Poet's Tea

At eight PM

2006-08-10T20:07:00.000+01:00

At eight
The weight
of pumped air,
hung in the space between your eyebrows

Lifts.

Reflections;

Collected,
dry-spell rain drops in a fuzzy wall above the eyes,

Stretch out suddenly,
As if rediscovering their legs
After a long cramped journey.

Another day at the office.

Sediments and so on

2006-07-07T13:41:00.000+01:00

Pebbles on the coastline
Jump and dive
Like notes
Scrawled on pages of music.

Beachfronts
With huge, smooth-down ellipses
As big as your hand,
Cracking a salt-surf baseline.

On the edge of our island;
Surf percussions.

From boulders, chipped with ancient bones
To charcoal-grey sharpened sand;
Hot like tarmac in the August sun.

More Cheese Dreams

2006-07-04T17:13:00.000+01:00

Flying in carriages
Skimming the crackled, sunburnt top
Of a forest I've never seen;

Another wedding dream.

Screaming fights on bleach-bright sandpaper ground,
That have no sound
But wheels
Skidding to a layby.

Who needs soaps?
I mumble,
eyes adjusting
to the strobes of morning

Billboards

2006-05-23T22:16:00.000+01:00

Is she divided, in your eyes
Piece, by packaged piece;
A parcel of cut-price merchandise?

Theorists pick apart
This social trait
To objectify - contagious at birth.

No notes compare though
To your fixated stare,
Up-down, her legs - a stranger on a lunchbreak.

Unknown to you, But for
A tiny glimmer of flesh in a concrete afternoon;

Another walking billboard.

Lunchtime

2006-05-16T16:50:00.000+01:00

Blind slats
Slice the sky
behind the rain streaked pane.

Last week the clouds teased us with their absence;
Glimmers of sunshine lunchtimes,
Filled with layers of baking office workers
Carpeting the park.

April shower

2006-04-25T21:39:00.000+01:00

The sky's innards
tumble,
new leaves
breaking the rain's fall.

The Land that Fun Forgot

2006-04-24T18:26:00.000+01:00

The land that fun forgot;
Our minds
Temporarily
Rot;
Cascading enthusiasm onto our crumpled paper pile.

Fun,
Had loitered for a while
Making a cup of steaming caffeine
Slipping from ear-to-ear
Dodging
The sheer
Weight
of office politics,
Policing its every breath

Its death,
Immanent
with every utterance of
(Justthoughti’dgiveyoutheheadsupandthinkoutsidethebox)
Slight words;
Taking up the space

Shunting out
Thought.

Face to Face (my not very long conversation with John Hegley)

2006-04-13T16:38:00.000+01:00

Face to Face
At the front of the queue,
My new
CD
Proferred
To your poised pen;

Could've said;

"Hey John,
Loved the show!
You got the flow;
the know-how
to wow"

"Hey pal,
I'm diggin' your style
Been a fan for a while
Got a sizeable pile
Of books;

I'm hooked."

Says me:
"Do you think
That pen
will work on this CD?"

Says you:
"I think so"

Muddle makes the world go round: An aside to Mr Emerson

2006-04-13T16:33:00.000+01:00

Muddle.

Bad decisions and
Clouded vision

With
Bystanders directions
Left Aside;

Dropped,
In the aftermath.

Muddle
Trips you;

Brambles
On a country path

But muddle
Makes the world go round:

You sometimes see much clearer from the ground.

Haiku

2006-03-29T14:12:00.000+01:00

Thanks to Roger over at Searching for Blue Sea Glass for reminding me how cool haikus are. Go and write one now!

More about Haikus here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Haiku

Here's mine:

My warm mug of tea
Perches still atop my desk
Soothing the morning

Laps

2006-03-28T13:53:00.000+01:00

The ball
Clipclops
Across a damp net,
Drying off
In the mid-march sun.

Footsteps
Circle the park
A gravel quickbeat
Down
In
Time.

Lone lunchers
Brave puddled benches,

The Spring's flowers
Squeeze through the dirt,

And round we go again.

sinking...slowly

2006-03-02T22:35:00.000Z

blogger doesn't like me taking my time over poems... I finished my sinking poem just now and it's appeared down the page on 23rd february. Ah, technology, always in such a rush....

does that count as time travel?

Watch this as well

2006-03-02T22:27:00.000Z

http://www.bbc.co.uk/newtalent/newanimator/teatotal.shtml

Stumbled upon this animation - you need sound. It's an animation by a finalist in the BBC New animator award 2005.

mmm nice cuppa.

Watch This

2006-02-24T14:39:00.000Z

Pink - the first time I saw a clip of this I thought Pink had gone to the dark side but thankfully this is a characteristically angry scream at the pop industry attitude to women and the collusion that goes on with this objectification and (performing being) dumb.

go here and click on 'watch the stupid girls video' http://music.aol.com/artist/main.adp?artistid=365124

you'll have to put up with an advert beforehand but it's worth it.

