POEMS
April 5 2008 Yesterday I used my nationwide bus pass for the first time The driver punched me out a ticket and wanted no money. Free at last ...
Love Letter Whiskey and ginger, Van Morrison, A log on the burner And I’m feeling
Human Without Tag My gender is male I rage like a bull Find it hard to pull My horns in at vital moments...
Open Letter To Myself The passing is of your own making my friend, The unanswered letters The lost and twice changed addresses...
Fresh Jazz You are listening to fresh jazz Not dried up, hard, refrigerated jazz Not deep frozen Take care to defrost jazz Not “What is that smell coming...
Convenience Music Buddy Holly is playing in The prize winning public toilets Of a Lichfield car park. Now that’s a long way from Texas And seriously mainstream.
Elemental I need a poet she said Like you can just pluck stars from the sky And mix monsoons with cherry blossom...
It’s a Road Thing This is really crazy Three thirty in the morning Sleepless And not even a hard on. I should at least...
Know Nothing The thing is She thought she didn’t know anything Not when it came to stories But she knew people who did. She told me how I ought to speak to so and so...
Lifeless I remember having breakfast Pouring out a cup of tea Opening up the paper And glancing at page thre...
Suffer Little Children Sometime between us taking them out of the factories And the end of the second world war Children used to play in the street. But I was a new Elizabethan, six years old...
Birdland Writing in red I wasn’t even born When that horn Blew away a generation And if the movie news is anywhere near...
Old Heathens Old heathens walk into teetotal households And demand whiskey, Lust after unattainable women, Refuse to keep their fantasies to themselves...
Eating Children For Breakfast My father clad in number eights Dug his own drain from the Nissen Hut Five miles inside a land fit for heroes. Still in my perambulator Offspring of the occupation...
Make Love Not War or Motorways You can tell me it’s about black and white Till you’re red in the face And you can tell me it’s about your race But I can’t stand the pace Of misdirected hatred...
