This is a first.  I am about to explain a poem.  Why is this a first? Because a long lesson that I have learnt as a poet, is that sometimes people need a gentle prod, not literally, but mentally, in the right direction.  I have spent many years writing poetry and not explaining why I wrote them and what the point is and I feel that although simplicity and economy can often be a poets greatest gift, this shouldn’t leave the reader scratching their head.

So, this is a first and not last I hope.

Soul Sale is a fresh new one that I wrote as I was unhappy with the way that my hands would always gravitate to the Argos catalogue if I needed anything.  Anything at all.  Things would spark in my head often “I wonder if that’s in the Argos Catalogue” almost religously.  This feeling has worked its way in to a poem, again comparing the faith that one has in Argos to a religous faith and playing with images of demons and that sort of thing.

I’ve sold my soul to Argos,
it’s not the way to go.
I’m a slave to their book of dreams,
as I flick through their pages of promises.
Searching for the answer to life.
And it’s not good.

I read it at night,
I can recite
Every chapter from the contents page,
as my heart is in a catalogued cage and
the keys are held by the warehouse demon
that resides in every single store,
the guardian between excess and reason,
as you walk through their blue and red doors.
They receive their power from the Earth’s core
as their power of attraction is so huge it entraps
souls in their End of Catalogue Sale.

If you stand still as you enter,
you can hear the wails
of
the
souls
Trapped behind the counter of judgement,
at the end of the conveyer belt of buyers regret.

They say Satan is the
most beautiful being
and walks this mortal earth,
but what if he needs a job?
Somewhere to spread his curse.
Where better to get you and me,
to sell what we’re exactly worth
as we write seven little numbers down
it’s a cheque,
an access code,
a router,
a node,
to our squishy buying cortex,
that bit of the brain that acts
like a powerful impulse vortex
of
‘things you might need’ and
‘that could possibly be a bit useful’.

So, now I attend a retail
Confessional, determined to make
an impression on
my wilting, limpid, bank account.
But no amount of therapy and all this
soul searching dream catching dross,
will save me from myself,
as I have sold my soul, to Argos.

She can stare, for hours
at a three thousand foot
high hand.
If God had an appendage,
would it be made of
cloud?
she thought.
A tugging sleeve
beckoned her forward
towards her father.
Pavements are not good
places to stop, so she is
reminded.

At home, lawn bedded,
she sits down in front of the sky.

A ten mile screen,
cloud people in a soap
of atmospheric cloud coupling,
interwoven with betrayal of birds
and jet trails separating the line of
view.

When the exhaust
dropped off my car,
a beast was released
like a growling, demonic
Balrog.  A thirteen hundred
CC mythological monster.
Tomorrow, Gandalf
who happens to work
at Kwik-Fit will defeat him.
I hope they have a sale on.

I never saw your eyes
as he took the shiney
newness from your
heart.

but the hole was larger then
the plasters you had in
your cupboard.

They said that you’d never love
in the same way. But
now you have bigger plasters.

Everyday that passes, your
heart plasters fall off to the
bottom of the deep end
of your life.

You loved him,
but only for
that small period
between first
setting eyes
and watching
his lips move as
he launched
a comedy voice
in to your ocean
of catty, unforgiving
friends.

Here come the
cloud giants as they pace
softly though
nature reserves and over
roof tiles. Their
rain legs, destroy
airflows like dreams
of sunbathing under their
grimey shadow.

Their black sun grows through
atmospheric cloud coupling,
as it divorces the ground
from the fog.

We are left with glowing condensation,
under long and stretched shadows.
Vaporous greetings as the
cloud post cards itself
towards us from
miles.

They make life easy,
But also sometimes hard,
You get dealt with them
However hard
you try and play
Your cards.

They are granite in your
Foundation stone but strapped
with a coat of semtex,
They’ll pick away until there is
Nothing left but build you back
When you need it most,
They are your coffee in the morning
A special supper when you come home
But that empty feeing when it’s all gone.
Family bring you in,
A vortex of love and gravity
Enmassing in a bright
cosmic cotten candy swirl
engulfing sadness and starvation,
like the vacuum of space.

They are your universe
because no matter where you
are.
Someone wants to know you’re OK.

A walk is
What we really need.
Let’s go to Exmouth,
The population of
Exeter thought
In frightening
Unison.

Don’t give me Deck the Halls,

Or you’ll lose possession of your bauballs.

because I’m dreaming of a white Christmas

Just like the ones we’ve never actually had.

Hark the herald angel sing,
What is that awful din?  Oh it’s a choir.
Where’s my M-16.

Jingle bells, jingle bells.
Last time I jingled bells,
I was arrested.

The first Noel, the angels did say
This fantastic sale will start
on Christmas Day, don’t be late.

Silent night, holy night,
It’s not silent because the neighbours
Are having a pretentious Christmas
party. And they’re singing Karaoke.

Badly.
I have ran out of ammunition, there
were too many Choristers.

They called him ‘Facebook Jim’
Because if you added him,
He’d add you back.
No matter who you were.
Even if you were sane,
Or even slightly disturbed.
He’d add people from Africa,
Asia and even South America
But one day he added
A pirate.
Called Barry.
Who was
Going up in the world and
Bought a PC.

Had found that looting ships
Was not as profitable.
So he got online and looked
for fellow pirates online who
could possibly offer some
advice. He added himself
to Facebook, using the
Pirate language setting

After a trip to the pirate library,
and a quick search on the pirate
OPAC (Online Public ARRcccess Catalogue)
He found a book called
“How to steal identities and
Become wealthy”.

Lesson One.
“Steal a lubbers identity by
Siphoning off important information
On facebook.” Raid it like a bark,
of scurvy redcoats and reap the benefits.

Within a few months,
Pirate Barry was making a nice
Living siphoning information and
Applying for loans. He didn’t miss
The sea but did miss getting
his victims to walk the plank.

Pirate Barry was getting
quite good at this and it wasn’t
a lot of time before he added
Facebook Jim.

A month later Jim got a courtesy
Call from a Loan company ran by
Sharks. A small operation staffed
Entirely by Great White’s and a
small Hammer Head called Steve.
The call was frightening, not because
Steve hasn’t got many people skills,
But because when a hammer head
rings you and threatens to eat you
if you don’t repay the loan in full
You tend to worry.

The next day, Jim’s door was knocked on
by Steve.

Steve wrote later that he was tender,
but not as nice as that old lady he ate
two days earlier.
Pirate Barry wrote back to Steve and announced
he was leaving piracy to become a
Mountain Goat breeder.