Favourite lyric:
Disease's growing, it's epidemic
I'm scared that there ain't a cure
The world believes it and I'm going crazy
I cannot take any more
I'm so glad that I'll never fit in
That will never be me
Outcasts and girls with ambition
That's what I wanna see
Disasters all around
World despaired
Their only concern
Will they **** up my hair

Sinking

2006-02-23T18:14:00.000Z

London's streets are sinking
I spot patches
Sucked downwards like fruit pips in a concrete milkshake

As the wheels beneath me
Kick up flecks of London's surface

I catch them;
Sinking drains,

Cracking the flesh
of the city's skin.

If you ever feel compelled

2006-02-15T17:37:00.000Z

Eyes
Flourescent-drunk
and fixed
on the screen ahead,
you etch your name;
scraping plastic shards into the bin

Claiming your territory
Marking the boundaries
of
Desk-top rivalries.

Branded and owned,
It sits before you,

A testament to the numbing rain of strip lighting

waiting for unruly sheets of ink
To snap up,

Keeping it together.

Awake

2006-02-14T17:22:00.000Z

Funny how
The night cars
Slip by,

An urban tide,
Drowning the night.

Low Flying Planes

2006-02-11T17:20:00.000Z

Low-flying
Overheard on Saturdays,
Brings me,
(like
landing on two feet
when needle-shocks
fly, like swarms of swords
up your leg)
To summer
Lawn-mowers;
Pacing,
Rhythmically on shorn lawns,
Sponges;
Thown at overheated althletes
Dragging themselves through the city centre;
The Great West Run.

These idle distractions
Keep me afloat
On the pale guinness head
of my thoughts.

Half-light shaded memories
Fit, reassuringly

Like stabilisers

Armbands
To stop you slipping under.

Just Managing

2006-02-07T18:20:00.000Z

Storming past,
A shining bullet from an oiled efficient gun,
You take charge.

Organising rivulets of rain
Neatly, two-by-two to
Keep the stormclouds neat.

Your every step
Meticulously coincides,
Accurate, with your daily strategy.

You tried with time, I know
Filing it away in ticsandtocks;

You missed a bit though;

Not like you;

Last year they sneaked an extra second in,
Right at midnight;
Just when you weren't looking.

Left Over

2006-02-05T19:15:00.000Z

Every fine thread
That ties
This cluttered patchwork
Of past collisions
ferments
The thick lense
infront of our eyes.

Leftovers
Crash, like cluttered-room trippings,
Catching us, unawares,

With the tiniest strand.

Mirror Break

2005-12-07T13:11:00.000Z

Had a bit of a lapse in writing of late - been concentrating hard on the course... I've been pondering the worldly ways of these two delightful specimens of entertainment for an essay on gender & media. Their very appearance on the screen induces me into fits of screaming and swearing at the telly. I have attempted to channel this energy into a shape - the product of this is below...

Mirror Break

Like good friends, almost.
Their arms wrapped
Protectively
Around your empty shell.

Looking back
From a circled angle;
Noting splits
In your resistant armour,
They tear your flesh from bone;
Limb, by imperfect limb
To remodel you;

A reflection
To be proud of.

It's all tied up in pages

2005-11-08T18:08:00.000Z

Wrapped up
In half-wakefulness

Lies the rubber band
That holds you together.

Each new discovery
Stretches the sinews,
As they pull, paling, to tearing point.

Is madness the break,
Or the moment just before;
snapping
in the stillness.

Beenleigh Blue

2005-10-25T18:03:00.000+01:00

Eating Stilton before bed gives you more vivid dreams. Not only is this reported in the news but I found Beenleigh Blue (a delicious blue devon cheese) to prove the point on Saturday night. I would have taken some more home with me, but having been stricken by a stomach bug on Sunday night, (non cheese related) cheese was far from my mind on my travel home.
More about British cheese here.

Beenleigh Blue
Your blue scribbles
Weaved their way
through my subconcious last night
Dreams in real-time,
Colour, full surround sound and even
Smell;
They leapt
Through my imagination

The halllucinagen of Devon's table,
You gave me your hit

With one sweep of a knife
On a warm walnut slice.

Tea for just me, please

2005-10-22T16:13:00.000+01:00

I spotted one other
Dining alone
Not lonesome though,
You - cradling your phone;
Animal-like in its responses,
Me - scribbling intently;
Cradling my thoughts.

Itsu

2005-10-22T16:11:00.000+01:00

London's glitterati-catchers
Perch,
Elbow-to-elbow
On close for comfort hard-backed stools;
Surveying the sushi.

Critical Mass Poem

2005-10-22T16:07:00.000+01:00

As by Johan's request, and also in honour of this week's upcoming halloween ride...

Critical Mass

At half
Six
Or thereabouts
The mingled metal mesh
Of cables, Cogs and wheels

Takes off

Into London's inner capileries.
Pulsating, pedal-powered bass
Pumps through sidestreets
To the melody of whistles, bells
and the call
to join
The heady swarm of space;
Slippng by,

Sanctity

Inside the rush of lurid glowing traffic.

Critical Mass Flyer...

