Is a writer from Hull, author of four collections of poetry, 'Coming to a street near you' (Night publishing) 'Day and night in the damaged goods factory' (Burning Eye) 'Jawbreaker' (Paul Gibson) 'Spit&Hiss (Wrecking Ball Press) My next collection is to be published by Wild Pressed Books in the spring of 2021.
The Decline Of The Fishing Industry. Once i fished for frogs When the waters bubbled and croaked With slippery life. I hunted minnows,flashing silver arrows Darting through the weeds; Caught and re-housed in soup-tins, Chipped mugs, held tightly like errand money, Too precious, Too afraid to spill. Here time scurried off like voles. Mothers called, but names became entangled In branches, snatched by trees Happy to shield our swearing, As peas hardened and gravy dried. And now, mortgaged,tame and hygienic I returned with my son To that long abundant slit. Change, in a head-wrecking moment Threw a punishing jab. Mattresses and furniture, Stolen trolleys half submerged, Supported a twisted crash Of rusting appliances. People had pummelled the place, And its slopes and edges Littered and silent, Fussed over only by flies. He sank his net Amongst bergs of polystyrene Clutching my sleeve as he trawled. But these grounds were finished, And his deep and desperate searching As intense as my own, As i gently reeled him in As empty as my promise Of a full jar. All to come. Amid the intensity of summer When i meander through afternoons Chaotic with crowd and colour, I see the bare-foot freedom Of the young, who will discover When the shell begins to crack- Love will leave them flapping Like a turtle on its back. Now she's gone. Every Friday was pizza night And we'd share a large pepperoni With extra chilli And a box of fries Which i always dished out 60/40 Because she was too gorgeous To be ruined by equal portions. Then i'd make A black coffee for her And a weak tea for me Then slot in a dvd Which we'd never finish Because i couldn't leave her alone. And after jabbing the remote We'd go at it fiercely And the spice in our mouths Would transform our tongues Into lightsabres, As we slammed into each other Like two WWF stars. And i swear to god That i would give anything To have those nights again Instead of lying here, Clawing at my scalp And realizing how one solitary, Stupid moment of weakness Can vapourize forever The most amazing times, And leave you spending Friday nights With a bowl of cereal, And a big stash of dvd's That you'll finally get to see The end of.
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
Little Fatty (24/11/2020)
All to come (11/07/2020)
Big Danny's girl (08/10/2018)
Night Terror (07/10/2018)
Six beers (05/10/2018)
September song (23/09/2018)
Bookshop Millie (06/05/2016)
I kid you not (03/05/2016)
Blog link: https://www.writeoutloud.net/blogs/mikewatts
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