Morning Kitchen

March 18, 2011 § Leave a comment

Bacon spitting

in the pan,

the ketchup ready.

I’m neither drunk

nor hungover.

Surprising, really.

 

If I bend down

and squint,

the tabletop

is like a

fantastic landscape,

a city,

where custard

creams are the

 

Pyramids of dreams.

 

Writing and Woody Allen

March 10, 2011 § Leave a comment

writing is a bit like

masturbation; perfectly

acceptable when done

in private, but a

bit embarrassing in public.

what can you do?

If you’ve got it,

flaunt it.

 

like woody allen says,

it’s sex with

someone i love.

 

you be you and i’ll be me

March 9, 2011 § Leave a comment

you be you

and i’ll be me

and we can sit

and look

at each other

with all the windows

open.

and the sunlight

on our foreheads

as if we’re the only ones

who understand each other.

 

Modern Man: Part 3

March 8, 2011 § Leave a comment

Modern man went out to give his

CV to anyone that would listen.

The only problem he found is

that it’s just like holding a glistening

candle into the night’s sea breeze.

A beautiful image, romantic,

filled with poetic charm and cheese,

but the flame burns fast and frantic

and once the wind blows a bit,

the ethereal gleam works and writhes –

as worried as snakes in a pit

and all that’s left is light’s lies.

So don’t leave the house with blind hope,

or like the candle you’ll surely choke.

 

3 Haikus Overheard

March 7, 2011 § Leave a comment

You look beautiful,
Can I have your number please?
No? Well, you’re a tart.

You never listen
To what I have to offer.
Shut up! I’m talking!

I’ll just have a cup
Of coffee, then start again.
Give me that at least.

Something More

March 7, 2011 § Leave a comment

I can’t help but feel that I’m missing something.

Somewhere between the minutes and the hours

there must be something more exciting, fuming

with meaning and relevance, causing

everything to happen around me.

 

I can’t believe this is the sum total

of so much chance happening of cells

and of funereal ashes fertilizing fields

for flocks of feathered birds to feed

off the worms, whilst all I do

is feed off plastic-wrapped false food.

There must be something I’m missing.

The Nature of Work

March 6, 2011 § 2 Comments

You only spend two hours at work,

the first and the last, like prison

you have to be there all day,

but the rest is lost in fragmented

moments of concentration and dull

labour, like ox in the field

(but without the sun, the sky!

Oh, remember what that was like!)

 

You only spend two hours at work

but they’re the most boring

of the day.