Round glass

Square chair
Long table
Loud noise
Smoke cloud
Blue sky
Pink sun
Pink cloud
Dust cloud

Round glass
Green grass
Pink bloom
Sweet song
Sweet dusk
Quiet road
Long garden
Square table
Plate clatter

Round glass
Half done
Round mug
Hot tea
Low hum
Late flock
Soft giggle
Cool breeze
Lazy glide

Round glass
Still trees
Still air
Scared flap
Calm coo
Closed bud
Low sun
Dark sly
Quiet calm

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

Back From the West

On the 1st of October.
Back thru’ the back streets and roads I once knew.
Honest: they spot me,
And point and shout over…
But these aren’t the places or people I knew.

Soon seas of grey skies
Roll in and roll over!
Soon loud street parties, of glam, roll in view.
Leaving me breathless –
Just like I remember –
Still trying to banish the old,
With the new.

I feel the difference:
Like I’m not a member.
Like my place out here, is now up for review.
The sun will soon burn up
These clouds of the winter.
Yes, I’m waiting here for the great sky to blue!

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

Autumn 2016

Apparently it’s autumn in Otham
Though nobody’s told the sun
A parched carpet of crunchy leaves
Adding the “Shh” to our school run

Crunchy leaves

Pop

You know, he’s the most enormous person there is in the whole wide world.

Where is he?

The music is fading.
Truck’s stopped and everyone else is getting off, entwined in mums and dads,
so where is he?
You glance from big grinning face to big laughing head… Nowhere!

Try not to panic!
It feels empty now.
Gripping hold, tight, to the bar.
Afraid to stand, you fight back those early tears
and bite your bulging bottom lip.

Two huge hands reach in.
Click. You’re free; those hands, in your armpits, thrusting you skywards!
A reassuring bass voice
“Hello Twinkle! You enjoy that?”

“Dadeeeeee” you squeal,
beaming your best tooth-filled Beam back,
as he hoists you snuggly onto one arm and presses you against his wall of chest, for a carry!

Now that you’re three,
your arms easily encircle his tree-trunk neck
and you both sail along past other tempting stalls and flashing rides.
“Dinner soon” He harrumphs, close to your forehead
as you quietly de-panic and enjoy the comfort of the best ride in the show
– your best daddy in the whole wide world.

Party at Aunty Kayes 1932

Party at Aunty Kayes 1932

Today

Love it: ‘cause you know it won’t last.
Live it: ‘cause yesterdays are best.
Last it: Be the one who’s happiest.

March on
Be strong
Recall where you went so wrong.
Be bold
Be joy
And true to every girl and boy.

’cause we’re all still kids
when the chips are down
and need a lift when
brows carry old frowns.

Moon through Sycamore blossom

Early Spring Breeze

Ooo tinned breeze of early spring
How your guts do shake us
Flattering trees so bare (so rare)
Brushing back branches
Tumbling hair

Ooo tinned breeze of early spring
Waking and trembling our slumber
What do you prove
With abandon removed
As tomorrow sees roads blocked by timber

Ooo tinned breeze of early spring
Sent swift on us from Northern air
Where is spring’s warm touch?
The calm we love so much?
When will – your point made – you play fair?

Ooo tinned breeze of early spring
We know you mean no harm
But how you crash,
Smash, Lawn furniture
Still raises our alarm.

magnolia-198138_1920

Beck Beat Poetry

Open mic

Things need to change
Complain complain complain
Lets do something about it
Somebody already is
Well lets do it as well
It’s not going to change anything, nothing ever does
Lets do more
Nobody will come
Lets do it differently
They’re busy doing their own thing
Lets do it in the dark
Nobody will care
Lets do it with people we don’t know
There’s already too much of it out there
Lets do it in Beckenham
With a microphone
In a bookshop.


Having spent much time reading many of your words on screen, I recently got a hankering for some real, in-the-flesh poetry. A few events in London and some irregular You-Tubing later and my appetites whetted… Thankfully, the thoughtful wordsmyths at The Beckenham Bookshop agreed to support my urge to witness more of this on my own doorstep. Ergo…

Here’s your invitation to a free, Open Mic, Poetry event in Beckenham, London.
Tuesday 1 March, 6.30PM-8PM.
Sign up on the door for a 7 O’Clock start, with each artist given up to 5 minutes airtime (depending on numbers), you will enjoy a poetic reception at The Beckenham Bookshop and see the start of a regular, ‘local’, poetry event.

the first open mic poster

the first open mic poster

Just before the end of night

Got to sleep I so tired – got to
close my sleepy eyes try to shut
down rest now lay down get some
night right on my side

Every heavy blink I fight seconds
eat away this night fighting
morning time from bright light
sleepy eyes!