2005-10-12T21:25:00.000+01:00

If you cycle in London get yourself to this month's critical mass - last month the MET issued a letter to some riders, stating that CMers need to inform the police of the route 6 days in advance - clearly against one of the best things about critical mass - its leaderless, fluid, unpredictable, fun!

Here's my lovely flier anyway - if you've got a bike then come along! :o)

The Butcher's Door

2005-10-05T17:42:00.000+01:00

I was half their height, then,
Gripped
Onto the empty arm of a woollen jumper
Elongated by years of stretching.

We stepped over the metal partition
A large, looming door within a door
Onto the street,

Off for a walk,

Behind the opening
Like
The devious child who cheats at Hide-And-Seek;

He stood,
All straight and stern
In camoflage that stood out like my yellow boots;

Out of place somehow.

It was the first time I'd seen a gun

He held it, cradled,
eyes wide with anticipation,

watching for the enemy,
As ducked shoppers
Made their way through saturday.

Sandwiched

2005-09-26T13:13:00.000+01:00

Soft cheese
Seeps into the pores
of slenderly-sliced tomato.

Nestled in the crackling contours
of my costcutter carrier-bag;
Lunch.

Accompanied by a warm mug

The filling

between the morning's climb
And the afternoon decsent.

Isabella and the pot of basil

2005-09-20T17:37:00.000+01:00

Was inspired by the opera of the same name I went to see last night in the Hungarian cultural centre in covent garden. Based on "Boccaccio's eerie tale of forbidden love" the story has inspired many an artist (whether it be paint, music or poetry) before, including Keats and Holman Hunt.

well here's my inspiration, based on the themes more than the story.

How often have you,
with mournful eyes
hugged your pillow close
Until its cheap and foamy contours
Seemed to twitch with life

Looked out of grimy bus windows
As rainy paths trickled their
unforgiving trails across your view
Replaying words by syllable
inflection
Until they are no longer formed
But the babbled rumble of the dampened wheels.

That world exists in every eye, you know
by which we stand,
a pasty backdrop
Treading in the sand.

TickTockTickTockTick

2005-09-16T09:00:00.000+01:00

Apparently the race is on.

Don't you love the fact that the papers love to present hashed up old stories as new cutting edge news? Tut Tut, they say, women want to have it all but har de har, nature's not having any of it. Unless you believe Dr Dunsan or other bits of research which always have different conclusions.

Strange how the media is giving us the 'revelation' that childbirth is more difficult after 35 -
Is it? It's not like it's been jammed down the throats of women in the 'Bridget Jones Generation' - (not too keen on that term, particularly after her appearing as such a hapless loser in the second film). Serves us right though, eh - not only are we irresponsibly drinking our way to infertility (surely not) but we're also causing unemployment.

Stats seem to be wheeled out in any form for the desired result. Today I will start using 'evidence suggests' infront of everything... e.g "evidence suggests that Laura is going to have another cup of tea now" "Evidence suggests that it's lunchtime" etc.

I'll use my train journey this evening to pen a suitably annoyed poem on the subject for your perusal on monday when i return from the exciting climes of edinburgh..

And Now For Something Completely Different

2005-09-16T08:58:00.000+01:00

Found this on Graffiti Paparazzi.

High Table

2005-09-15T15:33:00.000+01:00

There are two bits of lyrics from a tune (Bring Your Own Bombs) going through my head:

Everybody is going to the party
Have a real good time
Dancing in the desert blowing up the sunshine

Why don't
presidents fight the war?
Why do they always send the poor?

Strange considering the first time I heard the tune I was in his car and thought it was all a bit loud and slightly scary as he was headbanging while driving down a country lane…

This lyric , in combination with a probable brief trip over to pay a critical mass visit to the arms traders dining at the Dorchester this evening leads to this…

High Table

The clouds have opened on you again
Soft rain, probing damp holes onto your suits.

Behind nightly shaded windows
You have your back to us.

From gilded menus you choose your rein;
Hard scythes
From bloodstained skies.

Rom-Com Dashes

2005-09-13T12:28:00.000+01:00

Go and have a peek at wordy bollocks - a dissertation abstract I found on romantic comedies (a terrible addiction I have)

I am attempting to wean myself off them (not believing in THE ONE or DESTINY I can't figure out from whence my addiction came) perhaps I will kill them off by analysing them in a dissertation for the course (two weeks to go)

Went to see The Business last night. Not a romantic comedy. The main impact of this has been a tendency to say such gems as 'get out of my fackin way you fackin driver' on my cycle in today. hmmmm. wasn't sure about the minxy girlfriend. Her character was definitely showing the old story Women-Who-Enjoy-Sex-Are-Definitely-Up-To-Something.

Next week I'll be returning to form and going to eat popcorn mixes infront of the new Pride and Prejudice - (from the creator of the rom com genre)

Come Together

2005-09-13T10:49:00.000+01:00

The street grew light
Placard fires where cars burn their rubber
round the remnants of the night's crowd

For one moment - insiders
stuck in togetherness

breathing
out.

