A Bedroom to Go.......

I rest my tired bones on the posturepedic  pavement, although not quite designed for the human frame, my already aching body moulds itself to the none contours as if laid out prematurely on a mortuary slab.

The cardboard box and flimsy lining of the sleeping bag act as a mattress topper and if only for minute offer me a brief escape into slumber.

I awake numb ...

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I'm used to sleeping alone at night in my bed. No one there.

I'm used to being unloved and unwanted at night, feeling the touch of a bullet.

I'm used to being forlorn and forsaken, dead inside during dark hours. Inside and out. I'm used to having no lover to get wet and sweaty with, damn hot eroticism. Not in my bed or life.

I'm used to having no one hold m...

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I am not asleep.

Just past half five a.m. I am less than gravetized.

Little white dust, a lust for pure thought, an edge or

some disfigurement. An absolute poem

that will make a freak of time and jazz

is the protagonist aware of the power it holds

on these insane moments

of sniffed muse and

skin dropped silver bombs.

Because sometimes I am that child ag...

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(a previous post, excised revised and hybridised)

Turning

I endured

Her desolate, enormous helplessness

With such a fierce compulsion that it seemed

My very heart must claw out from my breast

And leap the space between us…

But, summoning

A strength from some cold fathom of the will,

Turned back again.

…………………….

And her eyes wen...

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YES! YES! YES!

We got in O2 Think Bigger!

Special thanks to Richard Hawkins of the Autistic Organisation and Sally Carr of Lesbian and Gay Youth Manchester for supporting our application.

With this funding OpenMind will finally be able to roll out our premium video service that's been put on standby for the moment, and also we plan to hold a free to attend open air event in Manch...

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YES! YES! YES!

We got in O2 Think Bigger!

Special thanks to Richard Hawkins of the Autistic Organisation and Sally Carr of Lesbian and Gay Youth Manchester for supporting our application.

With this funding OpenMind will finally be able to roll out our premium video service that's been put on standby for the moment, and also we plan to hold a free to attend open air event in Manch...

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Reliable camera

For sale.

Excellent condition

Careful owner.

Used once

Costa Coffee.

Positioned outside

Ladies loo.

Not guilty

Offensive action.

Finger slipped

Human error.

Negative result

I flashed.

Dazzled focus

Automatic rewind.

Strap tightened

Hidden away.

Alleged crime

Fled scene.

Handed form

Railway statio...

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Woody Guthrie's birth centenary is almost upon us (July 14) and it's time to deal with some uneasy feelings America's favourite folk song has always stirred in me. As a spoken piece my take on This Land Is Your Land ends with a change of tone and pace in the last line, which looks a bit flat on the page, working best in performance - when it can be followed by singing (reflectively rather than ...

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(I've never written a poem of this type before. I feel this a feeble attempt. Its audience is children. It came out of a workshop I attended. Your comments, impovements and criticisms would be more than appreciated)

Grody Hurlothrumbo

Grody Hurlothrumbo,

blobber lipped and yellowed,

stomps into my bedroom at night.

Repulsive and repugnant,

she scares me in fr...

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(An old post mais nous sommes ici encore)

I wish I was in St Palais

Where shards of sunlight teem

In the cool Atlantic breeze of

Charente-Maritime;

Where the black kites fly

In a cloudless sky

Like a sultry, Gallic dream,

Where fishermen’s sheds

Tend the oyster beds

In Charente-Maritime.

I wish I was in La Palmyre

            By ...

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Hi everybody

 So I have written a trilogy of poems based on the subject of communication. I have rather inventively decided to call them The Communications Trilogy.

 The first on the Trilogy is Television, whilst I am someone who is generally pessimistic about the media and government and don't really believe a word of what we are told, I do suffer from a subconscious paranoia. Beaten i...

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I need to love you...

Imagining love, I was spring on your skin,

when the folds of dawn dressed with honey

devoured my body again and again

my desire flourishing breathless only imagining you

Wishing to live in your lips, a wave of pleasure

I desire to lose myself in your fire

and baring your kisses

in the impenetrable silence of your feelings

...

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                                                            Train Tracks                        

Does his reach exceed his grasp?

Or her grasp exceed her reach?

Are the meams presented daily –

Stopping Each, their choice?

     Should it matter?

            Choices!

                        Like restrictions of marbles

Placed bluntly, ...

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Slow down you drive to fast

Dave from Darwen was racing down the M65,

Going soo fast and lucky to be alive.

He was pulled over by a cop who was ready for his break,

Hankering for his coffee and a piece of carrot cake.

"Hope you've got a good excuse for going so fast,

I looked at my speedo and was truly aghast."

"Well,years ago my wife ran away with a cop,

T...

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This is a poem that was written by an old friend of mine called Paul Nunn who I have a long music association with. He heard some of my performance poetry and asked if I would record this one. It is my pleasure to have done so.

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Everywhere the murmur of departure, seeking a new fortune.

I go where Eternity becomes the verdant field of  Space.

I'm a pilgrim through the path of the time, under the rain,

I walk, the naked feet on a path of thorns.

I want to be a man who goes with the sword of Justice,

Against the thunder of tyranies, and the flood of corruption.

Everywhere the murmur of...

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'ThePoetry Spoke'

Great poetry and acoustic music

This Tuesday - 26th June- doors open 8pm

La Gondola

22a Liscard Crescent

Wallasey- The Wirral

CH44 1AE (a stones throw over the Mersey from Liverpool)

Check us out in the gig guide...

