Thursday, December 31, 2020


New Year's Eve 15:12

Something about geese, high, oblivious
Are we queueing to get in or to leave?
A woman, empty of her temporary joys
The dust that falls on polished shelves
Here, have a fishbone
Politicians, like vampires, must be invited in
Two roads diverged. I flipped for it.
It might be the sun that makes us shiver
Summon the dogs, the cats, the birds
A face like a ruined caravan
Whoever, whatever, you are
I thought others were passing through, until it was my turn
The horses smell the fear
Your tiny gatherings of sorrow
Once a year the shopping trolleys dance
Esso Blue at the Pictures
See what is to be seen. Report back.
As the fading echo meets the fluttering bird
A flash of sunshine between trees: a golden tube
Brass Bands, Flags and Bullshit
You are a host for passing, ambivalent air
I need eggs, milk, ammo
Jesus Christ has joined the board of directors
You leave out certain parts. What do I love?
Fifty Shades of Drivel
The tribe is scattered; there is only you
Whose woods are these? The Conglomerate’s

Wednesday, December 30, 2020

 Wednesday, December 30th


She stares like a Dalek’s Eye-Stalk
In the womb, was I good or waiting?
By a pond: Winter
The sniper on his summer break
She walks in blazing, like a chandileer
The snail seeking salt
The tedious riddles called memory
Lock the door and beat the children
A spring is broken in my 3-piece suite
Dental hygiene the old way
Regret is burning me
Able seaman Faversham-Black
Stark mad the man who’d love her
The Daleks have learned to climb stairs
My ex-girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend’s ex
The things I once loved have withered so
Two bedrooms, kitchen-lounge-diner
The Kingdom of Evan is at hand
Beach-ball, Landmine, wire
The Earth is eyeless but it feels
It’s a kind of chocolate
May flaps in
My inside is outside: not good.
Time drew on but you did not come
Sadly, I look like my passport picture
I saw a snake, an actual snake
The horse lumbering; the stuttering plough

Tuesday, December 29, 2020

 Tuesday, December 29th



Blood on the Dining-Room Floor

How to grow your own wife

Gardens of tarmac, cement


What Larks!

The Shape of Water

Fundamentals of Pottery


A world made of money

From Source to sea

Her violin singing in its case


A quiet man from a small town

James and the Giant Dildo

Lies my teacher told me


The Patience of the Spider

My thoughts exactly!

Loving Louis


Alma Cogan, Connie Francis, Dusty

Prisoners of our geography

My name is What


There are older ways

Naples, 1944

A Ruined Camelot



My giraffe and me

The Love Gene


Tracks in the Sand

Zig-Zags, Fancy Curves

What we mean when we say hate


Thursday, December 24, 2020

 Thursday, December 24th, 2020

Xmas Eve Prompts, 13:05


+ +

Guttering full of pigeon-shit, butt-ends, matches
At twenty-three miles, cobblestones


To understand the pull of blood
Odd flowers in a wrong-sized bowl
To the toilet after Mum

The cervix, mother packed with lead
My foisted middle name, Vincent (after de Paul)
Embarrassed by the smell of bum

The tick-tick-tick of a passing cyclist
Confetti, given time turns brown and rots Now God sends hailstones


Mam has gone to Mars. Shall I take a message?
Mass Murder, Sicily
He also ran a carpet shop in the Grand Bazaar


What if one night we all start counting stars?
I sometimes wonder about Puerto Rico
The pigeons leave a feather behind


We all deserve a bitchy friend
I had no inkling, never could
Monday Washing, Tuesday Poems, Wednesday Beating


She emerges, immaculate, from squalor
I am an ancient desk, your arm a heavy lid, with scratches
Called cunt in front of the kids


The commissionaire who made us paper boats
I am experimenting, cross-breeding Tories with Humans
I miss the yacht I haven’t got, the Rolls


Wednesday, December 23, 2020

 Wednesday, December 23rd, 2020


Why can’t slippers be cool?
True Evil
We could got to Cornwall for love, to Wales

Her daily bottle of stout
I am walking up your road
The breath thickens, there are pauses

The man who had Hermes
Alone in a cheap hotel
The smell of polished wood

Raspberries, Strawberries
Our daughter, snuffling in our bed
Four fields, all colours, and I in the cross between

The smack and heft of the perfect catch
A man called Thomas died here
Gestation Period

I have climbed that!
ECLIPSE The places where I’ve failed to grow

I dream of train-wrecks, airplanes crashing
Jennifer Nasty, in the name of Christ
The gymnast in love

It’ll end in tiers
The crude engravings on the desk
Burnt sugar, sawdust, organs, bells

Not about her father
She smelt of biscuits, milk, unusual thoughts
Dear Mother: it is New Year’s Day

Sunday, December 20, 2020

 Some More Prompts

20:33 Sunday 20 Dec

What is the opposite of Jigsaw?
Peaches, a scattering of nuts
A ticket to Boris Johnson’s Ball

A rub and a pull
Fishermen arc-ing home
I think she was about to smile, but died

Spiders in my eyes at three o’clock
No, I didn’t mean that
The bloody innards of the clock

The evening spread out like a meal
Some old half-Dockland streets
Random acts of meanness

I decided to build a wall
Home, the football on TV
There’s rain, there’s storms, then this

Please suffer quietly
Sin-cline, anti-cline, sedimentation
The pale living; the darker dead

Perhaps in January
There is a snake on the verandah
I have never looked forward to being here

The way she licked her fingers
We stopped in the square for coffee
The scythe does not consider the grass

Accelerator, Brake, Clutch
My shadow won’t come out with me at night
Poetry where the words vibrate