- performance piece -

The driver of a leather upholstered

Hillman Hunter drop head saloon

Reeking of Capstan full strength

And Lifebuoy soap

Dropped me off outside Devizes.

I prised open a door

To get out of the rain

Unrolling my doss bag

On a scout hut floor.

I crept out early

While the village slept

Washing down a Kendal Mint Cake bar

With a ...

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I needed time and space

Peace, and freedom from stress

To write a long blocked novel - 

Hopefully it would turn out my best. 

I rang the number of

An Orkney woman,  

She said she was a widow,

Advertising ‘room to let’ 

Cheap board and who knows?

Free bawd if my luck was in. 

The train journey was unremarkable

Aside from a chance encounter

With a m...

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“Dingle. An Epiphany - June 199o.”

A drunken punt on Slippy Blue,

Winner of the Greyhound Derby

At seventeen to two

Meant I was rich – temporarily.

So I set off on a random journey.

Head for the airport maybe,

Take the first flight anywhere.

A "Holiday in Ireland," poster

On the railway station wall

Appealed to me. 

I bought a coach ride to Tralee,

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A giant he was of girth and growling

We admired and envied his national standing

Shrugged at his red-blooded man-spreading

Flashing on podia and once drunk on t.v.

Where my girlfriend swore she saw his love stick

"It just popped out - made me feel sick!"

 - when a string was undone

On his Balinese beach wear sarong.

We aped his style in hats and suits

hand made leat...

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You kiss kiss, caress caress caress her,

Think you possess, that flint heart aggressor?

You should pull back the skin and look beneath

Her enigmatic smile, ivory teeth,

Catching the odour of last night’s vodka

Tasting the rancid sweat on her armpits

Check her purse. See those banknotes? Counterfeit.

Spoken with apparent sincerity

Masking a salacious barbarity

Honeyed wor...

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Idling down to Sunday market

One eye on the level crossing

Mulling buying grapes and garlic

Maybe back to church – worth going?

Yes, no. Yes, no. Yes, no…. No. No.

A slender woman at the kerb 

Waited for the lights to change

Unperturbed by helter skelter

Crazy pell mell pavement riders

Mums and dads and kids and dogs

Darting headlong into traffic

Wore lissom g...

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Wanting whatever might still be found
Picked from the ruins of the Holy Land
I took a plane to Ben Gurion. 

I was soon savouring the smells and stalls
Wandering the teeming warren of washed stone steps
and ancient alleyways of old Jerusalem. 

Allured by handbells and hallelujahs
I tagged on the tail of a serpentine train
Of Christian pilgrims waving palms
Singing psalms praising Jesus...

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I found a single stanza in my 'maybe later' documents and pimped it a bit

Hungering for Jerusalem
I flew El Al to Israel. 

The smells of Yemenite cuisine
Eaten at Falafel Hateimani
Just past the Ethiopian Embassy near
The Street of the Prophets [Rehov Hanevi'im]
Where Holman Hunt who painted “The Scapegoat”
Built a house - number 64
And delicious pitta dipped in baba ganoush 
From a ...

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God you made me nervous

When the door opened and it was you

Coming, uninvited, to my party

You smiled around the room

Kissed a few cheeks

Sipped a glass of red

You picked up a loose guitar and sang

I put down my glass and sidled near to hear

Your voice, so plaintive

Reached a deeply hidden place

And I held back tears.

But was that just because I've l...

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(I posted this some days ago - however among my chums in 'ull (and on fb) a controversy over whether it is two poems and the second half does not belong here ensued, so I removed it - here it is in its entirety - I have a truncated version as per the critics' suggestions but hey ho)   :) 

When Julie Christie steps from Ormondroyd’s lorry

Swinging her hair and handbag carefree

Down al...

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In the old quarter of Aleppo

A flickering festoon of broken bulbs

And blasted bunting surrounds the souk

Within the cables' crackling sparking

A whispering can be heard,

“Shahid…Shahid…Shahid… Shahid.”

In the third cut of the night

The silence of darkness

Is rent by a mother’s cry

As she tenderly wipes dust from the faces

Of her husband, father, new born child

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Sadie was eighty when she stopped counting.

Eighty suited her nicely

so she got there and stayed.

I was her acting amanuensis - unpaid.

She got flustered over much but not overmuch.

When she had forms to fill or worries over bills

begging letters from charities,

unentered lotteries 'won',

piling the floor at her front door

she’d hang out a sign

and I’d pop in for...

