It’s the birthday of John Venn today (born 4th Aug, 1834) so here’s a poem inside a Venn diagram to celebrate.
love
Alexa, What Is There to Know about Love?
Assorted Poems, Selected poemsAlexa, what is there to know about love?
What is there to know about love?
A glove is a garment that covers the hand
for protection from the cold or dirt and –
Alexa, how does a human heart work?
How does a human heart work?
Blood is first received in the right atrium via
two veins, the vena cava superior and inferior –
Alexa, where do we go to when we die?
Where do we go to when we die?
Activating Google Maps. Completed activation.
Would you like to start from your current location?
Alexa, what does it mean to be alone?
What does it mean to be alone?
It is the silence left by words unsaid,
the cold expanse of half a bed.
It is the endless stretching of the hours,
the needless tending of plastic flowers.
It is an echo unanswered in a cave,
the fateful ping of the microwave.
It is the fraying of a worn shirt cuff,
and the howl – Stop, Alexa. That’s enough.
She’s Opted Out of Me
Assorted Poems, Selected poemsShe’s unsubscribed from all my lists.
She tells me I will not be missed.
She’d only joined when she was pissed.
She’s opted out of me.
She’s updated all her preferences.
She’s removed me from her references.
She can’t see what my relevance is.
She’s opted out of me.
She says that she is sick of me.
She claims she wants some privacy.
I’ve opted into misery
Now she’s opted out of me.
ee cummings attempts online banking
Assorted Poems, Selected poemsNow enter a password.
i carry your heart with me
Password too long. Please try again.
i carry your ear with me
Spaces are not allowed. Please try again.
icarryyourearwithme
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ICarryYourEarWithMe
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1CarryY0urEarWithMe
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1CarryY0ur👂🏻WithMe
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AbCd1234&!%
Out of the Rain
Assorted Poems, Selected poemsWe ran down the high street and into the pub,
as we cheated the rain that fell from above,
dodging the puddles that had formed on the floor.
Such a beautiful day for a nuclear war.
You draped your wet coat on the back of your chair,
We emptied our drinks. The rain dripped from your hair.
A Guinness. A whiskey. Then I went back for more.
What a beautiful day for a nuclear war.
We talked. Pop songs. First pets. Favourite film stars.
We flicked pistachio shells into a jar.
You tried not to yawn. You must have thought me a bore.
It was a beautiful day for a nuclear war.
The days have changed now but I keep that one apart.
I carry it with me, tattooed on my heart.
The Guinness. Your wet hair. The dress that that you wore.
Such a beautiful day for a nuclear war.
Remembrance Of Things Pasta
Assorted Poems, Selected poemsShe blew her fusilli,
my pretty penne,
when she found me watching
daytime tagliatelle.
Je ne spaghetti rien,
I responded in song,
but she did not linguini
for long,
just walked out
without further retort:
a hard lesson to be tortellini,
orzo I thought.
And so here I am
on my macaroni
and now my days
feel cannelloni.
Love in the Time of Cauliflower
Assorted Poems, Selected poemsPlease marrow me, my beloved sweetpea,
so that we may beetroot to our hearts.
Lettuce have the courgette of our convictions
and our love elevated to Great Artichoke.
Don’t leek me feeling this way, my dear,
such lofty asparagus can’t be ignored.
I am a prisoner, trapped in your celery;
Don’t make me go back to the drawing broad beans.
We all carry emotional cabbage:
love is chard and not inconsequential,
but may our passion be uncucumbered
so that we reach our true potato.
Oh, how your onions make my head spinach,
reduce me to mushrooms, broccoli, defenceless.
Only you can salsify my desire,
and I, in turnip, will radish you senseless.
love poem, inadvertently written with auto-carrot switched on
The Flowers of the Garage Forecourt
Assorted Poems, Selected poemsBudding lovers beware
of the Flowers of the Garage Forecourt;
they are not for courting.
Love will not blossom
with the Flowers of the Garage Forecourt,
these blundering bouquets
of cellophaned sadness:
the slip-road roses and tarmacked tulips,
petrol pump peonies
and crushed-dream chrysanthemums.
All those dahlias of desperation.
The I-forgot-you forget-me-nots.
Please know this, would-be customers
of the Flowers of the Garage Forecourt:
romance wilts with a lack of forethought.
Artist’s Impression
Assorted Poems, Selected poemsChannel-flicking on the television,
a sudden flicker of recognition,
and there you are, lighting up the screen.
You’ve not changed much, it seems.
The selfsame eyes of grey flint,
those touchpaper lips,
that shocking blaze
of hair. It’s as if the days
lit by time’s slow-burnt passage
are reduced to ashes.
An old flame, charcoaled
back to life by the controlled
hand of a police sketch artist.
I see you’re still up to your old tricks,
wanted, as you are, for questioning
in connection with
a spate of arson attacks
in the vicinity of Matlock Bath.
Of No Fixed Adobe
Assorted Poems, Selected poemsHer interest in him
had waned,
then gradually eroded.
Like an update
to Adobe Reader,
he’d never be downloaded.