Poem for the Day

May 21

Echoes And Shadows

The castle was abandoned
undefended against time
licking irresistibly over it’s walls
stone after stone falling away
the feet and eyes of men
haunting the place,
shadows from a different dimension
somehow still in play
the world of an empire
watching the sails
in and out of the bay.

The city sits on the other side
cranes waltzing over steel ships
beneath a great needle,
real yet less real
than the echoes in the tower
or footsteps on the battlements,
a mirage from another time
shadow from a different dimension
a fiction I can barely remember,
these stones are new
my feet and eyes have duties.

May 20

Round Pegs & Square Holes

You can feel it,
pinching your skin
messing your hair
weighing on shoulders,
you don’t quite belong here
this just isn’t the fit.

It’s not quite round pegs
and square holes,
it’s jumping from one to the next
testing the infinite variety
of a city, a country, a world
looking for your own mark.

Some doors lead to stages
others into cages
pulling and slamming them
across every mark of the compass
looking for the right pile
to sort yourself into
the great adventure to get settled.

May 19

Sunday Work

God bless the working Sunday
like an unbroken white noise
mostly muted
a sea still rolling hard
without rain or storm
heavy traffic roaring somewhere else
everything at half capacity
our dear leaders
having tried to utilise the old holy day
have not found it in themselves
to follow through
only the mad are out
from the bar across the road
some sport is being viewed
but I am at work.

May 18

Set, No Sail

Somebody’s row boat had escaped,
a gaudy plastic thing
usually found threatening to capsize
under it’s misapplication by children
annoying everyone else on the duck pond,
surfing splendidly over the waves
unmanned and unordered
towards sunset and storm clouds.
What an adventure it would be
to have climbed aboard.

May 17

Sleepy Arcade

The arcade, neon beast
is snoozing by the sea,
shifting lightly while the weeks refugees
tickle lightly around it
looking for some crumbs
to keep the consensus fuelled,
a hover craft takes off
but doesn’t disturb.

It smells dank,
matted with the humidity
in need a good groom
ageing rapidly but still kicking
with light and raucous songs
rumbling quietly on the beach
permitting final visitors of the day
still ready for the summer season.

May 16

Dressed Messy

She’s got twelve different brands on her
lace over dark stocking under bright boots
no phone or logo headphones to hand
wandering with the breeze
in the rare sun of British summer
everything pulled on unfashionably
but at pressures and angels to suit her.

He’s got the workers’ uniform on
a bright, cheap, ready to go zip-up
adorned with mysterious runes
marching rapidly down the other street
ear-piece winking at the sun
loose trousers, well used trainers
everything battered by custom labour.

There’s a reflection on the door
some tired gentlemen with flustered hair
being devoured by a thin black coat
with buttons making threats to jump
hair grumbling against his beard
jeans long worn and roughed into fashion
everybody dressed messy, as life is.

May 15

Can’t Get The Lid On

I’m angry, I’m sad, I’m all melancholia,
I’m hepped up on something I don’t know
I’m stressed, I’m unfulfilled, I’ve had enough,
I’m chasing pastels of particular brand
around my own head as I hover
deeper into the night, all done
with a warm bed waiting
and the sense of murder hanging off me,
thinking of the knife in my kitchen drawer
and the soft supple skin I’m swaddled in
with all the family and tutors and doctors
hearing me out and telling me how well I’m doing,
I’m angry, I’m sad, I’m all melancholia
I’m angry at myself, I’m sad by myself
I’m either brave or a coward, I can’t tell
I can’t work this out,
it’s late and my bed is right there
but I just can’t fit the lid on the day yet.

May 14

Misfits From Heaven

Heaven’s no good for misfits
people who see too much
and have seen,
furrowed brows and grey scowls
making their way past shop fronts
looking for a few minutes distraction
from the spluttering phlegm
being sprayed at them from newspapers
and those whose third eyes have been seared shut
expecting better to happen for them.

Great walls are a blunt social order
shelter is in the toil of the endless fields
rolling beneath a sun that never sets
but it’s not all work
lovers moan here among the wheat
children scrapping over thrones of dirty rocks
there are no more distractions
it’s freer toil
the blind have been walled away
misfits left alone to see each other.

May 13

Clean Man

His mind is filled with biscuit crumbs
picking over with growing outrage
the debris left by other lifeforms
as the mold in his own world spread
consuming the oxygen
until the whole room is a gross vacuum
in which nothing new can be birthed.

Soon he will devour himself
the minutia of cleanliness
finally overcome by terrible whole reality
disposal of loose cereal flakes not enough
to turn the tide of shit pouring into his mouth
as he sleeps heavy
under a window begging to be opened.

May 12

The Beer Fountain

I want a fountain of beer,
a pool of dark trickling liquor
splashing merrily in my kitchen
not to drink
my mind doesn’t stomach the old drug
any more
just to watch and to smell
the accumulated joy of brewers
preparing for royal feasts and college parties
the flavour of merry dares and romantic gambits
running through my home
for me to watch and smell
sipping my evening coffee.