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First Love (4b)


You slurped me
Then swallowed me whole
Like Jonah
And the whale
You the marine mammal
I the zooplankton


Shadorma November

Growth (4a)


In our youth
We would give ourselves
We admit
Only partially awake
Yet there’s more to it

For later
As we grew wiser
We became
Let us be loved yet also
Explore our own core


Shadorma November

Ragged (Reposted)

……………………………………………………………………………………………Pour Alain Fournier

Leaning close to a tape recorder speaker
To search old pop songs for her memories – are they hollow men?
(You can detect the echo between record player and microphone
Across the big room near Birmingham where they were recorded)

As a saint you have tried to detach yourself
You have told every little secret to many people
To destroy the purity you have repeated your stupid story
Till it runs like a gutter with nameless old remains of words

Broken in half the fragile beauty of spring
And sucked at the bones – walked a hundred times by the same river
Leaning over sad parapets to search again for the flecks of dreams
Which unlike your memories, failed saint, you could never destroy

As you still feel the need to defend yourself
Against the chink of coins made by other people’s memories
Tired of generosity and jealous somehow of their secret sighs
You swear that you were wrong and will be a miser now with them

Are you ready then to find the hidden path
Which leads to a domain ringed by trees that in your youth you sought?
Failing by yourself (nothing is left when all has been destroyed) can you
Ask another, bohemian herself, to complete the map?

You stare at her as she stares at someone else
You have nothing to say, but if she ever slept beside you
Next day, as militants searched for solidarity and saints for God
Perhaps you could search through your blankets for long strands of her hair

Chorley Market


Sweet market vendor
Incredibly edible
“Ripe juicy navels”
Thirty plus years have gone by
She still bellies my button



Another Red Shower


The red shower, replete with fire and acid,
Flings shouts re-echoing ivy-spun corridors;
Here and there the hint of a word, a name,
Merges into intricate interlacing brickwork,

All and every day sauntering on in guessment;
Fearful since weaned on uninvited comeuppances.
Apothegm then: to overcome or else be overcome,
So prefers the verges, avoids the meanstream.

A captious catch-as-catch-can exploration;
Sifts the process, pauses, rescinds, deletes.
Hesitant to join the game even at novice level
Yet caught out red handed peeking nonetheless.



We advanced boldly
And splattered love everywhere
What a mess we made



You don’t realise
That it is not love at all
Simply attachment



As a young man I can well recall
I found it easy, without question
To speak the words: “I love you”

These days I rarely utter them
I see I have become more wary
With each accumulating year

Though whether of other people
Or of the full meaning of the word
I really cannot say

Top Gun


He guns his motor
Adolescent tumescence
Pity his neighbours

Perhaps you have one in your neighbourhood too. Just trying to dissipate my irritation here. Apologies. 😉

First Love


Meaning, contentment
Passion and deep devotion
Then it all goes wrong

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