Tag Archives: poem poetry

HAVEN’T GOT (A CLUEDO)

HAVEN’T GOT (A CLUEDO)

deduced it in no
time

saw it clearly it was
either Plum that went
shapeshifter
eliding, gliding
between
the kitchen (pots
still greasy)
and the games room

turning up at the table
through
the fourth wall

or could be
Mustard, that die-
hard Imperialist with the
old Western front Vickers
water
-cooled machine gun

defending the pantry against
whatever
latest horde of savages

took out Ms Scarlett and
Ms White

ebony and ivory in
their delightful negligees

wandering aimless into
his line of sight
in persuance of
their tryst

or Green could have done it
C of E but some old Catholicism
at root there adding a twist of hemlock

to that holy wine
(cardinal
not working out, we’ll
smoke that
one out
bring in another)

or someone in the garage
with rolls royce style
handy wrench call murder murder

a spade a spade

a wrench a bloody brain-
fragment spattered wrench

and me
with my candle card yet again

with
such bad eyesight
cannot make out a thing

ODDER EVEN

ODDER EVEN

your biology
is odd

feels smells, looks,
tastes, appears odd

so
   despite what I did write
you are reading this differently

as for me
my DNA is more
screwed up
than yours

     I am far less viable
have evolved into poetry

my whole
biology
          so much odder
even odder, odder even

and even as I write even
as you read

I am changing everything
making it odder,
different completely

WORD (ABOUT MINDING MY WORDS)

WORD (ABOUT
MINDING MY WORDS)

got reported
Gestapoed

someone snitched
on me to
the Institute of Poetry

which
      in its wisdom
commissioned a
whole delegation

sent
   them trooping
in through my door

here to
   “have a word” came
the proclamation
riot act read
   right
     of intervention

silly me
to have expected a style-fest
as for apparel,
sequins and feathers, breast-.
plates and
    leather

and, Oh My God, hats:
stetsons and Panamas, hombergs,
berets and trilbies
(the odd
    Mr Plod helmet kind
of thrown in
for
    good measure)

something akin to
the madcap extremes of a
Gaultier or Mugler

not this gravel gray, matt
black sundae of
   mundane business
managers

well-suited to shut down,
perfect for
      repression

apt for no-nonsense
straight talk laying
down the law
             demandibg
I cease
and desist promptly

arrow-straight and professional
telling me
       without slightest latitude
opening
for latitude, ambiguity,
space to maneuver

to
  mind my
words

if I do know what is good for me,
care about the future of poetry

DEGREE

DEGREE

I stole a read
pilfered some ideas
thoughts
   I thought figured
I might
recycle

stick them somewhere
stick them here

not as if you
know them already, read
them yourself
might recognize

turn me in
get me arrested
have
    me executed

banned from
the library

complain
to the authorities
receive a medal
even honorary degree

third
degree

LIMIT

LIMIT

you promised yourself
a world above suffering

secure. self-
contained,
complete

which is
what you have achieved
you do believe

sitting here
    the golden light
glistening of everything
in your world
that is itself gold

whilst the planet
sick at heart
    grumbles bitterly
seems set
to turn its back

it has seen this all before
many times but
never
  to this extremity

steadies itself;
gathers its resources

ready to test this philosophy
to the limit

LOVER

LOVER

is
love

distinctive?
instinctive?

base?
superstructure?

merely lip service?
meandering midnight
love poem
   that simply
   never ends?

let me
stand back a bit
mirror this
big boudoir moment

(purely
   for the big picture
no
   ulterior motive)

your beauty such
that taking one look
gives
  me such confidence
for the continuity
of the species

unless
   it evolve as regards
shape and form
to obviate
  all discussion
of humanity’s preservation

and so
   you stand appalled
expecting so much more
expecting something different

and me
in hot debate
with her
     nonetheless.

Queen of
Confessional Poetry herself

no
   love poem
in the air

I ask for the words
for sauce
   but get insouciance

not a hint of nuance, colour,
love code and
all its protocols

Hallmark of
all that a love poem should be

having
   lost so much at love
so
  bereft of energy

INCH

INCH

slowly
inch by inch

ripple
by ripple

you and me imagining
we are edging
closer to Heaven

closer to the truth
(whatever
that might be)
about the Universe
about ourselves

in this post-everything
world we currently inhabit
post-modern, post-structural,
post-punk, post-capitalist,
psychedelic,
        funkadelic

where
    you and me
doing the best that we can
at every turn failing

focused on
     completing
this ancient ritual (at
least its
bare essentials

basic equation)

QUESTION TIME

QUESTION TIME

great question
(such that it
should be
bolded, italicised,
written
in capitals)

let me
do it justice

let me
work on it
sit for a week
            a month

a lifetime
ten centuries

hopefully coming up
with an answer
summoned
       from below
dredged
from above
(the kind
    of deep break-through
that might well promise
to change everything)

ideally
by which time
(so many aeons elapsed)
whatever Dawn’s
upon me
greatis by no means
completely redundant

the world
    our world (if
it still be)

unrecognisable
gloriously, horribly,
indescribably altered

now
     to proceed

what
was it again

       that question

great question?

QUITE

QUITE

it doesn’t matter
if you can’t
do your taxes

fly a plane
or even drive a car

make love to
a man
   to a man
or lover non-
gender specific

none of
these things

matter
at all

left-brained, right-brained
schizophrenic, dyslexic

pro-
universal peace
or hungering for
thermonuclear war

everything will be fine
as long as you
never
   attempt poetry

as is
     well known, and
absolutely historically proven,

starting
   to write poetry
is the universal mistake
found throughout the galaxy

incontestably quite
the biggest disaster of all