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#466
Yesterdaylovehealera hand out of blindnessto touchwords whispereda place to bememories will cometrutha need for silence(but not forced) atonementknowing8 May 1977 This is the second poem I wrote...
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#414
Street GamesIDon’t look at them. Don’t look at their faces. Because you’ll see thereWhat you’re really like. Don’t feel sorry for them: They don’t deserve it. Don’t touch them: Just leave them alone....
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#467
Street Games IIIasleepin the corner of a lavatorystanding in wretchedness, hat in hand; sagging like ancient fleshadjoining the body. IIan army of refugeeswhose wounds are their own weaknesses;...
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#474
Street Games IIIIWe are their past; an ashen menageriesmouldering in side streetsand time-worn tenements, whose doorways gape like open wounds:– burnt offerings to the City. IIWe call them children,...
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#517
W.C.After entering the cubiclethe door is bolted. Unbuckling my jeansI lower them past my knees. There was no curtain or grill –somehow I thought there might be. In silence I sitdoling out...
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#511
DriverDriver shifts into top and acceleratesas if time were dying on a fast fuse. The lightsof the approaching cars areblurs in the night. Blurs passing blurs in the night. Worlds of horizonspass under...
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The Bell Jar
I felt very still and empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo – Sylvia Plath, The Bell JarOf all the mental illnesses that we’ve...
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A Killer in Profile
“Good old-fashioned police work, Bob,” Collison said with heavily overdone enthusiasm. “Nothing like it.” – Ash Larton,A Killer in ProfileI’ve read virtually no crime fiction apart from William...
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#497
Time IITime is a dog which haunts you – is a wolf which stalks you – hangs, like guilt, round your neck dragging you down to the grave. Like Light it allows you to...
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PunksThe bass playerpicks from the hip, stands splay-legged, clings to his phallic guitar. Street-erotic, the lead singerfalls on the microphone, holds it like a woman, leers lupine at the audience....
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Commentary on commentaries
Never explain what you do. It speaks for itself. You only muddle it by talking about it. – Shel SilversteinI’ve mixed feelings about commentaries. I’ve said before that a poem which needs notes to...
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#454
Rite...and in an inflamed skythe sun bled light, and the ground openedits lips in parchedvoiceless protest. Trees are lungsare gasping forbreath, and my thoughtsare phlegmy and ancientin concept:– I...
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#505
PoemsPoems are near naked thoughts: forwe will not takeoff our clothes sincewe are ashamedof our bodies. 7 January 1979 ‘Poems’ was first published in First Time #18 in 1990. It is the first poem in...
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#508
FutilityIn many waysLife is like the bedin which we fake love(revealing ourselvesalong with our bodies) after which we liefoetal and impotent. In Death we leave the bed, still warm, stained with...
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The First Bad Man
Real comes and goes and isn’t very interesting. – Miranda July, The First Bad ManQuirky. It’s an… odd word. When Kate Bush first arrived on the scene she was called “quirky” and it felt like a good...
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#489
Les ÉtrangersIa preoccupation with anti-heroes: almost faithless voids and phantoms ... other trees struck by lightning, impotent as daylight –residues; threads forgotten. IIunlearning ... life-long...
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#498
City SceneAnna broke downby the back door of Arnotts –she slipped to the pavementand cried. Everyone simply passed her bythinking that she was drunk. Some threw money. 22 October 1978 I’ve never...
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#501
BirdsThe eyesof Menare filledwith birds. Often thesefalter andfall. The birdsstand for Hopeand for Freedom. 22 December 1978 I’ve always been drawn towards the parabolic and the epigrammatic. I can...
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#515
For my FatherDutifully I dial the number and ask for him. He answers andbrick by brick we build a conversation. Progressively the pausesbecome more frequentand intense. Finally we replace our...
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#472
ConcordCame with the night; screams... Men with broken arms, unable to lift their razorsto slit their throats, are banging their heads againstwalls and crying. A Civil Servant saw themand wrote a...
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