Sparkly new additions

2005-09-09T14:36:00.000+01:00

Wiggle the mouse around. You know you want to. Look at that! Little blue sparkly bits!!

I've started a lingo listing over there on the right at the suggestion of Kristina as I've started using 'welany' after being mocked for using 'wicks' to describe things I like.

Let me know if you've got any word suggestions for the lingo listings...

Beautiful Days

2005-08-25T13:46:00.000+01:00

In a crowd of revellers
Half-clasping paper pints of devon ale
We lay
Flat-out under an ironed sun.

The wings, delicately sewn with glitter felt and ribbons
fluttered, agonisingly out of reach

We found we could fly without them though,
Feasting on a banquet of pies and plates of curried rice

The grass seems an altogether different hue from here
Plugged-in to an 8 hour neon fix
tapping
Away with the faeries.

Go And See This Film

2005-08-25T13:36:00.000+01:00

This Film; Yes.

I was revelling in the verse....

They say my cleaning is the best
They’ve ever known. But cleanliness of
course
Is an illusion. Those of us who clean
As a profession know the
deeper source
Of dirt is always there. You can’t get rid
Of it. You
cannot
hide or put a lid
On it, as long as human life is there.
It’s
us. The skin
we shed, and then the hair....

Liked most things about it, particularly the screenplay. if anyone would like to get me an starting of the course present get me the screenplay please!

only criticisms i had were that why why why didn't they get someone with an actual irish accent to play the aunt - her accent sounded like a combination of irish, scottish and jamaican. i couldn't cope with her long speech even though it was beautifully written.

also thought the end was a bit like a perfume advert. though the poetry more than made up for it, particularly the kitchen arguments.

Back on Bernie

2005-08-11T13:49:00.000+01:00

I tried my new cycle in today and was delighted to discover it only takes half an hour.

We raced
You, illuminated in yellow
Under a clouded morning sun
Me, vest and shorts, hopefull
For summer heat.

Pothole rally pedalling
Through slim lorry gaps
The glow reingnites itself on my dust coated face.

Tired commuters stare
blankly
From behind bus windows
Tinted
with layers of london;

Separated from the day
Dreaming in greyscale.

At street level
The wheels connect
Propelling me

Into the highrise arms of the city.

Tea is Better than Coffee

2005-08-10T17:14:00.000+01:00

Bit of a silly one today, in response to Ed's crazy mad asertion that tea is crap

Tea pleases me
It frees your mind
You'll not find me
with a cup of coffee
But TEA
Tea is another matter.
Good for a natter
The splatter
From Tea is less stainful
The Caffeine high less painful
With Tea
for me
It is a drink that can do no wrong
I break into song
When you bring me a cuppasomma that tea.

Sit and Wait

2005-08-08T12:25:00.000+01:00

This is a reaction to yet another prince charming is just around the corner publication thrust into the awaiting arms of the female population he's just not that into you is written by the sex and the city people (which disappoints me more as I actually like the series). In the spirit of knowing your enemy I should probably read it so if anyone would like to give me a present for the start of studying pick me up a copy....

Sit and Wait

Those knotted flowers that root themselves
In the deep of your underbelly,
That smile that eeks its way across your face
Before you've noticed,
These daydream patterns of words
stretching out for an unreachable definition,

Collect them,
like old cans
syrupy with cigarette butts and fermented drink.
Trash, that.
Walking, barefoot in the night
they might cut
into the soft curve of your foot.

Predators are listless
Crouching in the background
Waiting to put your languid lifeless limbs
into action.

Wait quietly now
Sudden movements
May scare them away.

Rock The Boat

2005-07-06T10:39:00.000+01:00

Recent news coverage made me wish I'd headed up to Edinburgh this week for the G8, Live8 bugged me, 'scream louder to make poverty history' planted in me a massive desire to smash stuff up. anyways here's my thoughts on the whole thing...

leap in your enclosed golden world
the redemption congratulates you
itself
raining down from heavenly skies.

a pat on the head
for the nearest
real-live-african
explodes you inside
in a bloodbath of bleeding hearts

draining into the mud.

summer's time

2005-07-06T10:29:00.000+01:00

summer's time jumps, erratic
miles of stones, stepping like bridges;
each-quickening-faster-to-the-day
than the last

sit back down and relax

you're rocking the boat.

summertime

2005-06-30T18:26:00.000+01:00

Torn trouser-hems
Gather grit
As I shuffle back to work
Through the afternoon's deluge.

Safe Convenient And Legal place to Park

2005-06-01T12:55:00.000+01:00

My driving lesson was cancelled today as someone who lives opposite my driving instructor did not follow the rules from the colourful driving book and parked infront of his drive, meaning he loses a days income and I forget everything I learnt last week. so I've penned an ode for the mysterious and unknown disruptor of our days.

S ince this
C ar must be V.I.P, to park right there in the shade of the tree
A light fair driver, and teacheth me
(L earner, still and humble to thee) - to
P ark! must I now follow your bravest start;

ignore the SCALP and go straight for the heart.

on silent

2005-06-01T12:45:00.000+01:00

For once
My hand holds away
Pauses, not to punch numbers;
Idly share my thoughts.
I hold them inside
Like a tight breath

and release them
slowly
savouring
each one

alone.

