched to the pissoir

 

she glanced at me

as she downed a glass

 

being a sociable guy

cursed with empathy

I asked her quickly,

 

‘tell me, are you really happy?’

 

bloke swaggered back,

a...

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happy-hour confab

happy-hour confab

 

uglied by age and profanity

wasted by infirmities

laughing loud at half-heard

‘booze talk’ wisecracks

as if they found them funny

a pride of spent grey ‘stallions’

sits braying of days

when they roared like the lions

they wanted to be

 

they were hunters of maidens -

maidens enjoyed

maidens discarded -

love warriors with rubbers

(...

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last sitting

threadbare-carpet hotel breakfast

 

‘té? café? sir? madam?’

‘is there marmalade?’

‘I fetch you mermelada’

‘and a spoon for my muesli’

‘I fetch you, cuchara, madam’

‘no, ‘spoon’, I said’

 

porridge is ladled

and admired

 

‘the Scots make it with water’

‘I didn’t know that’

‘I have five prunes in mine every morning’

‘I think I will too’

‘prunes are goo...

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Tiresias takes the bus

Tiresias takes the bus

 

I am Tiresias,

deaf by design

sightless by choice

my blind-man cane

ensures a space 

when I take the town bus.

 

I shudder  

as from all sides

sparks from the pale fires

of others’ despairs

pepper me.

 

I dull my ears against

the quiet chorusing

of impotent rage

at poverty, sickness,

ageing and dying.

 

someone...

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Tiresias takes the bus

I am Tiresias,

deaf by design

sightless by choice

my white stick makes space

as I ride the town bus.

 

I sit chilled as

from all sides

the pale fires

of frustration

lick at me.

 

I block my ears

against the silent clamours

of depression, anger,

fears for the future.

 

a wailing child

implacable

resists his mother’s

soothing pleading

 

...

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