Blog Archives

Cat And Mouse: Shadorma

CAT AND MOUSE

Let’s not add
Views about gender
To the mix
Relations
Are so complex already
And besides we’re drunk

Rue George Sand

RUE GEORGE SAND

Honey singing splash through puddles
Or a locust voice shouting depending how it falls
Hissing steam of soundless soul tortures
Bursting dam of huge foam and pent-up waters
Green light flight from the roar of raging beasts

Half-grown hop across Red Sea roads
Through the pulse of the circling of traffic in the town
Suns shine: blood-coloured, flesh-coloured, blue
Dance on one leg Rabelaisian and strange
A mad old Chinese medieval saint

Leaping mouse through a snow-white world
Full or empty wine barrel – such a lonely roller
A star set adrift in Gallic seas
Floating with tides – yoyo prayer wheel voice lifted
Throat free from stained glass hands of the church clock

~~~~~ ~ ~~~~~
Recapturing a drunken evening in Tours, France many years back.

Bosom Pals

BOSOM PALS

For Woody and happy days.

Starlight our lamplight
A widdle and a waddle
Home from the ale house

Contacting The Spirits: Tanka

CONTACTING THE SPIRITS

She’s passed away now
She never liked him to drink
With loss came freedom
She sees though he may be drunk
He still sends her a bug hig

In His Cups

IN HIS CUPS

A sip of wine
A hint of melody …
Hallowed foundations
Shift ungoverned

Melt into lavaflows
Unleash unadmitted yearnings
Challenge this paltry masquerade
Yelled from minaret or pulpit

Hounded by fatwa and heresy
Across the centuries, this dented I
Which has, for all of that brouhaha
Such shallow roots

Must be why they ban
These dangerous demons
Intoxication, music,
Dancing, sex

While we for our part
Fight tooth and nail
To retain or else regain
These royal roads

Home

Same Again? (A Night Out On The Town)

SAME AGAIN?

Sheathed in leather the necrophiles
Straddle Babylon the Whore
While Memphis Kingston blows
(Like Britain grating through the Seventies
I have passed my high water mark
And the wrack stinks along the shore

Like the Royal Navy after an armistice
Full of unwanted and unnecessary seamen
A slave to vile passions)
It says on the bog wall: “What I’d like to know
Is who put the cunt in Scunthorpe?”
Would that my own purpose were so clear

Playing pub games of ancient artifice
Shouldering a passage through the wrecks
Gone aground at the bar
Floundering among all this flesh
Whose strangest suggestions
Are dancing lessons from a siren

Pondering the steps to take
When grace is not enough
And Helen of Troy picks her nose in the ladies
God in the guise of the Lady Incarnadine
Who took from me even my faith
And left me to carry on

O Dear Departed that thought to find
A genital Jesus to save ya
A fallacy – that he might be internally yours
And by a coincidence of opposites
Confused the sacerdotal with the scatological and thought
The penis mightier than the sword

——————————————————————

Republished from 2011.

Unnatural

UNNATURAL

I spotted her lurking in the shadows,
doing her best, sneakily, to blend in.
Not an adder, a grass snake; not a threat.
Like hell! A snake in the grass – dangerous

– slithering in close when your guard is down.
Uninvited, unwanted, not by me.
Faceless, limbless, beady eyes, pointed fangs.
“Abnormal, unnatural,” I murmured.

Too much like something met in a nightmare.
Temptation? An exquisite punishment?
I remembered Eden. “Can’t be trusted.
Eden, a plot, a trick. Caught! Shamed! Cast out!”

I looked again. I shuddered in disgust.
I felt the taste of vomit in my throat,
picked up a stick and began to beat it.
Started snarling in time as each blow fell.

“Abnormal!” (WHACK!) “Unnatural!” (WHACK!)
“Snake!” (WHACK!) “Viper!” (WHACK!)
“Bitch!” (WHACK!) “Whore!” (WHACK)
“Slut!” (WHACK!) “Tramp!” (WHACK!)

It wasn’t much now, just an ugly smear.
I realised I was quite out of breath.
“But not as out of breath as you,” I sneered.
Hit it once more for luck, smirked and walked on.

I realised I must have drifted off.
Shook my head. “Daydream. Too many whiskies.”
I looked around the room. She was still there.
“Nice tits. I wonder whether she’d like a drink.”

——————————————————————

The secret gender war.

In His Cups

IN HIS CUPS

A sip of wine
A hint of melody …
Hallowed foundations
Shift ungoverned

Melt into lavaflows
Unleash unadmitted yearnings
Challenge this paltry masquerade
Yelled from minaret or pulpit

Hounded by fatwa and heresy
Across the centuries, this dented I
Which has, for all of that brouhaha
Such shallow roots

Must be why they ban
These dangerous demons
Intoxication, music,
Dancing, sex

While we for our part
Fight tooth and nail
To retain or else regain
These royal roads

Home

Same Again? (A Night Out On The Town)

SAME AGAIN?

Sheathed in leather the necrophiles
Straddle Babylon the Whore
While Memphis Kingston blows
(Like Britain grating through the Seventies
I have passed my high water mark
And the wrack stinks along the shore

Like the Royal Navy after an armistice
Full of unwanted and unnecessary seamen
A slave to vile passions)
It says on the bog wall: “What I’d like to know
Is who put the cunt in Scunthorpe?”
Would that my own purpose were so clear

Playing pub games of ancient artifice
Shouldering a passage through the wrecks
Gone aground at the bar
Floundering among all this flesh
Whose strangest suggestions
Are dancing lessons from a siren

Pondering the steps to take
When grace is not enough
And Helen of Troy picks her nose in the ladies
God in the guise of the Lady Incarnadine
Who took from me even my faith
And left me to carry on

O Dear Departed that thought to find
A genital Jesus to save ya
A fallacy – that he might be internally yours
And by a coincidence of opposites
Confused the sacerdotal with the scatological and thought
The penis mightier than the sword

November 11

NOVEMBER 11

Tonight
Eating desperate bread
I drank too much
And missed you …

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