PROMPTS

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 30th

13:30

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 29th

Morning

============================ 

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

============================

Afterglow

My giraffe and me

The Love Gene

============================

Tracks in the Sand

Zig-Zags, Fancy Curves

What we mean when we say hate

=========================================================

 Thursday, December 24th, 2020

Xmas Eve Prompts, 13:05

============================

+ +

Guttering full of pigeon-shit, butt-ends, matches

MORTIFIED

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 23rd, 2020

12:49

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

 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