On the pier

2005-05-24T10:45:00.000+01:00

Barefoot
On the pier
Crabline in hand
Sun, baking
encrusted salt
on my neck.

light refracts between silver swarms of shrimps
evading my net

slipping out to sea.

Address

2005-05-23T21:30:00.000+01:00

Your labels are anonymous
I do not know your name
The only thing we share in common
Is the fact we came
here;

different age
stage
one
two

four

eight

of our lives.

I struggle to think of your face
Behind neatly packed envelopes

You are lost to me
Another blank expression
behind neatly folded scarves.

Under your skin

2005-05-18T11:06:00.000+01:00

There are hums
You never hear
Until they stop.

Background stress
Capitalising every breath

A solomn shout
Under the surface.

Fads

2005-05-16T10:39:00.000+01:00

They flare
In patches of six to
eight
weeks
Distracting me momentarily
From the usual.
All-consuming and particular
They engulf the sleep food work sleep patter of life
with a shadowless light
Only found in one track thought.

Here we are. Possibility.

Pause

and on again.

Tea Time again

2005-05-04T17:27:00.000+01:00

A rattle of collected mugs
Harmonious over the air conditioning roar
Like a pack-call to converse,
Meet human contact
Words briefly traded
As teabags are duly dunked
removed
dunked
squeezed
and stirred.

warm break taken
back at the desktop
a circle stains my paper
like the imprint made
by staring at the sun.

my words

2005-04-19T21:29:00.000+01:00

what can you tell from someone's added words on a mobile? Here's mine, what are yours?........ (I've had this phone since March)

...
Cack
candice
boogie
boogying
Coolio
covent
couldnt
crepes
brighton
brixton
Crooner
crooner
fave
diesal
elusive
dokey
Doris
Fraid
Fuckin
Ewan
exeter
gareth
Havent
Hiya
homies
housies
Hows
hows
Groovalicious
Groovy
groovy
kaff
lizzie
knackered
lse
jurgen
o(
o)
magritte
manekin
matinee
neals
Nite
nite
Okey
mosh
moules
somerset
smooching
soppy
rothers
splurgen
probs
Ppu
stoemp
t,
tapas
tastic
vicky
tonite
Yippeeee
Xxx
xxx

She may wee before the nation but she's still my hero

2005-04-19T18:05:00.000+01:00

26.2 Miles

The curbs in rotherhithe
crowd
Squinting at the bridge
For the glare of truck lights
Signalling the start.
She glides

A roar waves through an electric huddle of strangers.

Thirty six thousand more flood through the street
Like a tidal crash of fancy dress and charity logos.

Without a drenched day to cool aching limbs
The runners burn, their smiles
as grimaces
fixed
Like medals for acheivement.

Ah, the marathon again. Good old Paula - what a legend :o) was glad to be a beer-swigging spectator this year but bring on the new york marathon - I find out of I get in at the end of May!

Long Time No

2005-04-11T17:57:00.000+01:00

Apologies for the lack of posts recently, I have been experiencing a run-down of inspiration.

Distance

Miles separate our lives
Like shades of the same
Through tinted glass
Half-something with wine.

I would travel over where
The jewels seem often brighter, but
days in tones, we are just
swatches
in spectrum;
Breathing water

Waiting to fall.

Blackfriars Blues - A cycle commute rant

2005-03-21T13:58:00.000Z

Cruising right
At the light,
Just five from e-t-a,
My silver pump went overboard
onto the tarmac grey..

Alas! I cried and pulled right in
Hopped off my trusty steed
To wait aside for a moments peace
when traffic might recede.

Fellow cyclists, drivers too
passed round the fallen lock
the stream of hubub, eta
was passed along the clock.

But Lo! a break within the crowds,
'Just after this' I sigh
But 'this' turned out to be a racer*
I noticed with a cry -

"Don't do it! Please! I've waited here..."
But this to no avail
He smashed my pump to smitherines
The city heard me wail.

The pump, no value can be placed
Upon its lowly worth
At least I gave those pedestrians
A morning's glance of mirth.

* the racer was a car, not a bike. people on bike racers usually have a good view of obstacles on the road.

Darn it. darn them all. my emotional attachment to bike parts would not lend me to this career path. (and my speed might be a bit of an issue)

That Curious Thing (the smell on the East London line)

2005-03-08T22:20:00.000Z

This one's for James, by request.....

Doors Slide
Starters Bang
Race the platform
Slide
over gritted steps.

The smell
on the East London
Engulfs chairs
Thinned to the bone by
Tired sodden feet
From the Whitechapel Finish Line.

Wedged in the familiar
Between the day
and the ten minute no mans land
Before shutting the door
On everything that went before.

Almost home.

Can I Get Back on the Plane Please

2005-03-01T20:26:00.000Z

Groggy
The morning sneaked by me
In a semi-sleep departure.

