untitled lives

the boxes are full of dead people
they smile and wave at me without motion
frozen in time but lacking cryogenic hope
there are so many of them it becomes overwhelming
the past is a silent place filled with muted voices
only I can put the words into their mouths
only I can tell their stories in my own words
and if I dump the boxes in the trash?
who will know they ever lived and loved?

Gun Control is Fun

at the trifle range
we shoot cherries
with custard guns
and creamy jellies
it’s such sweet fun

Thinking of you, dad

my father died when I was 7 and he was 37
I have virtually no memory of him
beyond photos and a few sketchy dreamlike scenes
that may or may not have occurred
but oddly his ‘spirit’
(for want of a better word)
seems to find me on occasions
when I am least expecting it
again, this is probably of my own making
or related to some trigger event
but nevertheless it keeps me tethered to him
in a way that makes me thankful
that not everything in life and death
can be fully explained

Thanks to Jon for his poem this morning
that triggered mine. You can find it on this link:

https://jonstainsby.wordpress.com/2020/03/02/thinking-of-you-mum/

in a flash of light

in a flash of light
your bare shoulder
by the naked bulb
flicked on and off

in a flash of light
your fragile face
bright flashlight lit
photo framed

in a flash of light
your bulging belly
now filled with life
lightning struck

in a flash of light
your flickered eyes
shut and fastened
darkest night

Coming Up: Soho 1980

these narrow stairs funnel bodies
pumped up from the street
fluorescent lights strip us naked
through a sudden smog of exhaled
– smoke and sweat and noise
music muffling our way
a stacked sound system
everything is solid yet floating
you shout in my ear:
how many heartbeats per second?
– we’re coming up
– we’re coming up
dry ice amyl nitrate discotheque
London locals insouciant
out of town tourists wide eyed
assorted low life stereotypes
up that narrow staircase
above that Chinese takeaway
you shouted in my ear:
you feel what I feel?
but I’d forgotten who you were
and all I knew was I loved you
and that’s what I told you
– over and over as we danced
– past present future conjoined

King’s Road 1979

our breath formed misty clouds
the breeze stole the warm droplets
it used them for its own benefit
to break down the morning grey
with the help of the sun beyond
black taxi cabs prowled the streets
city rats searching for their next meal
I held your hand a little too tightly

Flesh

I have been gazing on your flesh
since time tore you from its loins
I gave you fig leaves for your modesty
but in a flash I snatched them away
I worshipped all of your finer lines
covered them with blushes and oils
I coaxed you into a thousand poses
kissed and coloured your pretty lips

I have wrapped and unwrapped
your flesh in fancy drapes and finery
I treated you as my rightful property
both your body and mind
I prodded your flabby haunches
explored your insides and outs
I was the controller of your desires
you were the origin of my world

I have tried to define your mind
and you have tormented mine
I would beat you black and blue
if given only half of one chance
I loved and hated in equal measure
your varying shades and hues
I found I couldn’t live without you
you found you needed me too

the-desperate-man-self-portrait-1845

The Desperate Man (Self-Portrait) by Gustave Courbet (1843-1845)

cats n dogs

cats n dogs n stair rods
chuckin it n bucketin
in sheets n torrents
lashin n pissin it
sideways n hammerin
heavens opened
nice day for ducks
peltin n peein
in sheets n drivin
wot an ache n pain
for the duke o Spain
but wait
wots this 🌞 you say
thats better innit