Sunday, 19 August 2018

Reach Out

There’s enough reaching out
To make the Four Tops proud
In these hipster Coffee shops
Trouble is there’s
Too much reaching out
Not enough Four Tops

Wednesday, 15 August 2018

The Beauty of Portraits

The beauty of portraits
Is you can make enemies of them
For looks y’ can mark then out 10
Fall in love in the 18th century
Get divorced in ‘37
Raise a toast eyeball to eyeball
With men who killed men
Then fall in love
All over again
With bar room girls
Flower sellers
Refugees
President’s wives
Survivors
Cellar dwellers
From places
With faces quixotic
And of anytime exotic
And like time
Only we will judge
And oh!
We will judge
While the galleries remain free
We will judge

Tuesday, 14 August 2018

Self Importrait

His neck a snapped drill bit
This interwar bore
This preposterous slick
On his opiate arse
For you he sits

His poison poise
Inoculates
The good space
Between your ears
A chalice of finery
He raises to you
And your common beers

But he’s been framed
By his own glasses
Caught by his own regard
Backed into a corner
By his own visage
And spread thin
As thin as his lips
On the canvas
By several accurate licks
This Count is out
You’re free to go now
So on you goes

Monday, 13 August 2018

Anni (Girl with a fan)

It’s naïve to think
The man
In Beckmann’s
“Anni
(Girl with a fan)”
Doesn’t have a plan
Her expressionist
Expression isn’t
Letting on that she knows
But she knows

Two large saucers
Thin line nose
Hooks bodice bones
Laid by butlers
On her pristine
White tablecloth
Of a face

Silver tongue and
Scarlet nails
Scratch cocktail tales
The ruby kisser whispers:
‘I know why I’m here
Do you really know why you’re here?’

It’s naïve to think
That Anni
The girl
With a fan
Could only have
One fan

Sunday, 12 August 2018

Pots Pans DVDs - a Tanka

Pots pans DVDs
On the pavement
On the street say take me
Do with me what you want but this
Does not apply to people

Sea Spray

The blood supply
To his left arm
Was cut off by the
Weight he had to carry
His numb fingers
Still rolled one
With instinct
His eyes were bottle tops
His teeth razor blades
His whistle shrill
His face a gorse
Cut across the road
With one sturdy boot
His journey habit
The cat ran
The Jaguar sounded it’s heavy horn
From the North Sea of his beginning
The cold sweat up his back
Like riggers
He figures
It was written in the dog spray
There were doors for him
To knock that day

Saturday, 11 August 2018

Education - A Bosnian Tanka

Lesson One: “if one
Man does evil we should not
Blame a whole nation”
. National identity class
. Survivors’ Education

Wednesday, 8 August 2018

Revisited - A Bosnian Tanka

Behind enemy
Lines that lie revisited 
The man remembers 
Those bitten by the snake are
Also wary of lizards 

Tuesday, 7 August 2018

A God’s Dinner

It’s not the lack of
Belief in God
That’s the problem
It’s the arseholes
Turn up the tin hat
Make it bowl
Add brandy
UHT
And what the
Americans call frosting
Over the top
Of hand torn cubes
Of God’s book
Then kick over your TV

And Justice For All

She tips
Old lady justice
A right arm of lead
A left of left behind
The odds are
The top brass
Make that
The inbalance
But it’s us brass necked
I bet
Who’ll level it up

Grab your gamblers’ pen
With tips of steel 
With ink of blood
Write words
Emboldened
Underlined
Draw a ladder on the wall
Detail the supposed
Bottom rung 
For without it
There’ll be no
Justice 
At all

Sunday, 5 August 2018

Take me back

Take me back
To when the bands’ width was narrow
Cheeks were sharp and faces sallow
When the oars
We rowed in calmer waters
Were not for sticking in
And the points seemed less sticky then
Where colours were nailed
Where bouncers were nails
Where paint was on nails
Where walls were adorned
With paintings not arguments
Where serious words were forgotten
And song lyrics were remembered
We were made of rubber
And bounced off pavements
We stretched our necks
And necked in stretches
Were stretchered off
To standing ovations
When the game was simple
Before they changed the rules
And took our haircuts
Replaced dancing shoes
With grafting boots
Swapped the breeze with
Cares cut from a heavier cloth
So take me back
To when the cap still fit
Pints were pocket sized
And life was a piece of piss