Friday, 30 January 2009

in my previous piece on this blog

in my previous piece on this blog
i made two typos

i wrote dready instead of dreary
and wil instead of will

but didn't correct them
i quite like dready as a word
not at all like dreary
but combines reggae and fear sentiments
as for wil it just looks good
and the meaning remains

what's perfect is ugly
what's polished is sick
give me mistakes, glitches
the beauty of the real
the majesty of the normal

tesco polski

in some dready distant future gaze
i see tesco signs rusting and broken
every little crumbles
the free market closed
no sunday openings
nor the other six days of the week
just the belaboured prowlers;
haggard dogs, wolves
foxes, now free to come and go as they please
what survives is stronger than human fanaticism
and all our plastic marvels wil melt wi' the sun

There is no...only paint

There is no...
only paint
no God in Heaven above
no hell below
or is that no God in Hell below
but the devil plays merry with us
high up in Heaven's own hell
only paint
only write
anxiety stew for tea tonight
Betty's dying
and there's nothing i can do
only pain
only paint
oily paint
oily tears dripping down
the stew-stained canvas laptop screen
the need for this medicine, paint
for this affirmation, words
we're dying, and nothing we can do
except paint poems and write paintings

Wednesday, 28 January 2009

the Controllers of the Arts

the Controllers of the Arts
say they want poems with originality
striking imagery
like "glass umtytown"
or "long hair handshake shook"
but i want plain words
in plain lines
with plain meaning
and imperfections
like life is
the wrinkles, not the make up
the rough bark of the tree
not the sheen of a steel black office tower
what is worn out proved its worth
what is haggard has experienced
what is broken has a past

Saturday, 24 January 2009

clouds come in colours

clouds come in colours
a spaypainted canvas
we who see only white
are dead though we breathe
clouds come as shapelets
anvils, snowdrops
we who see only cloud
see only our shroud
clouds come in legion
lonely, oppressed
we who see only vapour
can never know ourselves

we have seen through the worst of the winter

we have seen through the worst of the winter
and though there will be cold days yet
we have the marvels of spring summer autumn to enjoy
and warmth, colour, long days