To London for breakfast
Sitting low;
Rush-hour madness.

The Platform
Packed
With sullen faces
The white chipped paint
Imagined through early eyes;
A city snowed under spires;
A white mountain
Through trees of raincoats,

The crunch underfoot
Almost there.

I awake to the brake

This Train Is For New Cross
Please
Stand Clear
Of the Closing Doors.

snapshots from the district line

2005-02-24T17:33:00.000Z

A man sleeps standing,
Slouched over the safety box
Hold-all for pillow,
His stomach
sags likes potatoes.

A couple
Coordinated
flourescent puffa jackets
Lighting the tunnel
As the train drives by.

A girl
peroxide hair
Kissed by her boyfriend.

A spindly scowler,
Tooth missing.

Facing the platform,
Suited,
Screws his face up with his hands.

A nervous woman
In red plaid
Pays serious attention,
Playing with her rings.

A shaven-head man
repeats
"Mind The Gap"
and
"Funny Today"
as if stuck on a scratch.

Wearing a wollen blue sweatshirt
With matching socks
He concentrates
on the crossword.

A young woman in a tweed jacket
Texting intently.

A carriage full of strangers,
sitting in silence
Going nowhere
Waiting at tower hill.

A Valentines Poem

2005-02-14T20:49:00.000Z

In the Call Centre tonight
The keys clack, in a rythmical valentines song
As we interrupt
Intimate
Lovekin
Dinners
in an
international
display
of affection.

Empty House

2005-02-13T17:49:00.000Z

The cup clunk on the floor
Echoes,
Unabsorbed by conversation.

Each page turns,
Deliciously sacred
In uninterrupted quiet.

Eat what's put in front of you

2005-02-09T13:55:00.000Z

Shake off
That
Imaginary
Puppet
Twine,

Step off
The
Escalator
Into
Sleep

Wave down
The choices
On your
Plate

You are not
A
Passive
Recipient
Of Fate.

Blog Update Shock! Wordy bollocks is new today!

2005-02-06T19:21:00.000Z

In an attempt to psyche myself up for impending marathon training... http://www.marathontraining.com/
wordy bollocks is a great bit on the best way to run .... I see now! I just need to harness the power of gravity!

That should be easy enough then.

Shameless thievery of ideas

2005-01-31T20:51:00.000Z

This was inspired by a poem by Gama here, not by current feelings (just incase you were concerned that i might be wandering around with a broken heart, or indeed one made of metal...)

Scars in steel,
Tears in the metal fabric
Of my once-emotional middle muscle
It beats,
welded on the perforation now
Jagged, ragged edges
Where I once held you
Close.

Shameless bit of self-promotion

2005-01-31T19:33:00.000Z

Was pretty chuffed about this. My first review!

Cuando tu me hablas

2005-01-30T10:54:00.000Z

You look, curiously at life
Like a marked and scribbled page of poetry;
with every reading, more discoveries
Giving rhythm
To your dance.

The Horizon

2005-01-30T10:51:00.000Z

The Horizon
Suddenly in view
Too long, obscured by grey.
Welcome to existence!
Ever-changing landscape
Waking
With every cloudless morning.

Fresh Sweet Air in the City

2005-01-29T23:58:00.000Z

Let me bask in the warmth
Of the bus exhaust;
Double-decker glow
adding life to my fingers,
Block cold from the drizzled wet
Of an evening's ride home.

Milena

2005-01-26T18:18:00.000Z

Milena
From Milan
You cut my hair into
A new
me;

Oh look! There I am!

chattering on world
differences
smiling children with bottles as gameboys,
restricted expression,
dancing in the high street with strangers
and sucking the marrow out

dead poets style.

The Plan

2005-01-24T19:03:00.000Z

The days pass faster in the colder sun
Plans
weave their way through air;
Painful, below zero
Gasped in
cycling along the riverside.

Brows unfurrow
At potential storms

Tomorrows lie in flux
Stretching out
Like tide-lines on the Thames.

Last Day

2005-01-20T11:27:00.000Z

(Last day was Monday 17th)

Rocking chair here
Hiding with wooden lattices
Behind old new year decorations
illuminated by everywhichway lamps,
in everywhichway colours.
Three weeks,
Filled as years,
Fallen split seconds.
We'll be back on the plane
Heading back to the place
Filled together with same same.

Back to reality.

The Grand Palace Guard

2005-01-20T11:19:00.000Z

Grand Palace
The Guard
Solemn in white,
Stares ahead
As flocks of tourists gather
recording him in holiday albums.
Statuesque,
We spot a sign of heartbeat
People watching, watching for movement;
Our passtime there is similar.
The smirk, witheld but like a laugh
On any other
Is momentary between crowds
But lasts
Throughout the blur of empty unknown faces

Cambodian Snow

2005-01-15T10:00:00.000Z

On a trip round Battambang, (West Cambodia, near the border with Thailand) on motorbikes, we encountered what the guys driving the bikes call 'Cambodian Snow' ; the dust that is kicked up by trucks, bikes and cars on the bumpy roads.

