DIY

Bad teeth

 

I spend my time engaged in home improvements                  I am rust

tiring work this self-absorption

incessant, monotonous and repetitive                                     on the smooth haft

and if I’m honest, for all the huff and puff                            the sheen a parody

I’ve botched it

I’m not polished or buffed                                                      like atomic numbers

or what my son’s would call “hench”

I’m grey and lined and display all the hallmarks                                that emit the pulses

that come with age. Disappointment threatening to turn to rage

Morbid. Huh. I’m like rubik’s cube                                         of half-lives

a clumsy mystery that frustrates only me

yet deep inside                                                                                    I’ll take them

there is a light-filled space

that harbours peace and would                                                           let me glow

let me know that I don’t need spanners or a wrench

I just need a minute                                                                to be myself

I am the news

Me. I am the news. pic for poem

 

I am a sculpture

waiting upon reason, mercy and miracles

to mould me and make sense of each

passing moment that renders me as small

 

I am an echo

of nothing more than memories that slink

in the undergrowth of  my own propaganda

and threaten my neck with a sensual constriction

 

As spirits go

I am evaporating on the back of so many

disappointments

that a ghost would wail at the iniquity

of living in this entanglement

 

but I am immune

as a rogue infection to clinical intervention –

a bacteria so fit that healthy cells

emigrate to other hosts and leave me isolated

in my own member state

 

I am dilute

as my age dictates

that blood relatives die around me

and I take the calls of surviving kin

and enter in to their ‘arrangements’

 

I am the understudy

for my impending future, the heir apparent

to a ‘long wait’ that others may remark

was lived in haste and might in time improve

Ha

Ha. pic for poem

 

 

 

I look at me

with my ego smeared

the shared history between my eyes

in that smudge on glass that was once

hot

breathing shallow now, the heat

on simmer

where once it bubbled I am confronted

with a lurk

a knowing look – maladroit

that has replaced the complacent years

where all that milk and honey was spent

what I imagine now

is the drool

overlapping and seeping – cruel

my vanity exposed – my fate

made me look, made me stare

a childish dare and then a prank

gone sour

cracked vision on the wall

tired of taunts

I’m going to embark on a course

of self-improvement – nutrients

make me look, make me stare

a childish response, vanishing in thin air

Ha

flailing

Flaining. a pic

 

like a Speaker in The House

groping for words – for Order, Order

and spluttering in the midst of so many chosen  mots justes

falling to ground

the scrapings of wisdom in those passionate arguments

that swirl around him

are dusted with the aroma of salt and phlegm

with so much indignation swelling on waves of righteousness

even the buttoned leather upholstery is self-regarding

as it harbours safe seats

whose members have much to say

their propaganda bleaching the very enamel from teeth

 bared to make the most of emphasis

as they ride on the beast of persuasion insisting

that possession is nine tenths of the law

all of them,  frayed ayes and frayed not’s

Right Honourable Friends

sweeping the floor, divining in the dust

for what to make of history

In sufferance

sear suitable for both sides of a debate.1

 

a man lounges across a seat

his entitlement there for all to see

the langour so natural

bred from a line that seeks only

to suborne the common man

and in that cameo his cause may be lost

to an epic mistake

exposed by a yawn with his class etched

on a bench that history will detest

the moment noted as he would have it;

“mark my words”

and all the screaming echoes of derision go

to the wind and hound him

forever more

forever less

in the face of the common man who knows irony

as we are all embroiled in the fate

of  Europe’s union of nation states

inside out

inside out. pic for poem

 

that stranger in the mind sits

as if on a tightrope

suspended between heaven and earth

convinced somehow that sense will shine

and YOU will blush from the pleasure

of bearing witness to greatness

YOU will take a token of spent love

tossed off as a casual gift

and be blessed by that contaminate

 

Only time in it’s wise fractions

will testify

spreading gaunt strips of doubt

and shake those deluded notions

until life or death can be resolved

to sanction that sense of loss

bestowing gravity on your conceit

for that stranger in the mind

must be exposed

Snap shots

snap-shots

Black lips. Pierced nose. Camouflage

The blank look. A tattoo on one thigh

The tube blandly transports

a tall blond in black tights

a couple with northern accents

and their chubby children

Who all,

rattle on unseen commands. Impervious

to that bow-tie on a scrawny neck

Those men in black jackets and their conformity

who look stark

against

all of it. A thoroughfare of humanity

thinking, blinking, clinking in this concertina

The smell of, the pulse of it all

unstoppable but corked

All of us. Rare breeds

enjoined to wander in pursuit

of some desire

The clock dictates with stern authority

how we should behave

pursue our leisure

and misbehave

because that face is complicit. Scornful

having seen it all

And my friend in Cairo sits

in a cafe below a full moon

not estranged from all of this

Simply surrounded by

sand.

Get over it

Get over it

Get over it

 

I am the hole in my entirety

A doubt in the mass of humanity

 

Each breath I take, a rehearsal

For another crack at dismal

 

I am tension in taught wires

A cough in the orchestra pit

 

All of me spot-lit and disappearing

In simpering pools of shame

 

On some well trodden stage

Flecked with dust and grease paint

 

The motes of haunted fabric

Gauzy in the lights

 

And I wait

For somebody to find me out

 

A specialist of the shadows

A spectre of the show

 

To heckle

And shout my name.