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Outside in the corridor

Staring at my trainers

And the soup drip stain

On the thigh of my jeans

Wishing I had change for the vending machine.

Porters wheel stretcher beds

Bearing bulging bellies

Grunting in discomfort

Cursing the pain

They swear they won't go through again

Until the next time

The next and the next after that.

The doors swish open

Th...

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We were teenage innocents

Love birds

Learning the language of

Love words

Huddled close against the winter chill

Holding hands in the shelter

Watching for her last bus

The nine o five

Three four seven

To turn from Lord Street, Southport

Onto Marine Drive 

To swallow her away

Home to Rufford,

near Ormskirk,

Lancashire.

Wanting it to come soon…

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She devised a meeting ‘just as friends' 

Evening drinks in her favourite bar 

(Soigné and the food is good) 

Her finely plaited ribboned hair 

Smelled of woody sandalwood. 

[Women's yoga was the excuse she used 

to fool her husband, ‘estranged' (or so she claimed) 

But in her mind was ‘union’ with me  - a different kind] 

She said I had to walk her home, 

...

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I said, "Don’t love me,

‘we’ can never ever be".

I said another

held my heart, my hopes, my dreams.

She heard, but Caz did not...'hear'.

We had days of fun.

Romping nights of lusting. All

overshadowed by

that other lover lurking,

behind doors of memory.

Caz tried to ask me

if my, “Darling I love you”

whispers were for her

or aimed at the other one.

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Our island heaven

Cut off whenever high tide

Covered the causeway.

Secluded from prying eyes

Caz fell in love at first sight.

When the tide went out

We drove across the wet strand

Parking in the dunes

The van inadvertently

Bedded in axle deep sand.

Stuck fast but Caz laughed

Cracked open a bottle of rum

We watched the sun set

Over Arranmore and kiss...

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On Louisburgh strand

County Mayo

Near by Croagh Patrick

(which we never climbed but I say we did and who's to argue?)

We camped beside a brick built flush toilet

Ladies and Gents, clean, plenty of paper

Fresh running water from an outside tap

Five star beach bum luxury.

Weather battered farmers

Wearing weather beaten fedoras

Turned up in weather beaten Toyot...

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No one informed the Yorkshire Post

of the death of

a certain bourgeois gentilhomme

Major Neville Peterson

The name never caught on

He was Major when he married Mrs Peterson,

Agnes to her friend

Neville called her ‘Mother'

and Mother called him, "Major".

Mother waltzed off with the Major's brother, Arden,

Who called her Chucklebottom

and squeezed her bum

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No bank remains on the High Street corner

Where the Yorkshire Penny once stood.

On Saturday afternoons

Its granite steps transformed

To a gospel preachers’ rostrum

As with spittle flecked chins they

Bellowed at sinful shoppers passing by

God’s everlasting love for them

And the assurance of perpetual burning,

For the recalcitrant

Just a heart beat away.

My...

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(This is one I rarely look at - I performed it last year a coupla times and have just edited it - pub crowds like the innuendos in this kinda stuff - it's not a favourite, but I thought I'd stick it up anyway - win, lose or draw)

"Alison"

And so, Alison?

Where should I begin?

We met in Skeggy

It was love at first sight-ish for me

She wound the window down

And wa...

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“Adieu”

“Footfalls echo in the memory

Down the passage which we did not take

Towards the door we never opened

Into the rose-garden.” (T.S. Eliot. "Burnt Norton")

A long passage rolled ahead

A passage of decades of days

A passage of hopes and no hopes

A passage of aching and aching no more

And one of joy

Of growing

And stooping

And failing falling

...

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(this is one of my earlier pomes - written last year on the 17th June - I'll set about licking it into shape)

With a morning to kill

before the ferry,

to Anglesey,

and nothing to do,

we decided,

it was decided,

well, I decided,

to introduce my squeeze to Irish literature.

I told her, "Nothing wrong with a bit of culture".

Irish lit?

A subject I knew ...

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Walking down along Charles Street

A shallow canyon of shuttered shops

Seeking traces of the Pioneer Store

And the anonymous side door

Of  Pastor Gardner's

Fig Tree Gospel Hall

.

The ‘beloved' enter through a porch

Crammed with bin bags spilling

Sweet sweat rancid jumble sale stock,

Free for all until the rag man comes.

.

The usher, a farmer

Sentries the insid...

