Badge. Pic for poem


the suggestion of savage power

displayed by exaggerated exhaust pipes

stare with mute threat

from behind the car, which

swathed in dull,  matt grey paintwork

is perhaps all you would ever need to know

about the man who drives it

but on the other hand

he may be a poet with a soft spot

for the uncouth. A devil’s advocate

for difference

I am trying to be more reasonable

behind my privacy glass and rose-tinted


as time takes it’s inexorable toll

leaving me, not quite stalled

on the broad highway of  a personal history

that sways in the wind of change, nay progress,

and  become mindful that tolerance

could be my best defence against

a creeping spiritual

rigor mortis

Andrews loss

Andrews loss. Photograph

a griddle of desire

turned slowly, framed

by the heat and turning

slowly into history

so that,

loss becomes a pyre

a disentangled thing

unwoven, unspeakable

in pain

the holder always reaching in

with fingers that implore

for more of that sameness

the comfort that escaped

and in the brittle moments

when dawn dampens the fire

it is darkness not light

that descends

to scratch at and bother

the future,

a place so desolate

that only pain will do.

And so it came to pass




I see my grey hair in pictures with the family

and realise that I am already passing

into history

How long will it be until the smile fades to ash

and colours in the inks lose their vitality

Can that frame hold fast and keep the memory

or will indifference and fashion

make it hasten into a lost obscurity

Will it all by-pass photo-shop

with it’s technical brilliance,

the mastered pixel rendered and held

for heaven to view in the cloud

Perhaps I am destined to inhabit

the space that the picture frame

purports to keep in an enigmatic perpetuity.

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We fashion beauty. We aesthetes

We are Olympians of taste

And make no mistake, when the money is good

No expense could be too crude

For the aristocrat of the senses

Whose pockets flap

Will exploit loose change to buy exotic metal

Shaped vehicles that are extreme

To sit proudly as ornaments of success

And that ‘trophy beauty’

The ultimate prize

Can be embraced, paraded and caged

For others to ogle and envy

But, there is one thing that spoils

And over time

Even expensive treatments will fail

When honesty is lost

And foundations slip

Even taught, sculpted lines will err,

Faults and fissures creep

And the mask?

Well it will speak

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