Shirts & Skirts

So I watch you,
Trying things on and
Taking things off. Whilst
I sit and voyeur through
The reflection of the
CRT glass.
It’s like
Moods, that you shed and
Adorn,
Taken off.
Put back on.
Identity.
Shed like snake skin.

How will you feel
Tomorrow?
Like predicting the
Weather, without
satellite images and
Cushy icons smattered
On a false coloured map.

I dress for all weathers,
scruffy magic, ruffled hair.

Inspire

Words are my enemy,
Sentences my friend,
Paragraphs my addiction
That I have to try and,
End.

I argue with my enjambments,
My cesura’s are slightly worried
As I lose control on my pentameters
And rum amok through my notebook.
The scrawls, and competing poetic
Forms scrap and fight. Clash and
smash their brutal path through
my imagination.

And the riot police cannot stop it.
And the pious cannot stop it.
And God cannot stop it.
Only me.

Oxford

The intellect , falls like rain, it soaks through,
It runs over the cobbles, enlightening stone
Deepening colours and engulfing hues of
Rustic history.

Memories plant themselves
On walls of the churches, just like graffiti.
Time has never quite got here, just shadows
of the past in virtue lost, only in stone.

In response to ‘In These Streets We Will Bang’ (see previous entry)

The gun is judge and jury
But you are the executioner.
Rule through fear and out the other side
To terror and misery

The words spoken are
Dogs barking, animal growls
Of the lowest levels, and below
Are the quiet cries of the innocent

A mother in loss
A brother makes his way
To the white alabaster stone, his name
Engraved “in loving memory”