The palm leaves are caked
In Cambodian snow,
Dry rain
Over the landscape,
Heading from Battambang.

S-21

2005-01-12T17:50:00.000Z

S-21 stands for 'Security Office 21'. It was a School converted into a prison to interrogate, torture and exterminate anyone who opposed the Khmer Rouge Regime in Cambodia in the late 1970's. It is now a Genocide museum, documenting the crimes against humanity of the Khmer Rouge. I visited it last week.

A Small bird, lands briefly
On a display board
Lined with faces
Staring through the camera
Numbered before their torments
A nightmare of eyes.

Life, flits suddenly
Through barred and wired windows
Old classrooms
Echoing playground games.

christmas eve

2004-12-24T13:48:00.000Z

Through blind slats
unusual light
makes circles on the floor.

I am off to find horizon,
and holly on the moor.

Sticky Labels

2004-12-22T11:33:00.000Z

slap slap smooth
onto the envelope.
how many events
became to these pairings;
joined on a page of labels.

whichever way connections

an untidy heap
on the table.

A poet walks into the office

2004-12-21T15:02:00.000Z

Just there for more material

daylight hours

To wrap up in metaphor.

One - Way

2004-12-17T10:18:00.000Z

Winter flowers
Bloom suddenly
At the Underground exit;
Mostly in black.

The surface of this conveyor belt
Up to the City of the city
bobs gently
Under the weight of the morning's expectation.

One-Way
to your destiny

This grim grey production line
to the End;

Boxed,
sealed,
and delivered
For the Quality Assessment.

The Man In The Pub

2004-12-13T13:43:00.000Z

This one's a cooperative effort by Ben, Ruth, myself and a random man whose name I forget in a pub in Angel last night.

The Man In The Pub

There was an old drunken old fart,
Who repeated himself from the start.
Drank plenty of beer;
And said he weren't queer
What a shame that he had to depart.

Ode to how crap the metro is

2004-12-10T14:01:00.000Z

Inspired by a post on one more cup of coffee....

Bernie*, sleeping in hibernation
While the bone heals
Laments my departure each day
To the huddled tin;
We
All
Cram
In.

Metro, oh you the doors to morning knowledge
confuddle my brain
with your astonishing array of headlines.

Observing waking commuters head-on
Is preferred,

But difficult to do subtly,
Without disturbing the LU Charter
Not to stare
when occupying the personal space
Of another commuter.

*bernie is my trusty steed, named after the security man at work. (he is the saviour of bike locks)

Life, The Universe and.

2004-12-08T22:20:00.000Z

A random conversation that led to this, led to me thinking about this, and so this:

Expanse

You couldn't fit it in your lunchbox
To take to show your school
You couldn't bounce it on your head
As you played in your paddling pool
You couldn't fit it in your pocket
Even if it were really big
You'd need a rocket, really
To shoot into beyond
But despite being fond
of stars and space and such
Your whole life there
Just would not touch
The expanse;
Fleeing into the future
Recoiling to the past
Fast
Starlit expanse

All
Just
A
fantastic
Accident.

Old Street Cab Office

2004-12-06T17:34:00.000Z

Two China dolls,
Sitting, heads sagging
under the weight of an evening's social activity.

Rosy cheeks
Illuminated in the neon cab-hub light
Blusher applied over
In the reddened glow of the Pool Bar mirrors.

Party line

2004-11-29T13:36:00.000Z

First line overheard in the kitchen at a party.

Grin not at me from afar
Sweet lady,
Or flood me with the darkness
of your glance

But dance,
hips rolling with the shoreline drift.

Catch me not from afar
Sweet lady,
Closer, now

So we may forget ourselves
As the day begins again.

Being overheard

2004-11-25T16:34:00.000Z

Conspiratorially
We split the crunchie bar
Not quite an even match, we halved the rest

This done theatrically,
for the sake of bored commuters stifled snorts.

A member of the carriage audience
Leaning with half-closed eyes against the glass compartment
Scribbling the day down, before it hid from sight.

In her, a reflection
Like our distorted images
Staring back at us, unrecognising
in the curved blacked window of the late night district line.

Slight Obsession

2004-11-23T11:57:00.000Z

Today's wordy bollocks is E.E.Cummings related, as his biography is just out and I am currently harbouring a slight obsession about one of his poems (linked on the right over there) particularly the last line:

nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

Ode to the super-pill

2004-11-23T10:50:00.000Z

Bubble-wrapped freedom
Helpful as a diary
informing which day is stumbled on
through steamed morning eyes.

You'll help me pound the concrete races too, I hear.
How appropriate;
It's on the road I am myself.

These, and other fascinating thoughts...

2004-11-22T13:38:00.000Z

Pyramid Tea Bags: Does the tea taste better?

Almost alone

2004-11-22T09:55:00.000Z

From an observation of a stranger on the tube.

It is impact
When I blink back
Tears on the tube.
Remarkable, how I'd remarked
On someone else - the same
Tired face and forced concentration
To last the journey,
Waiting for the sanctuary of solitude.

