Book Group

Assorted Poems, Selected poems

The last Thursday of every month was Book Group,
When the books would gather together
To discuss Graham.

“He has barely touched me I am sure I am
Only here so he can show off to his friends,”
Complained Ulysses, in a stream of self-consciousness.

“Consider yourself lucky,” cried Fifty Shades of Grey.
“He’s always got his dirty hands all over me. Look at my cracked
spine and turned down corners!”

“At least he’s prepared to put you two on display,” sobbed
Coping with Erectile Dysfunction, limply, from behind
The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.

“The problem isn’t him, it’s you,” declared the Oxford English Dictionary, with meaning.
“You get too involved. With me, it’s just a quick in and out.
We have an understanding.”

“That’s all very well for you to say, pronounce, utter, articulate,”
muttered Roget’s Thesaurus, who always had some words
To add to the conversation.

Graham entered the room, carrying a box.
Dipping into it, he pulled out a slim, shiny metal object.
He stared at it all night, his interest kindled.

The books sat silently on the shelf.

online shopping

Assorted Poems, Selected poems

it’s amazing
what you can buy online nowadays,
thought Maureen,
adding the Democratic Republic of the Congo
to her basket

she wasn’t prepared to pay the extra
for same day delivery, though

coquet

Assorted Poems, Selected poems

i put down my Guardian,
remove my cardigan,
other clothes follow
slowly,
sliding seductively
to the floor
i’m a snake shedding its skin
peeling
revealing
on the hunt
for some healing

garments slip
i bite my lip
in anticipation
of emancipation

But then the doctor turns around and says,
“You can keep your underpants on, Mr Bilston.”

bags

Assorted Poems, Selected poems

you had bags of bags

in your bags
you kept more bags
all bagged up
in bags for life

if there was a competition for number of bags
you would have it
in the bag

i don’t know why you needed so many bags
it’s not as if you had anything to put in them

except other bags

We Are Books

Assorted Poems, Selected poems

I am a book.

But one of those books
With an aspiration beyond its station,
A pale imitation of Nabakovian narration.
Characterisation never the strongest,
I’m forever on the longlist,
Always the prize-maid, but never the prize
(And do mind that plot-hole).

You are a book.

The Turko-Polish Technical Dictionary
Of Hydraulic Engineering, to be precise.
You are far from concise
And run into three volumes
With online supplementary material,
(Including downloadable PowerPoint slides).
I have very little idea how to read you
Or whether I should even try.

But still we sit side-by-side,
On the shelf,
Our companionable silence
Speaking volumes.

Malcolm

Assorted Poems, Selected poems

Malcolm was
a maverick,
and would always
have a trick
or two up his sleeve
should he ever meet
the nous-less and naive,
he’d bob and weave
and stitch them up a treat.

Malcolm was
a chancer, a dancer,
a Bengal lancer;
a ducker, a diver,
a scamp and a skiver
who’d steal the robes
off the back of a lady Godiva
if you gave him
a fiver.

Oh Malcolm.

Wallycobbles

Assorted Poems, Selected poems

i remember the moment
when my collies
began to wobble
as if it were yesterday
which it was
give or take a year
or two

it came as quite a shock
until that point
they had always seemed
of steadfast
and sturdy stock
hardly worthy
of a tremor
or a tremble
but solid
solid as a rock

i presented them
to the doc
parting his paperwork
to let them rest
quivering
and shivering
atop his pock-marked desk
he gave me
the heebie-jeebies
in a jamjar saying
take two before breakfast
with a glass of wine
closely pursued
by two more
during newsnight
but not the bit when
the next day’s papers
get perused

now they’re as good as new