Our Flo

Let me tell about Flo
Sisterless sister
Brotherless mother
Firebrand lover
Balled-up energy
Caterwaul wife
Flo, you see right
Is no blunt-edged knife

She’ll give you her last
Stand up and be counted
She calls how she sees it
Flo sees right through it
First in the morning
Last down at night
If you’re up for a battle
Flo’s all out to fight

You keep Flo close
Keep her close to your back
Take a breath, drop your guard
She’s already attacked
Sweet menace of mind
Lighting evenings with laughter
Flo burns your night
Brings the dancing tongue

Now you know Flo
See her tenor, her gravity
Your eyes now clear to her
Threat and gentility
When you feel her breath
Some dark quarter drunk sweetly
Keep your wits sharp
Check your tongue for stupidity

Buzz flies

Those crazy flies
Those crazy eyes
Flying flapping
tiny thighs
Swarming
sooting up our skies
Dripping tiny dirty lies
Buzz they say
Their buzzing way

These drowning flies
I eulogise
Dreams
immersed in nightly wine
Filled with drowning little flies
Lying flies
bilndly baptised
Buzz they say
Dumb buzzing way

End of the world blues

Two and two is four
Double what you need
I got you girl
You got me

Ah poor boy, treads on the beach
Sea at your knees
Sky within reach
Wind on your back
Sun in your face
Yeah coast boy
End of the world

Hey good girl, feet on the beach
Salt in your hair
Sand on your knees
Tears in your eyes
Smile on your face
Yeah coast girl
End of the world

She got gold, her old soul
He got ink
His hard skin
They got breath
Warm in their throats
Here we are
End of the world

Lowestoft Holler

There’s this little green town on the East coast
Where work all gets lost in the cloudy smoke
There’s a tan on the beach if you’re visiting
It still comes with cheap chips and ice cream

Every day the sun lifts the darkness
Breaking memories anchored in some trawling past
No crowds fill the streets, they’re in online
Gossiping or gaming over flat wine

Books banked in dust pad the library
While shops stocked in staple brands of jewellery
Alternate with smoking miscellany
As broad across as sacred is our greenery

When you pass by, and you will, don’t be afeared
The East coast is not the place it used to be
As calm and cool as any burg is wont to be
A little slower true, but aren’t we meant to be

 

Creek Crossing

Above the gentle rumble of 114’s motor
There’s the low holla-and-walla of
Internationals making deals and promises.

Sandy squares of Creek-side villas bob by
Shaded by grand yachts
Of the super rich.

Our 1-Dirham dinghy chugs
Slopping to moorings
Crowded with all of those faces of Earth.

Too loud and close
A colossal dhow blazes
Beaming phone-lights and faces…

In it’s wake our disembarkation
Is a hoppy affair
Scuffed sandals and ruffled kandura’s

Jamila

Dust
Grits her yawn
Her wind ruffled pool
Slaps
Fried blue concrete
This Arabian sea-side
Tires her dry eyes while
Tall shadows, bleached parasols
Blur through her
Squinted tears
Blazing her long hot days
Through mocktails
Banal tales
Airport novels
While the palm dials
Time to her
Dubai brightened
Sun

Dog Bark Afternoon

Here is his yellow mug glowing on the deckrail, glinting like a smile in the finally sun.
Chatter of some banal garden variety lilts thru this bright crisp afternoon.
The combi kicks in coughing light clouds of mist
Twisting their dance to our fat clouds of smoke,
Tales and sagas billow in the azure
Building towers of cloudscapes that, like our potholed stories,
Effervesce pleasantly before fading to blue
Utterly
How sweet it is to enjoy a social cup on the first sunny weekday of the year
Yarning with old friends
With new plans and new friends
As the world tilts
Our warm afternoon sun wanes
Clouds freed from neighbouring homes, down the hill, blur this meaningful dusk and
wafted by gull wings,
heralded by the chorus of East coast chirpers and
finally the quiet groan of traffic ebbing again
Now still our evening
Glinting last rays speckle the porch as our door closes happily on the night.
(Combi – abbreviation of ‘Combination Boiler’, the gas machine that heats the water and central heating in our house)

Flat White

Our round moon stares blankly into the fractured dark of space
Down here, erstwhile, two sirens bleat at each other giving chase
They are distant wailing tho’, easily drowned out by the grunting clack
Of some late diesel dragging mountains some way down some local tracks
A murmur close at hand alerts those of us with some keener senses
That neighbours are readying for bed
And above my head
The crash of plates kicks off the rounds of splashing
of drains washing last nights dinners and dreams beneath our feet.
Goodnight sweet Britain
Dream well of burning roads spewing clouds of woe
as cars and buses still rumble late along your sleeping streets.
And race the dawn
When our grey air
Will once again, like magic,
Fill with twits and twittering
Pretty fluttering’s
Sweeping your groggy sleep-glued eyes and brushing the bright of light aside
Breathing fresh breath into your grey old wings.

Truth of Mind?

Confusions of noise
blot any answers from surfacing,
in their stead – a maze of ideas
and questions, idly pass time –
twisting tales;
glancing at even the dimmest stars of truth.

Eventually only these flagrant lies stand firm
and there is no cessation in noise!
Some comfort is found
in the familiarity of these timeless ‘whoppers’.
This barely comforts rhetoric;
but comfort it is –
and all sinew
grapples it securely to heart
– still waiting the truth.

Till time has passed
this day and this night…
Only more exaggerated during the night
and more conscious at day.

