I wrote this piece of witless whimsey sometime in 1978 apparently. Typed up in April 1978 at any rate when I was obviously going through some sort of "electrical" phase, 3 phase 415 volts probably. There is a second "electrical" poem from around the same sort of time, I'll post it separately. I've tidied up … Continue reading 3 phase 415 volts probably.
Looking for something else, my partner unearthed an old clipboard of mine with an A4 writing pad and several loose sheets of paper clipped to it. It was one of those things that gets used and then one day it's put aside, and it slips out of consciousness and doesn't turn-up again for many years. … Continue reading Spaces.
Cup of tea and a slice of cake.
A simple thing, a piece of cake. When leaden skies pervade the day, And respite's sought from out the grey, A kettle with fresh water filled, The steam expands and whistle trilled. Within the pot the leaf is laid, And piping hot the water spray'd, The brew commences, minutes three, Then more tick by, brew'd … Continue reading Cup of tea and a slice of cake.
Who next for god, Jim?
I wrote this on the 26th of November 1978, eight days after the Jonestown Mass Suicide/Massacre, an event that I will freely admit I had to look up to refresh my memory about the whole thing. Jonestown or the Peoples Temple Agricultural Project was a religious settlement located in Guyana and founded by one James … Continue reading Who next for god, Jim?
Written in November 1978, I intended this as a sort of tumbling stream of consciousness. When I wrote it I was torn between using and not using punctuation but in the end I conformed and included commas and full stops. This time however, here in the 21st century, I'm going out on a limb and … Continue reading Any excuse.
In Unread Words.
In Unread Words A sad and lonely poet, comes to the end of his rhyme. The suns and moons, of age, are passing, through the canyons of his mind. "We knew the way," he sadly cries, "we could have shown you life." "Your eyes I see are crying now, they dim your blood-stained knife." And … Continue reading In Unread Words.
Part of the 48.
I wrote this in January 2017, something was going on in the news, something a bit silly as I recall and a friend of mine had posted something on Facebook about a Supreme Court decision, Parliament, ministers and democracy. I replied with this little ditty. It all seems so far away now; did we ever … Continue reading Part of the 48.
Off (one’s) trolley.
I stood at the trolley park at Sainsbury's, there were two lines of small trolleys and two of large trolleys, I wanted a small one. I eyed them up; left or right? Right or left? I plumped for the one on the left-hand side. I know from experience that there are several trolleys in service … Continue reading Off (one’s) trolley.
Teenage poetry. This one has a date, 13th August 1977 which, the internet reliably informs me was a Saturday. The original title that I'd written down was 'The Ad,itive' but I thought that it looked a bit too, um… you know. I'd obviously been overdosing on telly adverts and thinking about Carol who I'd met … Continue reading The Additive.
Out of the Ecliptic.
Soldiers stare in poets' guise, shout bloody words at careless skies. Faces bowed are steeped in grief, and turn away from warrior and thief. Art ensnared in martial rule, followed by bloodlust thirsty fools. Teachers caught are sold and bought, preach manifestoes to the worth of naught. Mourning not another day, these people force my … Continue reading Out of the Ecliptic.