Poetry Blog by Rob Sherman

Recent Comments

Noetic-fret! on Two New Ones (Sat, 21 Feb 2009 10:33 pm)

on A new one - Britannia Owns A Flower Shop (Mon, 24 Nov 2008 11:31 pm)

on Szu-Nim-Tung, Contemplating An Orange (Tue, 12 Aug 2008 03:23 pm)

Richard Brooks on Tongue Coma (Tue, 12 Aug 2008 01:41 pm)

Two (Very) New Ones, Let Me Know What You Think

Abraxas On the Neighbour's Dog

Oh, oh how I wish it was the 16th century

And basic maths was sorcery

And the coding language of word processors

Was as distant as the Eighth Path or The Cross.

I would call Abraxas, I would be haruspex

I would cast the bones of your mother,

Foul pup,

I would boil her like a turgid skin kettle

And lift her on sticks to det...

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A Little Prose For A Change

Picket Tease

A woman presented herself at the barrier to platforms one through four of Paddington Station in London, on a Tuesday after a bomb had laterally shattered the top deck of a bus and the second floor of a transport lawyer's firm. It was July.

Thinking back an hour or so later, “presented” was the word, perhaps unusual here, that the bored ticket inspector used in the light...

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Two Newish Poems

The Grunting Ballad Of The Wasp

We patch holes that we make with butter knives

We cover our ears with tape at our parent's weddings

We think the yoghurt on the lid is the best bit

We sigh at disaster

And kiss pictures of terrorists

We see lutes and think them our tongues

When they are only turtles with their dumb unstruck.

We are car parks with sunsets above.

We are...

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Two New Ones

Rain Dog

I saw the rain-dog

Soaked with rain,

Filled up to where

No stitch could sew

And like a jug

He overflows

Into the Scottish road.

It bends in the middle

Accommodating, holding

His extra weight.

He has carried his river far,

And his tubes ache

Like vibrating throats

And they bald like tyres

As secret minerals

Dissolved agents


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The Bear In The Waistcoat Has Lost His Balloon

Woodland comes on strong

As poor as a mulch rug

And yet I eat it up

Like so much soggy cereal

In September rain.

Man breakfasts on

Death's back,

Careful not to drop his


And keeps his sandwiches in the trees,

Unopened like needles,

Nests sticky and promising.

Three flayed chests

On three seperate nights

Stick ice in camping trips

With one season bags

And fingers retreat


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In A Balloon Over The Sea

I keep a womb fist

Of tulips, here

In my basket over the sea.

Everyone wants a tulip

From my wood

So I hand them round,

Cult candy,

Because the earth is far below.


My friends drive cars

Like whales across

Shining sea-roads

Speckled with shipwrecks

And rain

Sheets of water are

Wedding corsets

Draped over

Green room chairs

We raise them diagonally

To our sky.


There are ...

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New Blog Time! Two New Ones

Hi, so one of these isn't so new. The first is about an encounter with a bear in the woods, and the second is a ramble about imagination. If you like reading vague poetry, enjoy like jam on good bread.


The Bear In The Waistcoat Has Lost His Balloon

Woodland comes on strong
As poor as a mulch rug
Yet I eat it like so
Much cereal soggy in September rain.
Man breakfasts on Death's
Back, careful ...

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A new one - Britannia Owns A Flower Shop

Just looking in my book, after reading some Heaney to get a bit of inspiration, and wanted to post this one. It's obnoxiously long.


Britannia Owns A Flower Shop


There squats

Underground, where

Strata of vomit baths

And rock, discretely 

Screaming, lie for good,

A box.


Earthed, warmed by

A hot-coated sun,

Its womanish sides 

Holding no locks


For a key.

Nor lid no...

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Stanza Poems

Izanami swirled the flood

Izanagi blew his flute

As a pair they touched the ground

And saw their death in the tree that grew.


Vatea waits for Papa

Beneath a mango tree

He picks at ancient comestains



Pandora runs for president

Trying to do some good.

But the babies she kisses get TB

And her urn's not in the mood.


All the world will watch

The first and then the...

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Szu-Nim-Tung, Contemplating An Orange

Bored at work, reading a book on Ancient China from the 70s. Started scribbling.

Oh what life there was!

That ran though my fingers

And attracted fat wasps

Giddy with juice and venom

As I slipped on the moss,

Dreaming the dream

Of progress and phosphorus.


Grace, light my path!

Bear me away tucked

between horse's hooves

and grass-tied shoes




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Tongue Coma

This is a poem that gave rise to a character in a book that I am writing, on or off.

Every day sleep

Crooks me in its arm

Like a dying lamb and holds me there,

For hours,


At peace.

I have a gift in these hours

A gift which has made

The whole world


It crowds my hospital

Bed like a headache

And asks me truths;

And I usually do not answer.

A woman with beads at her ...

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This is a poem about my typewriter, and how I love it.

I am happy to be free, torn by this anachronicity

That maybe tapped at a dead mothers shoe in the heat

Of Kowloon.

And I don’t like to rehearse my first verse

Or apostrophize

But this heart of iodine and ribbon saddens me.

Tap tap rhythm of ribbon and old cigars that tore

Men from their bars and into the evidence room.

And ...

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Starred Fruit Seeds

Being weird and thinking about fruit :) An experiment, of sorts.

Pick a pip and rhyme a rind

Past action and past time

Picked from trees and coloured

By a natured sense of humour

That comes from mood springs

Welled in the dark wood of

Mushroom fields

And the tongue blood of

The plant that eats men.

Told by parchment secreted

In an avocado stone

And ...

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