Thursday, 30 April 2015

an extract from 'Own Up'

a list of some of the people who have never started wars, from 'Own Up', a performance poem which is part of the 'How Do Wars Start?' show...

street artists,
church wardens, `
an acrobatic troupe,
a chart-topping group,
a collection of bored and pissed off housewives,
pop singers,
cab drivers,

Nice Weather for Harbingers of Doom

You, with your bloodshot laugh and your whisky-marinated dreams. Always disappearing behind somebody else’s big idea. Don’t call us; we’ll call you (deal?).

You, with your menu of friends and your over-elaborate pariah-complex. Always appearing for the sake of appearances. Don’t look now; here comes a busful of uncertainty.

You, with your belligerent disco-shoes and your bag of Sunday Night Fever. Always turning up at the wrong place with the wrong assumptions. Don’t stop; the music will fall off a cliff.

You, with your squeaky new candelabra hat and your matching nightwear. Always embarrassing me. Don’t; really.

You, with your, ‘I’m staring into my Destiny’-face and your seventh favourite mirror. Always the odd one out in a roomful of well-drawn expressions. Don’t believe everything you see in portraits; apart from the frames. 

Sunday, 26 April 2015

Bull v Comet

Perhaps it is apocryphal:
how Pope Callixtus (number three)
had Halley’s Comet excommunicated.

Poor Haley’s Comet: barred from taking
the sacraments (you know, like marriage)
and limiting its status in the Church.

One wonders how a comet is
supposed to change its attitude;
repent; and then return to full communion.

One wonders at the ignorance of Popes. 

Men in St Swithun's

23rd April - thank you Adrian et al

When Men in General played St Swithun’s Hall,
The audience joined in; they sang and laughed.
They’d come along to have a LitFest ball,
When Men in General played St Swithun’s Hall.
Although they were, in general, somewhat tall,
To mitigate this fault they were quite daft.
When Men in General played St Swithun’s Hall,
The audience both sang and clapped and laughed*.

(*yes, both)

Saturday, 4 April 2015

Multiple Choice Test

Unhappiness and misery are choices.
‘I do not choose to be unhappy, though,’
you claim. A seven-second silence passes,
allowing you to frame some yesterday
and hang it on this conversation’s wall.
‘You see,’ you say in triumph. ‘Look at that.’
I do not look; I know the form already.
Know what? Deep breath. Move on. Smile for the camera.
Remember to make a wish as you start to cut.

Nice Try

Nobody told us anything useful. Those with influence and a weak grasp of semantics endlessly fashioned statements from car-crash ideas. Meanwhile, everyone watched TV.

Nobody told us that things would get worse before they got even worse. Those with influence cultivated shrines to their own vanity. Meanwhile, everyone ate far, far too much.

Nobody told us how to write a poem. Those with influence promoted this ignorance. Meanwhile, everyone got off on their own brand of computer-generated violence.

Nobody told us where to find Jesus on a Tuesday afternoon. Those with influence secretly doubted the existence of Tuesdays. Meanwhile, everyone forgot the words to their favourite Easter Egg.

Nobody told us about the deliciousness of mediocre supermarket ready meals. Those with influence pretended to chop the vegetables. Meanwhile, everyone dined on horsemeat surprise.

Nobody told us how to erase a past. Those with influence placed gold coins on the eyelids of their deceased indiscretions. Meanwhile, everyone bypassed the super-injunction by storming Twitter with pitchforks and moral outrage.

Nobody told us that the Queen’s Garden Parties included a section for naturists. Those with influence left their invitations on the mantelpiece to impress the visitors. Meanwhile, everyone bought corgi-flavoured lollipops from the overpriced gifte shoppe.

Nobody told us because nobody knew. Those with influence wasted their entire lives in the futile pursuit of holding on to their influence. Meanwhile, everyone went back to watching TV.

dangers of staring at ceiling

horizontal poet
stares at ceiling
for inspiration
writes poem
staring at ceiling
by efforts of
World’s Most Demanding Job
horizontal poet
falls asleep
on chest
horizontal poet
rolls over
impales self
on pencil
horizontal poet
for pencilectomy
pen is mightier than sword
post-op horizontal poet
to unimpressed nurse
convalescing horizontal poet
stares at ceiling
for inspiration
writes poem
dangers of staring at ceiling