Go-Go Crazy Bones Broke My Heart

•June 2, 2010 • 1 Comment

We were in Argos, surrounded by Greeks
buying tat with their wages, and you
turned
the pages in anger,
jabbing blue buttons – tutting, sighing,
pretty much crying from
that reeling feeling-
hurling headfirst to tomorrow;
a hot-tarmac tournament
will openly grieve
for the champion Crazy Bone slider,
the king,
the provider
of arms, left without
legions of plastic most-wanteds
and with a pocket of pound coins.

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(Leo is 11 and is deeply angered when Argos run out of ten-packs of Go-Gos.  He said that I couldn’t possibly understand how he felt when he had saved his pocked money for five weeks, only to find that there were none in stock.  I thought of Jeanette Winterson who wrote in her magnificent novel Written on the Body, ‘Why is it that the measure of love is always loss?’  Can love be quantified, are tiny plastic alien toys of less value than a romantic partner if they are truly loved?  I cheered Leo up by driving him to Tesco where he managed to get a better deal for his money and had enough left over to buy a biro that smelled of cherries.)

congrat you station

•May 29, 2010 • 2 Comments

“If you don’t raise your eyes, you’ll think you’re at the highest point.”
Antonio Porchia.

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words stacked in bricks, pointed
neatly and splatted with pigeon.crap, read;
Dunns Guns, fine purveyors since 1804.
You shot me right in the head
that night

words in walls, built to last, edging the
grimeguilded, sallow-lit street.
Her humming ears
dulled to the precision of balance

and remember

how everyone laughed
on the time-paused platform,
that smelled like Italy in the winter;
confused by the absence of rats
that snatched our crumbs
of skittering.conversation last time ~
but it had been warmer then.

thrum-humming  tracks
and three words haphazardly stacked;
billboard boredom built
and we boarded, tired then….

promises pulled slowlyaway
dragging track-sparks
and screaming the truth of grinding steel

dawn

•April 10, 2010 • 3 Comments

Shrugged off,
dropped low in the laurel
creeling  bereaved on hands an.nees,
flattening bracken and 
cracksnapping tinder-twigs.
quicksilver slick, your
devils coachorse skin shines~
eyes scry flame-hearted dewdrops;
shadowcraving. hurling curses
you settle, rippling dry drifts, 
folding reluctantly beneath agrimony
and dandelion, quietly sighing,
numbed by feverfew~loathing litha.
violet-veiled.velvet swathed secret,
mole~soft witch sister,
bide time; tide pulled time,
whisper secrets to the moss with parched~lips:
not long, not long
not long.
.
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pushing out the woodlice

•April 7, 2010 • 3 Comments

becomes breath for her
as the washingmachine churntumbles the dungarees a roundy round;
a world inna drum
and a balling fatbug, crawling .                                           not that way
push it down, put a finger onit

tiny frown, grown from a quiet.seed
my ghost
little frosted possibility
poking pill bugs                :shrouding the hollow that numbs a chill pebble
……………………………… tide tumbled, time jumbled….

heavy shingle shined pivot weight
always there
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tiny nothing of things

here is my heliometer, measuring quietly in words

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