recitation

wrote with slender ballpoint pen
asphyxiated shapes intelligibly unleashed
into a spoken world.

Words garner flesh the ancients said,
can you hear the sounds?
but the eyes follow silent left to right

(right to left with difficulty)
recurring images imprinted
almost like clinically performed oratory.

Advertisements

untitled

repeated salutations
“Allah u Akbar” –

sound echoed
up the dusty road.

men prostrated
while she had shopping to do.

a sheepish look
the camera snapped

a random image
her prayer suspended

for who shall purchase
dinner for tonight?

shadow of a shadow

The River pub jostled with white working class
& sometimes I joined them on Sundays.

Large daffodils decked the stained wallpaper
intimidating weary visitors.

The rowdy bar divided women to the left,
the men right of rectangular room.

Tom’s rotund belly expertly handled pints.
Turquoise Lacoste armpits stained

he limped over tinny jukebox trilling
Sue in faded light: “Can I shag you tonight?”

Jazz spurts whisky from his mouth,
spraying giddy men who dastardly roar.

“Bring it on Minotaur!”
– as she danced on makeshift floor with gang.

The night lengthened. Hot meat & burgers
by-products in the future

the landlord calls time & the rabble stagger
onto the Golden Sun.

Ardwick Green

Along Devonshire Street North
& pausing at Universal Square,
John Dalton is buried over there.

A barely functioning knitwear
factory straddles playing field,
once a prestigious cemetery &

hidden under shaved green grass
Bones –
it’s always eerily quiet here.

The atomic theorist hawks down
from the tower of Nicholls hospital,
& as the day grows old

in supposed rush hour
the drivers cease to notice
the sprinkling of humans

on the cold pavement
as if they were ghosts,
edging

past the gothic building
as it blares the evening’s
purple torch.

Winter blues

Still pink tinted shapes
decorate this cold blue sky.
A white blanket covers the pavement, the street, the conifer,       the dead tree / sleeping
no warfare is present here.

When the pregnant woman from no.10
slams the door and walks,
she almost slips on the ice &
off to work she slides.

The snowy hillside on the horizon
picturesque with brown steeple
of abandoned church sticking out,
the peace is breached

when two Chinese children,
the girl clutching fluffy
black and white Dalmatian
faithfully swings

her brother’s hand
but he falls heavily
and starts
to wail.

The Orange Tangerine

As it lay in the coal coloured
rectangular bowl gleaming it caught
my eye amongst fresh green apples
and yellowish pears speckled brown –
but I had to catch this train

& upon return a few days later
the tangerine was not orange
but smothered in mould green,
once gleaming it is thrown
onto the compost.