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"Theo"

Theo is with us no more

And I fear I might be to blame.

Only tangentially

I meant him no harm.

I mused his mortality on Saturday

And he deceased pre-dawn on Monday.

His manner of passing

A masterstroke of irony

A street show

Under the aegis of the Absurdiste Extraordinaire

Who hearing silent thoughts

And liking the sound of  'em

Acts the...

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I glimpsed Malcolm today,

He was looking good

With a new bed roll and

Pristine white trainers

And a brown bowler hat

Perched jaunty over his

Soggy chewed balaclava.

I glimpsed Malcolm today,

Scuttling between black headstones,

Emerging from his new home,

A tomb

In the Masonic necropolis

He was deep in conversation

With Uncle Felix

Who was not the...

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Porridge for breakfast

With added prunes

Christmas dinner stew defrosting

With festive sprouts

I shall wear a paper hat.

I am a slight and lesser man

‘Un lanterne rouge’

Struggling to keep the peloton in view

Till weariness overtakes me.

In fervent hope

Trust

Or lust

Or maybe even love

I stood through rain and snow

Gently pebbling

My lover’s w...

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"Waiting Room"

The corridor reaches the corner

And beyond.

Clinging to life,

Bones stretching parchment skin

Patients wait

Gaunt faces

Gazing at the floor.

Agnostics and atheists,

Entreat a god they do not think hears

Hoping they might be proven wrong.

Feet raise

A cleaner mops the floor

She smells of Savlon

Everything does

It’s in t...

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Mum picked a lost photograph
From the Mirror covered kitchen floor
When rolling up the oilcloth.

The Dove Row bash
Celebrating war’s end
Dad in uniform holding my hand
And the flag
And in her arms
Proud as punch Ma
With baby Cissie
Who died of diphtheria.

They rowed at the donkey stoned step as
We were moved out
Mum wanted her prized framed jigsaw
Of Trooping the Colour
To be th...

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A hundred peacock eyes
Surveyed the cornflower field.

Brenda in an ivory blouse
Her taffeta underskirts,
Fire red and antique gold, swirled
As she broke cover from the wallflower ranks
Crossing the empty space
From the girls' side of the Palais
To the boys' side of the Palais
Where we stood
A straggle of Burton's mannequins
In drain pipes and brothel creepers and drapes
Laundry on a ...

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Mid September,

the children return to school

and before the fruit rots on the trees

and leaves turn brown again

I take my cycle, fold it down

And stow it in the luggage rack

of the Scarborough train.

I get off at Flamborough

and ride to the Head,

at North Landing

pick two white chalk stones

from the beach

and flat pebbles

fit for skimming.

W...

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 “Gombeen Men”

 “A Smuggler’s Song”

“If you wake at midnight, and hear a horse's feet,
Don't go drawing back the blind, or looking in the street,
Them that ask no questions isn't told a lie.
Watch the wall my darling while the Gentlemen go by.”  (Kipling)

"From first class Hull Train carriages

The Art 'elite' -

Sleek Gombeen men

In Renaissance man

Hugo Boss

Linen su...

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After a night of exquisite bliss  

She said, ‘ I'll do anything for you” 

So I sent her jogging down 

To Cafe Nero 

For coffee and a croissant  

And a Sunday with a supplement 

She returned twenty minutes later  

With a paper and defibrillator

And told me that after last night

I’ll need the latter. 

As I scanned the Aga ads 

Looking to buy brand new  

...

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Mondays?  Brilliant!

They don't come round quick enough

I am in the chair

Full jug of fourteen percent?

Plenty enough for the night.                                                          

She had her cushion

I had mine – with one between

Never sat on – plump

Perfect cordon sanitaire.

We had 'standards' to maintain.

Solicitous host

She’d bring in bowls ...

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My parents were keen walkers 
They strolled the Cleveland Way 
To Boggle Hole 
From Robin Hood's Bay 
With me and sister, Cleo, in tow 
Whining as our rucksacks hurt our backs 
Snail-like creeping  
Noisily hawking into bushes 
Leaving a trail of gobbing  
Smirking at the phlegm drip dropping 
Off the twigs 
 
To break the ennui 
We tore branches from cherry trees 
Tossed them into M...

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“May 8th 1945”

 

Crowds thronged the streets
Waving Union Flags
Dancing, singing
Sowing seed for 
Next fill-dike's ‘fathers unknown’
In chance encounters
In ale house toilets,
Arboretum flower beds
Or tucked under municipal bandstands
While Boys’ Brigade buglers mauled
"God Save the King". 

