Into the Walled Garden
He fa lls forwa rds.
Linoleu m is the last thing he sees.
A Nice Gull Like You
Seagulls swoop on abandoned cartons
of congealed ketchup and over fried chips
that were gorged on and dropped
by overweight mothers with kiss -me -quic k lips,
trailing loud little posses, all shock blond hair,
who run unchecked into sandal filled tubs,
shouted at loudly by bad tempered dads,
who would rather have stayed in hot sweaty pubs
eyeing up girls with glass eyed bellies
that twinkle in bar light on rolls of fat,
girls who crave love with low rent boys,
who swell with glad eyes like damp beer mats,
bought on a rainy day when shopping calls out
the bored and the beautiful fro m the caravans of Bude,
to find interesting knic kknac ks for Gran
and an hour spent choosing a new fake tattoo,
and all for a wee k with sisters who fight like cats,
one who never washes up or empties the bin
but who can tarot your life in a cup of PG Tips,
while the other comp lains that sloth is a sin,
watched by a mother who longs for the numbers called,
for the silence of c rowds and a bloody great gin,
but to keep the peace amongst the Ratner?s Girls,
she cooks all of the dinners and always gives in.
Absurd To Call It Darkness
Galileo turns in his grave, spinning around a sun
that burns retinas, imprint ing images and colours
on our eyelids by its proximity.
We fear the dark, the unknown, space without edge,
preferring to confine the infinite in a spark, a match head.
Overhead, cloudless and deep, the night sky is full of colour,
bipolar, rippling beyond these walls, beyond the glare
of sodium yellow uplight and wet tarmac .
Nature co mposes the most eloquent symphony of silence,
the most comple x patterns, in this grand theatre of starlight.
Our fear of darkness is the fear of fractions.
Are You Okay?
Change comes this way,