Poem for the Day

May 31

Wash Out

As the sun beat down
the day became a classic wash out,
pale bodies rolling over with a groan
away from the cosmic smiles
pressing against the window.

Outside it’s playtime
little kids screaming their lungs out
blue murder and then some
on a street that can’t contain them,
birds whistling for a hot quickie in the trees.

The dark ones prefer the screen,
pale enough to stare away into
looking for the gentle entrainment
of familiar songs and dances,
it’s already past lunch,
the day has been surrendered.

May 30

Radio Silence

Seeking space on the airwaves
the dark places
on an endlessly faceted spectrum
megaphone to the cerebral
pumping song straight
down the ocular nerves
until the world is drowned
in white noise of every haze
while we all stumble around
receivers wide open
looking for a break,
our own little moments
of radio silence.

May 29

In Need Of Shop Assistance

Six-feet three,
listing from cereal-side
to coca-cola
red faced, eyes glinting
the common madness
a night of drinking the sugar water
they serve in the Union Bar
for children given permission
by dain of years elapsed
to finally begin the incredible process
of killing themselves
before pushing them off
for pizza, if he can find it
through all the screaming hilarity
of the produce section.

May 28

Space Marine

Don’t worry, be happy,
push forward, shoot
push forward, shoot
challenge placed for reward,
reward unlocking further challenge
until eventually it’s all coming towards him,
his endless series of rooms
perfectly arranged
to provide hard cover
against alien snipers
themselves place perfectly for dispatch
in the rhythm of the simplest dance -
push forward, shoot
push forward, shoot,
such is the simple satisfactory life
of the space marine,
no worries, push forward, shoot.

May 27

Small Talk

The woodlice took tea on my shoe,
waving sweet little nothings to one another
mixed with the gossip
of the long rebellious grass,
where I and they could swear
they heard the sound of beetles
wrestling in the heat
while randy gastropods
moaned softly
as they swapped slime
under glorious sunshine.

“There goes the neighbourhood”
grumbled one to the other
as I turned another page,
pretending not listen.

May 26

Arcade Broke

It’s a fabulous day
I’m going broke,
scrambling
for the last token
rolling on the sticky
light jumping arcade floor -
one more credit
for the dancing machine
mocking me with it’s
Saturday Night-lite floor
while the rest strut their stuff
in open sunshine elsewhere.

May 25

Sea Rolling In

Sea’s rolling in,
blowing foggy kisses
at the students
lumbering along the pavement
ears budded up
or heads covered
for fear of one another.

Gasping, wheezing,
asthmatic auto-mobiles
struggling for the oxygen
filtering out
salted marshmallow air,
peppered with seaweed
and piscine flatulence.

Chillers don’t chill
drowning in the humid
love making of the sea
against a body of land,
holding tight
blotting the sun
as the sea rolls in.

May 24

A Fogged Self Image

And then,
through the fog
on the road
masculinity arrived!
spluttering and puttering
undefined from 1983
over the speed humps
and safety lumps
something heavy blaring
in tinny semi-stereo glory,
the man showing his girl
all of what he’s got:
red, petite,
barely working.

May 23

Extra Slim Filter Tips

Is not just a sludge stopper
it’s an ideal
an idea
appealing to the youth of today
wheeling free-spiritedly
across the square
wheels in the air
without a care
letting the jobbing plebs
make way to make way
on their way to grab
some extra slim filter tips,
as opposed to the unrefined
unkempt nature
of the merely slim -
extra slim,
extra being more,
slim being small
and small being beautiful,
more small
for the endless procession
of boys and girls
boys and girls
until one day death takes them,
extra slim roll in hand.

May 22

Office Politics

They had the fight
down in the basement,
the central file server
dutiful going about it’s work
desperately not listening
to tell everyone about it later.

So the photocopier sat in a huff
while Sarah comforted the hole punch
commenting on what elegant curves it had.

“It’ll blow over”
said Steve
unknowingly nurturing my hope
that the coffee machine
might forgive me
for last Thursday during the party.