Scattered among the celebrant tide
Stoical 
Unremarkable
A regiment of mothe...

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Fast asleep

Sophie chuckled happily

Girlishly

She dreamed of walking golden labradors

On wind whipped solitary beaches

Autumn rain siling

Laughing smiling.

Throwing balls into the waves

For the dogs to chase

And after the dogs shook off the sea

And their paws were dried

Breakfast of fried eggs

And kidneys

Toast and butter

Steaming coffee

Stove...

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Ben and Tillie dwelled unofficially

In the cellar

Of tinned up twenty three

I passed on their post occasionally

The stench of boiled cabbage

Tobacco smoke, raw poverty

Leaking through the letterbox

Turned my stomach, gagging me

At night

By candlelight,

Tillie tended marigolds in plastic pots.

Bluebells and hollyhocks

Filled window boxes

Belfast sink...

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"Monday Bloody Monday"

Head bowed against siling rain
Collar up shielding ears
Hat brim a leaking spout
Shoes beat a tattoo as
He Lowried,
Uphill,
Cobbled streets.
And rued his need of meat
And bread
And eggs
And milk for tea.

A passing car scythed
Gutter water
Over polished shoes
He raised his fist
And ripped a curse
That, against the wind skirl
Went unheard

A shopping li...

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In days that only the old men 

Sitting, smoking 

Placidly dying 

In la Placa can remember 

The celebrated gothic murals 

Adorning La Capella de Saint Julia with Saint Quirze 

Were destroyed 

And the relics of Saint Elm of the Navigators'  

Desecrated 

This was nineteen thirty six 

The perpetrators well known 

But lips stay sealed 

Better the devil goes...

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Stunted cacti

Shrubs and broken tree stumps

Scarcely tall for a man to pee behind

And dry gullies for him to hide in

And die in

Criss cross Catalonia

Bomb shattered cliff top boulders

Cast razor fragments of flint

Onto dun grit sand beaches

Shredding feet.

The withering sun beats

Hot harsh hot

Unrelenting hot

Flies cluster at sweated bandanas

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A dismal claque

Of catcalling delinquents

Dogs my steps

It’s a surly black dog pack

With curled down cup handle tails

Snarling and hissing at my heels.

It scuttles to the shadows

When I turn to face it

To re-gather whenever

My morale is low

One of the cohort

Spawned from the litter

A miserable

Mewling

Half dead

Toothless

Skeletal

W...

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On a rough settle

Outside an inn

I sit in the shade

And watch the gathering

Bent men

Stately

Aged by labour

Uncomfortable

In hand-me-down

Black suits and hats

And polished shoes

Sedately form a line

No one speaks

Coughing

Mingled with birdsong

Fills the village square

With broken crockery

Melody

Silence falls

No drummer

No ...

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Inigo sighed and sighed again
Poured reheated coffee dregs
Into a chipped stained china mug
Spat on a finger to rub at the white ring
Spoiling the walnut veneer of the
Reproduction coffee table from D.F.S.
Claw foot with cabriole legs.

Lighting a cigarette
And watching smoke ring chains
Rising, widening,
Kissing the ceiling, vanishing
He picked at a scab on his cheek
And licked his f...

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This is legendary,

Probably.

When Botolph pillaged Burgundy

And stole Gengulphus’ Rod from a reliquary

He thought he was about

Divine appointed

Duty

He planted the naked wand in the precincts of

A long abandoned Celtic chapel

Across the Channel Sea

The desiccated stump

Like Aaron’s Rod

Flourished to a spreading

Yew tree

St Botolph’s Abb...

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Rachel’s hair was soft red

Flowing like waves

It reached to her waist

(She could sit on it)

With a delicate scent

Reminiscent to me

of cinnamon…and brie

Her smile lit the faces of the friends

on whom she bestowed it

It never shone on mine

She never gave me a second glance

And though I hoped for one

It was never expected

I was out of her league

An...

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Around midnight

I drank too much rum

Out of my skull

Fell down the stairs

Of the Bar Tropicana

Karaoke

My nose feels broke

I made it home

And staggered down the hall

And slammed the door hard

And the clock clattered

Off the kitchen wall.

It leans half cock now

Drunken, propped

Against the ‘Dad of the Year’ trophy

 My kids awarded me

…But th...

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