No poetry in pain

No song

no poem in pain

nor civility

the herd move away.

Flesh tears at the mind

pitifies spirit.

I lap alone at

my old pool of blame

anger nescience

growing more thirsty

fearing the house-beast

moving in the dark

to kill.

.

Hunger

Sex, food and good wine
satisfy and feed
hunger. Power too.

Calling

Calling

The ’phone rang in the funeral
and we thought, from beyond, perhaps?
a text to request a second chance?
but no, just to say He’d be late
that day. Quite unnecessary.

She caught my eye

She caught my eye

and threw it back.

I blinked

blind-sided

and caught out.

Reading fiction on the train

Reading fiction on the train

Through one frame an unreachable

world skims pastwards, speed images

stasis, a plane pinned motionless

to sky, a man embalmed in smoke

poised on his doorstep, travelling

on the myth that destination

is boarded with beginnings, films

watched backwards, having read the book.

Tactile paving

Tactile paving is, no doubt,

of benefit to those with partial sight

and pitiless on us with gout.

Holy Cross Day

Holy Cross Day

We are in red today
Crucifix hanging on
Wooden lectern where the
Word is martyred again,
Ineffectually.