Tag Archives: poetry

Rainbird

22 Jun

The great rainbird beats her wings

Whipping winds to helter-skelter

Teeth-like droplets bite our face

A million miles from shelter

Wibbly Wobbly Way

20 Jun

The wibbly wobbly way
Is the only way for me
I’m wibbly every day
And wobbly equally
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Day 17 of napowrimo (late) – Notturno

20 Apr

Notturno, Notturno
Wherefore art thou, Notturno?
Your stars of many aeons
Lights halogen and neon
Obscure from our view
Whiteness suffuses
Exposes your mysteries
Sending nature screwy
And keeping me from sleep.

Day 16 of napowrimo (late) – note to self haiku

20 Apr

Dearie, dearie me,
Next time, turn the oven off
Yours sincerely, me

Day 15 of napowrimo (late) – for Uncle Paul

19 Apr

I remember him running, almost bent double, suit jacket flapping behind him
Looking like a mallard trying to fly, Uncle Paul chased the football
Overdressed as always for a summer day of playing in the park, sweat ran in rivers down his face
He lived for games, did Uncle Paul; football, cricket, darts, cards…
He had an Atari console – the first I ever saw, and he let us play on Space Invaders

Uncle Paul lived with grandma and grandad. Their massive dog Gemma ran him ragged.
He was of very slight build and I only noticed how short he was as I grew so much taller
In many ways, Uncle Paul was only halfway here and as the games receded, so did he
His hip gave out; he couldn’t run any more. Grandma’s death broke his heart
Grandad couldn’t look after him, so Uncle Paul went to live in a home.

Games and summer running were replaced by drinking and falling over
Every time I saw him he looked smaller, but the intensity in his eyes remained
His voice was hoarse, his laugh high-pitched, his legs even bonier now under a blanket somewhere
Grandad died and Uncle Paul receded ’til you wouldn’t have thought a person could recede any more
Then yesterday Uncle Paul died.
I haven’t seen him for years.

Day 14 of napowrimo – still late: Apple

18 Apr

It’s like that film, ‘Shallow Hal’
But you’re a fruit, not a Paltrow
A beautiful ripe apple
(or so it would appear)
Sitting in my desk drawer
Behind biscuits, under crisps
An option doubtless healthier
(or so it would appear)

I cannot resist

I bite through the flawless skin
My open mouth, juice flows in
My tastebuds reach, yeeeearning…
Recoil! Foetid liquid!
My tongue flails like a giant squid
Shot by Captain Nemo
NO! NO! NO!
Must not swallow! Must not swallow!

Too late

My gullet gags, my belly bucks
To make the fruit regurgitant!
Is that a word? I don’t care
Just get this mouthrot out of here!
Intestines clench in mortal fear
Get this gutrot out of here!
I’m going to die if I don’t rinse
Like Snow White sans her gallant prince

It’s over

Day 13 of napowrimo (very late) – Pigeon, you’re alright

18 Apr

Pigeon, you’re a bastard
With your noisy flappy flying
And your streams of white guano
But, I tell you pigeon – you’re alright

At Christmas, folk like robins
Not you weighing down their fence
(Although your mass is nominal
Or I don’t see how you’d never get in flight)

You’re the scourge of the twitcher
Waiting with binoculars
For the rare peppered peewit
When your grey, cooing arse hoves into sight

Although it might just be
That I identify with you
And your unregarded beauty
I have to tell you pigeon – you’re alright.