Modern problems #1

Some body who you never knew

Has promised to suck your bits Blue

For the price of a text

They do what you expect

And then, for followers, leave a review.

Morning Tongue

Morning tongue my furry pink pal
It’s time now to wriggle
and rise up, yes now
Are you ready to lick on at life
and click time
In my warm cosy head
Are you fine with this mind?

So my morning tongue, bit swollen:
Furred with our parties of night
last night
In today’s clean morning promise
Get ready to translate –
To curl and roll over
To cut and rebut
And be nice

Tarpaulin

This is midnight calling
Come in sleeper number four
Hello this is midnight calling
They’re waiting at your door

Sleeper four your time is up
They’re ready with your dreams
These people get paid by the hour
And you’re wasting precious bleems

Now sleeper that is quite enough
You’ve had your time awake
Turn in now please or be prepared
To lose your dreaming space

Well thank you now you’re seeing sense
You’re dropping off at last
Your time is pretty wasted though
So do your dreaming fast

*

Wake up! Get up! That’s it time’s up
Come on your time has gone
Stop moaning and get up you bum
You heard – your dreams’ now flown

This is midnight calling
Come in sleepers five and six
Hello this is midnight calling
Now’s time for your dream fix

Numerics

This is how many cigarettes I’ve had
This is how many cigarettes I’ve had
Why do you think it makes me feel glad
by counting the number of smokes I’ve had?

This is the number of drinks I’ve drunk
This is the number of drinks I’ve drunk
Why do you continue to wallow in past
by counting the number I’ve times I’ve been drunk?

This is the number of women I’ve had
This is the number of women I’ve had
Why this bombardment of guilt that you try
as I recite the number of women I’ve laid?

And, this is the amount which I love you
This is the amount which I love you
Does it make you feel better inside
knowing how much I say that I love you?

Moved

In pseudo-darkness
we scrapped and flapped,
catching streaky rays of light –
odd fragments of the sun.

We sat there –
this living hole –
glimpsed life through blinking eyes,
through a smoke so dense with grins,
so heavy and so wide.

As our hours
flicked,
slowly
on –
as our eyes flickered
idly around,
as our liquid minds closed down,
cold.
I think, here in this night, we’ll drown!

Slumped at dawn
I woke with burns.
I woke!

Fire’s here…
But not –
this heat is sun, is light
is hot.
So clumsily we rise,
we yawn;
we eat and leave this scummy hole.
We open out into the morn.

Cheerily? No…
But brighter for light,
glad to escape the weights of last night –
the long times spent listening
to low and lowly noises:
outside sounds of dark,
of confusion.

We’re out, we smile
we disperse
for the day.

Green people from Roman arena london

Lies Before the Storm

Remorse addles my memories
Pocketing each bliss afternoon
With the passions of night
The crimson rivers of my beautiful flesh
Lap the poison down
Sweet honey

Where do I want to be?
With my bad habits
and bad thoughts
Racking brains daily for other ways to see…
Rocking my bed hotly
(With hot rocks you understand
not hot rocking!)

My beautiful body
And rugged face
Lies blatant and huge
As this heart fights to keep pace.

Random Dinosaurs from Crystal Palace

Day Light

(for) Morning our sun
breaks early, shines fierce –
lighting up all.
Drying puddles of tears.
Heralds each day begun,
the end of night fears!

So time moves along,
wakes new eyes to ideas,
lends broke hearts a new song;
shouts love on deaf ears.
I ponder the motions
through this mind so naive
so wrapped up with questions –
how I’m s’posed to achieve?

The glorious sun
catches dreams, feeds the breeze
keeps my loves all-day-warm
yet I long for a piece…
from here I spy a gloom
which promises ease
I fight with these notions,
to stand here on my feet.

A wonder undone
every thought a disease?
Where’s the answer I long
what to do to appease?
As the rising horizon
comes again from the east
where are all my dreams flowing?
Is there peace in this sleep?

At last my mind’s numb
floats in hoops and queries
another sunny day gone
Left my head just memories.
Yet, morning our sun
breaks early shines fierce.

Lurve Thang!

I am so into you
I am so into you
Like the sky is blue on sunny afternoons
Like our blood flows red as I look in your eyes
Like this bird song when I call your name
I am so into you
so into you.

Aspiration

I’m gonna get so stoned that
I
don’t
breathe
right
I
don’t
think
straight and
I can’t talk
bright

I’m gonna get so stoned till I can’t see clear
So I
can’t walk
fast
where
my mind
is
near.