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.

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.

50 Ways in Which I love Her

Those fingers and toes – that’s twenty
Her neck and her nose – There’s 2
Her belly
Her hair
Her smile
Her flair
And of course how she shares
I love you.

In my mind the tally’s now 30
Plus I argue her ‘Love You’s’ worth double
Then here is one more
I assure you, worth four
How she know’s
Every time
When there’s trouble.

From 50, we’re down to 16 (ish)
As my lovers
Hot love
Makes the chart
Some might find me smutty
To point out the putty
My mens-rea, tho’s to
Illume
Love’s dark art!

My ways carry on
Thru this dubious song
Which reminds me
My love birds warm trill
Humming when she finds happiness
When life is less a mess
Her’s the voice of the angels
A pill

Her giggle
Her get up
Her phobias
Like drinking and smoking
And shops
The way she finds worry
In the doe eyes of love
And that peak that she rides
And how quickly she
Stops.

Welcome to love life’s top 5!
Though I’d happily drone till you’re bored.
From the arch of her brow
To the grace in her swing
And her lips,
bitten tender in thought

The second spot’s filled by her breasts
And you might think that bawdily stark, but…
The point of this poem
The top of the chart
Is her forever surprise that she’s stolen my heart.

Local Cafe

This bubbling hubbub of babies and boobies
This packed rack of scooters, of trikes and of buggies
Steaming hot flat-whites and freezing cold smoothies
And tapas treats, chocolate sweets, all kinds of lovelies.

Here where the roads cross, facing the old cross
Where crosswords fill time or just buoy the headline’s dross
Where pizza gets eaten by Saturday dads
Where Friday lunch mums dish the news good and sad.

This raucous in calm, our oasis of mania
Awaits you in plain sight down Beckenham high street
The pit at the back for your kids to go batty in
Entices the spectrum of lively South London in.

 

 

 

about: Deli nene

The Last Word

These fucking fuckers
Fucking up our lives
For their personal stake
In our political state
Sucking our lives dry
Leading fates awry
Leaving fears to dry

And this comment’ry
That comedy
Which tries to make it seem alright
Is now as bad
And ignorant
As the fuckers so merrily fucking us
So shame on me
for plugging in
For staying tuned and trying
How sorely fucked the feeling is
As wit washes over this fucking
It’s us,
it’s you,
it’s me
That’s really surely fucking up
I hardly ever knew the game
Yet know that I’m now
Royally f**ked

 

She says different

This isn’t mixed messages
She only sends out one
It’s long and convoluted
And sits uneasy on the tongue
But
It’s just the same
It always is…
Her conciliatory song
That i love you
That I’m a little bit worried
That she’s not sure who’s right
Nor what is wrong
As I waste what we’ve been given
Charting courses, this stagnant race,
As we writhe in guilt
Or fake and wait,
consumed in lies through lost nights due embrace
Her voice as calm as stone
Embittered, pleading not be left alone
There is a light that glances us
In loves fine spirals
Leaving some sweet trace…

Your Music of Play

Hum you hum
As you break the bricks
Building your buildings
And cracking your tracks
I love listening
As you do what you do
Dreaming big dreams
And making amazing
The trains, the robots
The castles and cars
A world in our front room
Stories tall in stars

Lostening

We blink at each other
thru some fug of confusion
The slow eyeball roll
to a grasp for conclusion
I hear your noise distant
As when wisps of mists cloud
All the words that you say
And I blink in ascent

Some time some time ago
we sang the same lyrics
Your accented verbs
lit my mind with loves fire
Attuned to the vibrant chords
Lept from your full lips
I wondered the musical
majesty of breath

Yet here we sit side by side
Tone deaf and mystified
Straining to glean
just a semblance of sense
I hear you, don’t get me wrong,
My ears are not yet deaf
What i hear is not quite though what your tongue likely meant

Blackfriars Vocal

The monthly Open Mic poetry session, run at Blackfriars Settlement, is on again! 

This time we are sneaking two into June though!

Come join in the celebration of words in the soul of Southwark on Friday 2 June. Doors 6.30 – mic goes live at 7pm! The next one will be Friday 30 June, same times!

You are welcome to read your own, share your favourites or simply let the poems lift you with their unique take on our lives.

Find out more at facebook.

Get Ready

Let’s get ready to shine a light
Here in the dark of our internet night
Plotting a coup in anonymous spaces
Driving the ire of inhumane wastes

Let’s shine a light on the core of these themes
Muster battallions through click-friendly meme’s
Inform those who’s backgrounds are hiding bones
Ransack the media, hammer points home

There is a real fight on our hands right here
Yes, unsettling but evermore clear
Some old-guard blackguards are keeping mum
Derailing all threats from your education

Let’s get ready to light the fuse
Shine our minds bright on this crippling ruse
Alas there’s slim chance of your own Eldorado
P’raps excuse tho’ to ignite future-wise souls

Flammarion

By Anonymous – Camille Flammarion, L’Atmosphère: Météorologie Populaire (Paris, 1888), pp. 163, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=318054

From the mouths of babes

Plastic dolls

My daughter’s dolls have got no clothes
I’m trying not to freak
And when I ask her why
She smiles
and makes the wretches speak

I do not like the clothes I have
They really ain’t for me
OK I say to placate her (them?)
Yet she continues this ventriloquy

It’s all the pink and gold she pines
I don’t like it never have
It’s what they sell in the shops I share
Well they should sell more choice – she says – Daaaaad!

 

Love is the drug

heart-drugs

Love is the drug I hear them say
Can I get it in a tablet or a nasal spray?
Love is the drug and it’s messing with my brain
Your detox did today but I’ll backslide again

Let me get caned in your cuddles
Do a gram of wet-eye-stares?
Or maybe try some methalove;
Warm and close but not as scary?

Love is the drug, light afterglow
My shot in the arm, your ultimate dose
My sweet narcotic of nuzzling necks
A sure-fire hit for knock-out sex

Love is the drug
The balm
The pain
Our tearing loss
Our need to do it again

From the soaring highs of love’s hot fix
Where blood rushes blindly inciting my psychosis.
We lie it’s forever. I believe it’s what hurts.
An infinite comedown and it’s aching our hearts.