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.