death

Bus Shelter

Assorted Poems, Some poems

We stand in stoic silence,
peering through perspex panels
for the bus with our number on it.

All shelters in time are visited
and we, waiting, occupy ourselves
with a thousand tiny distractions

until we see it nose slowly
around the corner, and greet it,
not with welcome surprise

but with wretched relief
and, as we feel the press of coins
in clammy palms, we wonder

whether this is a poem
about buses and bus shelters at all
or, rather, one about life and death

because that’s the kind of thing
that poets write about
and we climb aboard anyway

as it is warm inside
and this one has free wi-fi.

Do not go, lentil, into that good pie

Assorted Poems, Some poems

Do not go, lentil, into that good pie
Lest it should burn not bake upon the tray,
Rage, rage against the oven turned too high.

Soybeans and chickpeas may also die
For the pulses quicken upon their way,
Do not go, lentil, into that good pie.

The pastry turns crisp and black as the night
And the scarred legumes turn to darkened grey,
Rage, rage against the oven turned too high.

And so we, like pies, when the end draws nigh,
Have charcoaled remains grieved, too, in a way,
Do not go, lentil, into that good pie.

No, do not go, lentil, into that good pie.
Rage, rage against the oven turned too high.

When I’m Gone

Assorted Poems, Some poems

When I’m gone
from this world
let them say:

“He never quite managed
to seize the day.

He fought but failed
to keep shyness at bay.

He was unlikely to star
in Fifty Shades of Grey.

But he could stack
a dishwasher
in an efficient way.”

Lines Written Upon Arriving At A Holiday Cottage And Discovering The Lack Of Reliable Wi-Fi

Assorted Poems, Some poems

slow burning days drag by
as the smouldering fag ends of hours
turn themselves to ash

second-hand jigsaws
sleep smugly on dusty shelves,
uncontrite at their incompleteness,

next to a well-thumbed
Robert Harris and the fortnight
stretches like old laddered tights

evenings drab with scrabble
and the death rattle of yahtzee dice
provide no substitute

for videos of piano-playing cats
instagram selfies, status updates
and Lionel Richie memes

instead this, the buffering
and the suffering and the shutters
which rattle in the wind

The Chelsea Flower Show Massacre

Assorted Poems, Some poems

There was death amongst the daffodils
the day Fleur took her secateurs
and ran amok through the flock
of haughty culturalists in the Chelsea gardens
without so much as a beg your pardon.

Roses were red, violets were too,
ears were sheared, nosegays chopped,
toes trimmed and green fingers lopped,
as Fleur took the lawn into her own hands
and mowed them all down.

Even the failure of Lady Pru’s azalea bed
became overshadowed by the trail of dead
and the herbaceous borders
filled up with her slaughters.

There was carnage in the carnations,
annihilation amidst the anemones,
hysteria in the wisteria,
nastiness in the nasturtiums.

Nobody could remember
a flower show bloodier.

Someone had even been nipped
in the buddleia.