Early Christmas Searchlights

2004-11-22T09:51:00.000Z

Patrolling the floodlit sky
Over pavements
Rammed full
Of organised early christmas shoppers.

Strip the sparkle
Throw beams to the night;
Early Christmas searchlight
Confuses rare pedestrians
That look up, when they walk in the city.

Ode to the Straight Chess Playing Stranger

2004-11-19T17:22:00.000Z

We met in Clement's Inn Passage
Dim
Autmnal carpeted alleyway
Policed by security guards
From Tower Three

(Their mode of glee
Is to make noises from speaker
To watch you jump eight inches from your skin.)

I digress.
You'd played chess
And
Unable to find your way
You'd asked me for directions.

Soho-bound, you were
Off for drinks;
A friend.
"How nice", I said

"Not any sort of a gay sort of a friend" you said.

Weather Warnings

2004-11-17T14:25:00.000Z

Like a lottery,
Really;
Walking through the office door.
Tropical, thick-aired climes
Or Arctic breezes
Whipping around shivering figures
Huddled at computer terminals for warmth.

I know there's someone playing these controls

Watching us

Chuckling,
At our communal discomfort.

In all its simplicity

2004-11-14T18:07:00.000Z

Through water-flecked windows
Under dimmest of light
People in London
Aboard - taking flight.
Through sodden green landscapes
Their carriage is bound
The weekend begins
With the signaller's sound.
Away to the hills
From the smoke,
From the City

Rush-hour is longing
In all its simplicity.

More Tube Absurdity

2004-11-12T13:50:00.000Z

Let me explain the reason behind the fascination with tube journeys at the moment: I was generally unaccustomed to tube commuting (being a cycle commuter - far more satisfying and freee) until the whole broken collarbone/collision with car incident - so, the eery silence of a packed tube carriage is something I only experienced when it was pelting it down and I chicked out of cycling. The silence - the odd rustle, excuse me and tut - tut, trying not to catch the eye of the person you are eyeball-to-eyeball with....

This week's journeys have been a bit more refreshing though - the driver's announcement on the East London Line, some women doing acrobatics on the ceiling handles (see poem below) and yesterday a carriage-wide conversation on the East London Line, covering evening's activities, jobs and more importantly, food.

Anyway, here is the aforementioned acrobatics, in overheard conversation.

Overheard
Excuse me?
Excuse me?
Do You watch Casualty?
No, no - holby city....
Do you watch -
what's his name
in holby city
he used to go out with
Rachel Stevens?
Holby.... YOU Pretending To Be Asleep:
What's his name? That one in holby city? I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME
Just call him Jeb or....
It don't matter
He walked in the pub
wasn't he givin it - large?

Watch This {swings from ceiling handles, managing a complete loop by putting feet on wall and ceiling}

Do It Again
Go on
That was such a
Bridget Jones Moment
a bridget jones moment, yeah
ha ha

{meanwhile, those below the swinging continue as usual}

To Say Thank You

2004-11-11T20:58:00.000Z

I apologise
That humankind led you there;
Underage conscripts
Battling the wills of politicians
Peering from Parliament
At your remains.
Our eternal conflicts
Pull your memory to flames.
Those 'leaders' who bid us reflect
Could offer remembrance;
STOP
Adding to your grave.

This Train

2004-11-11T18:09:00.000Z

on the East London Line

Welcome aboard
Sit back, relax
but keep your feet
Off
The seats
This train is ready to depart..

Half the country hates him still

2004-11-09T21:52:00.000Z

'I'm Sorry' in pictures from gutted Americans. Lots of gutted Americans. (Via One Good Bumblebee)

Over-Pondering

2004-11-09T17:49:00.000Z

I do it too,
lost in some half-day
Re-thinking sentences
impossible to recall,
Re-reading words
Already trampled,
Re-viewed in dreams.
Where do they appear from?
These half-forgotten seconds -
They fade, though
like breath-marks
On the cold bus window.

Innocence

2004-11-08T17:33:00.000Z

I look at the news
Through fog-encrusted eyes.
I am mistaken, surely.
A hospital; a target of war?

Are you aware of Blood?
You holy politicians;
That which stains your feet
As you pace, restlessly
On the surface of the world.

Teatime in Central Asia

2004-11-07T11:59:00.000Z

Teatime in Central Asia
6 hours along the timezone map
I count them along
Lines, dividing the globe into definable segments.

We sit
Drink our teas,
And convey our surroundings.

inspired by tea photo on Yuckelbel's Canon

And when they woke up, it was all a terrible dream

2004-11-07T11:39:00.000Z

We're an empire now, and when we act, we create our own reality.

George Bush, from Phillip Pullman's Text Lies and Videotape.

Disguises

2004-11-06T23:32:00.000Z

From two overheard conversations on the train and bus.

Jeans.
Jeans, it seems
Are on the agenda
I go bootless though,
Nothing will match.

My disguise discarded
After works drinks are done;

I'll hide till dawn
When my sleepless face,
Bled by mascara
Opens itself
In a magestical debut.