AFTER THE ACCIDENT

The carts that carry off the dead travel away from where I sit.
The dead and dying, lying there, travel on the trolley-fuss,
waiting to arise and tell the Lord their alibis,
or comforting lies.I head towards salvation,
and a cup of tea, -  like all the walking squarking wounded.

17th January 2010

An Apology to Kerry

I am a muffin-man, mindless
in my empty-headed nonsense,
crater-brained with nothingness.
Like a long-lost word I struggle
to find my place in the sentence.
Unscrabbled on the letter-stand,
I stand. Full of Qs!
The start of something good perhaps,
buit meaningles without your U.

29/03/99

THE NUTTER

I'm trying to write more poetry, with the idea of getting away from the short six- to eight- liners. That's a lot more difficult than I thought, - partly because of time and partly because for a long time I had lost all my ability to write poetry. What has always fascinated me is the sound of each poem and it rythmns.

The nutter sits beside me, shifting left and right. 
He mumbles at a bug strolling on the window-pane
and fumbles its rescue as it falls flying to the wall. 
He stares. He cares about his blunder, and takes more care,
this time getting it to fly into the air.
I am repelled, shocked and blocked by his normality, 
and shiver, shaking at my normal madness.

Dentist's waiting room, Merlo 5th February 2013