One Throwaway Poem

T    h    is              p    o    e    m

I     s                                        in

A                                     square.

B      e      c      a      u      s      e

I                                          want

Y  o  u     t  o    r  e  a  d          it

Did                                      you?

Updayt

I don’t know if anyone is out there listening
You may think I haven’t been posting as often, or as well as I had been.
You’ve just been getting the odd piece that doesn’t fit.
I have been working on a book form of poems that I can sell here,
So you can, if you like, see my pomes in another way, surrounded by the Paraphernalia that I would rather have there.
But maybe the primary reason for this is, that if I can hold a pamphlet in my hands which I have made, it would help me to feel better about what I have been doing.
Writing poetry by yourself and rarely talking to anyone about it can be lonely, but the main problem is people mistake stillness and inwardness for lack of drive. Meanwhile, subtle transformations of great beauty are going off in my head. Art doesn’t have to be for others.
I have written more poems in the past five months than in the prior several years – it took finding the modern Anglophone poets of mid to late twentieth century to knock me from a particular groove I’d been riding around in. I realised that we can still (and always, in fact) do interesting things in short form poetry. I also realised that modernism is exciting and nowhere near as difficult as it has been made to seem. Both to write, and to read. [Or, maybe I reached a critical mass where it started to make the sense it has the potential to make].
So, my only audience, be on the lookout, if you like. It may take a year or more, but it should appear. If it doesn’t, I’ll just upload all of the poetry here.

4, 7×7, Drive Home in the Rain

Outside this plastic-smell car
the rain whirls like a muscle
set off wonderfully, fine
brighted by the too-sharp lamps
in windy spasms of curve
and softens my face, cooling

I feel life has been jammed
like a filament burning
too hot to shed much lighter
than a dark emphasising
fizz and sticky resistance –
the rain and cold air soften

The car steams up, it’s human
my friends are drunk, I listen
to their lubricate jaw joints
It is strange and wonderful
music to hear them talk, now
In the dark roadway, I hang

I hang as the world unfurls
its scoreboard display signposts
a smashed out car, black wreckage
My throat twitches with a cold
surge, we fly home fast as time
I exit and crush a snail
sigh, the paths are full of them.

Music credit to Ben Salisbury & Geoff Barrow for ‘Ava’

One View

Sex isn’t all that great
It’s just another thing you can do

With someone you love
Trust me there are better things to do

With someone you love
Like
To talk all day

To sit and rest on each other’s stomachs in a field
To watch a great film

Don’t get me wrong, sex can be grand
In an upswell of fluidity

But mostly it is tiring and
Sucks your soul out through each other’s mouths

You lie
Exhausted
And asleep

On First Watching Lynch’s ‘Twin Peaks: The Return’

what has returned here
lacking limbs lacking hands
fingers toenails

what has been left behind
outside the glass box of your brain
where the scream shudders in
slapping kissing mutilating

what has been lost is smile
pie, coffee.

The knowing grin, but warm.

a cold darkness fills it
and flesh and facemap and wounds
wounds in the head

what has been let free
was inevitable as the scream

in its shackles it was complete
beautiful, horrifying

now the bullet passes through
cold, and leaving behind it
cold

A horror, a beautiful horror
but cold

Evening Song

Here legs run and their humans
A pack of females, entangled
But they laugh, they joke
There are rivalries.

That’s okay, that’s not the worst
By any means. The field is clear.

Across the way small brown birds
Forage for worms, for shoots
And all the while the sun slides
In and out of haze and clouds

And thin sheets of light glint
From many soft lenses.

Sylvia, nature,
It’s not the lack of inner life
This simple celebration.
It’s simple, but not only simple.

You can keep honey hives, you can.
But certain bees can clump and sting whenever.