Bloody Buses

The air was heavy
fat and foul
with sweat a kind of fear
and then the smallest
then the young ones
spat your sweat
You hold your breath

Our sun grows hotter
ground alive
A mass of bodies scattered
This was the end
we knew it true
the first rain landing spattered.

Redness Goldness
ran in runs
soaking tree flooding parks
drowning drains
flowing on
No you can’t stop
There is no one to
Hold these bloody beasts
from what they’re
built to do

Blinsolp

Delusions of grandeur
I’m the colour blind prince
In black and white printouts
I’ve no cells to re-bleed

Watching you go
Into skies, brightly lit
There’s no tears to remind us
of what you could free

As screeching flocks fly-by
Grating and raw
Would hush if I just
If I just
If I just

Atomic Ironic

They asked us to build
An island to build a base to
Build a gun on
Then
They asked us to build
An island to build a town on
To get blown up
They got us to build these
Far from home
On the other side of the planet
An impossible task
Taking miles of man hours
And costing an aeon of money

We spent our time
Ingeniously
Breaking the codes of the atom
Building the biggest
The wildest, the newest
Securing our seat
At the side of the mighty
Wasting our atmosphere
Nuking the air
To check
That no further threats
Grew anywhere…

Why we poppy

A red flower on your breast
Feeding thoughts of war
A century of life lost young
Defending freedom

In European mud the first seeds
Bloom among youths’ blood
Ensuring rights and laws upheld
Defending freedom

Yet wars and wars again
Beset our Earth, doom our kin
Piling dead poppies on the pain
Defending freedom

As a century of poppies passes
Blurring right’s, a little out of focus
Battles reign for Aurelian
Defending freedom

A Terse 3 Verser

This bleak streak
Of weaknesses
Conspires to undermine
Our promises

Your clear dark stare
Remembers love
My baleful pale blue
Needs more of yours

So in that needle point
Of passions flame
Save those embers
For our latest game

Gateaux Piment

When you’re short of breath walking up the street
Gateaux Piments

When your jeans hug tight and your buttons squeeze
Gateaux Piments

When you’ve just the time for a sneaky snack
Gateaux Piments

You wake with a start from a sweaty nap
Gateaux Piments

When your itching toes get no soothing scratch
Gateaux Piments

A tasty treat in a handy batch
Gateaux Piments

Country poem / Shtrum Tikh

Strum tick
Strum tick
All sing along
Strum tick
It’s my country song
Late in fat moon
Shiny night
Strum tick
Lights a stream of bright

Strum tick
Strum tick
Soulful pace
Strum tick
Here’s a heart warmed place
Rich in history
Sweet in sound
Strum tick
Swell with hearts sweet pound

Strum tick
You’re my hearts hot fire
Strum tick
Music drawn by wire
Here in this sweet tune
So sure
Leaves the beat
For love to pour

Travel, Greek

In the deep blue sky there is that white sun that shines so it burns the tiles between our sunbeds and the pool
After breakfast mum and dad play catch with me and all the other kids who stay in this hotel in Kokkari
Last night I ate octopus and squeezed it’s suckers in my teeth and waited for it to wriggle but it didn’t it was fried
On Sunday we are driving up a mountain to a cave
Where mum says Pythagoras was an early believer in triangles
And all the beaches here are lapped by water that’s crystal clear and lets me chase the different fishes which swim near
On the plane that brought us here my ears popped and I wanted to stay at Gatwick but now this is such a lovely place to stay I wish I could.

Scamper the rabbit

Our big, fat, white rabbit
Called Scamper
Has short white ears and pink staring eyes
I like feeding it carrots or lettuce
But Scamper likes sunflower seeds best
Our uncle Bill says Scamper’s too fat
And would be better off cooked
With carrots and broccoli in the pot
But mum’s promised we’re not going
To eat him; no matter how big and fat Scamper got.

The great Suffolk train ride

A residual stink
That acrid jarring of smells
Grating receptors and flashing memories
Of narrow escapes
Close shaves
The clawing tendrils of inertia
Rancid in manner
I squeeze my eyes tight, grin
Embracing this funk of what
Might have been.

We pull through Manningtree
Wondering the ghosts haunting
It’s industrial might
Desolate journeying through
Time’s very decay
In this error of modernisation
Thirty years dilapidation
The dead in the Dedham Vale

How well your dark flocks of sheep
Crowd your secret
As far removed from clouds
As your dark wet brickwork alleyways
And menacing piping
Anyone claiming this outpost of progress
Will need time and
Wealth to mobilise your dunes
Of crumbling rubble
Scrape habitable
Your vast concrete footprints
Me and my passenger friends
Flee North, hammering the short stretch
Of track left ‘train-friendly’
This far East

I love speed
Trees wave furiously
Frozen in streaks
Passing this great machine
We tear past bikers and dog walkers
The fluorescent smear of joggers,
Of heath-jumpers, bowl by the window
As a bright feeble January sun
Sweeps through the innards of our carriage
Painting faces and seats
In chilling reds and oranges
Until the next clutch of housing or industrial estates
Breaks those marvellous red beams

Inevitably someone impresses the brake
A forest of pylons
So gantry’s encase this slow snake.

In The Middle of the Night

In the mid-
dull of the night
I lay
and listen to the rain
In this hot room
the sounds of splash
draw out my
slightly sighs again
Were you not here so
short-a-time-ago to
sweat with mine
The ticks
tock by
so bluh
dee slow
hammer out
such emp
tea time
Through this din of rain
and thunderous clocks
my thoughts
collect on you
I’m sure though
slow these days
will fly and
bring me close
in time to you