Blakey Lately

Casually
Grief
On the buses
Is a word
Set to Freud
On smartphone
Is writing as
Such
It’s not much
Of a leap
Between the grief
I intended
Lately
And the
I’m gonna get you
Blakey

Tin

In the dinning room
We presume
Three monkeys
There is fear
Over hands
Over ears
The god of tin
Puts it in us
It’s clear
Not vaguely
Sincere
As the soldiering
Iron uniforms stiff
The grenades’ left
Ringing in our ears

Heated Private Igloos

Heated private igloos
Keyed in coded mind brews
For sitting comfortablissue
Square and folded
Up scolded
And wet
Waiting for the warm storm
By counting
The drips
The size
Of a trip advisor
Despised by
The flip disguiser
As miserly
Two star reviews
Read by
Whogivesashit
And you

Springs Things - A Tanka

There are things there are
Things that swing there are rusting
Sixties springs where at
Worn out positions there are
Sat poking where you’re busting

Tottenham Hales

It’s all yeah yeah
Industrial estates
Where gathered lads
Say not that way mate
And yawning cats
Wide as the mark
As the distance
Of any welcome front door
Below a license plate
And you’re only
4 stops from where you started
From pebbled dashed
Long wheel transit
Parking places
And suburban
Broken rails
You can CCTV
For yourself
It never rains
But it always
Tottenham Hales

Ikeas Above Your Station - A Tanka

The sky’s Ikea
The D.I.Y.Bus stop’s not
The look’s pensive the
Idea’s cheap but not the
Sand timer that’s expensive

Plastic Smile - A Tanka

Extreme cold weather
Parka it seems that blanket
That wraps that’s been on
Each every dirty dance floor
Is falling apart at’ seams