Our Guest Poet

'David Subacchi'

David's poetry was born in Aberystwyth into a family with strong Italian root...

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I wonder if the elders look

For patterns in this bubbling brook.

The swirls of life and repetitions,

Destroying the greatest of ambitions.

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Doe-eyed woodland artistry glows
oh, how you hide your face away
I give and give to you
investment in a broken thing
once-grateful hands grab more and more

There is a sickness of mind
a blackness and a spoilt heart
where blame is always searching
and mirrors cannot exist
once-blooming thoughts crush more and more

Pushing on the posts that held you up
you’ve pushed to...

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Tap, tap,tap

Concentration

Inspiration is your aspiration

You hear nothing but your own thoughts

I’m wasted and watching

Drinking and inhaling

the cruel comfort it gives

Living the low life with you

© Katy Hughes 2012

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Only connect – a line, a lead, a link

Lassoing together disparate entities

As seamless as a maths-made Moebius strip

Constructible, yet with a vital twist:

Where, instantly, inside and outside, meld

Surprisingly, into a single surface

And so it is with us, the so-called self,

The side the world sees: epidermis.

And the inner, secret self, the soul, wh...

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For My Brothers.

There are days in your life when you need to be still,

No need for excitement you don’t need that thrill,

When the quiet is everything, silence and calm,

No want for disruption, no want for alarm.

There are days in your life when that need is profound,

When your feet are both seeking the sanctified ground,

Where lips full and rounded are ...

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You sent me

flowers as an

attachment

to my work email

account.

It wasn’t

quite the

romantic

gesture

I was

looking for.

I replied

with a

JPEG of a

dump.

I never

received

a postmaster

failure

email

so you must have got the message.

From my new book - 'Working Extra Hours Ha...

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We are delighted to enclose your travelcard
which will grant you entry to

Strap-hanging gymnastics
Competitive carrying of dogs and children
Endurance on the Northern Line
And the forty-metre scramble up the left-hand side of the escalator

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Oh, God! Give me the strength to forgive

Even when I was not forgiven,

No one to humiliate or to offend

Even when I was humiliated or offended

Give me the wisdom to be always fair,

Teach me to fly and not to be scared,

Not to be indifferent to the neighbors,

But to live and create for world's favors.

If I doubt to ask my heart for advice

As my heart ne...

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Four days after I wrote this, the following article appeared in the Daily Telegraph:-‘A train company blamed “the wrong sort of passenger” for the problems some had in reaching London for the celebrations.’

The Wrong Sort of Train

We’re sorry the trains are not running you know

Tomorrow we hope they’ll be fine

But nature has dealt us a sad autumn blow

There...

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A factual attack on global banking. NON party-political.

Lately, I’ve done a lot of research,

I found the chief cause for inflation,

Why there is never enough money,

Yet more unemployed in our nation.

Have you not wondered why it should be

That most countries owe huge deficits?

Where did all this money come from?

It’s a puzzle to challenge all wits.

...

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A couple of years ago, some bright

spark came up with the idea of plastering

quotes from Larkin’s poems inside

the blood-clot red buses that rush around

Hull. It was some sort of back-handed

attempt to pay tribute to his legacy. It’s

Tuesday morning, and I’m off into

town to try and convince someone

that I’m worth every penny. To my

left sit...

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All his things are around here, in the wardrobe and in the drawers

The man himself has gone

But all his things are here

Don’t put your things in that drawer, that’s drawer’s already in use

But it’s full of the things of a dead man

And he’s no longer here.

It’s cold out tonight, so very cold, so why don’t you use this scarf?

It’s the scarf of a dead ...

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I've travelled  down the major highways

To self-important places;

And I've spent my time in minor byways,

Meeting much-loved faces,

But no matter where I choose to roam,

I end up at the start,

Always finding my way home

To the back streets of my heart.

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Attend the church summer fete;

tombola and a silver band,

lucky dip and discarded books.

Bike along the restored canal.

Nurture your own, make do and mend;

hark again to the vinyl.

Sell the car, return to Scarborough,

watch cricket on the green, 

Wander aimlessly in the garden

as leaves swirl about in the wind.

For all the money is gone;

life won't be the same...

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Anger consumes me

Eats my soul like a cancer

Self inflicted hell

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It seems too unlikely.

Little girl, pink frock, barefoot

wandering through a glade

following a peacock.

There’s no-one with her.

Just this sapphire creature

at her side.

Putting down our sandwich lunch

worried, we approach.

“Where is your mummy?”

The peacock disappears.

“Over there” she gestures

unconcerned.

Tells us he...

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Once you had your images.

Cardiac tamed by the smile

behind the name.

Secrets that you’ve

hymn drawn

to your later

arrow eyes.

You are my pen

after the punishment.

Once you had your heart,

But it came out garbled.

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For I will praise my father

for his giant frame

that once dwarfed me

as an oak tree

dwarfs a flower;

and for his big hands,

sure and strong,

and for the blue

sea secret of his eyes;

and I will praise him again

for the work he did

and the back

he bowed to feed me;

and more for the songs

he never sang,

and those he kept

to kindle

...

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Free short story for "liking" my writer's page!

Yes - it's shameless self promotion time again!

Because I need to drive up the number of "likes" on my Steve Rudd author page,

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Steve-Rudd/221481391210989

I'm now offering a limited edition of a one-off free pamphlet of my short story entry for the 2012 Sunday Times Short Sto...

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A sonnet drowns in love.

Patterns in Nature cling to crystal zones:

This singular look on your face

In this time and place,

Touching on the distance but never nearer the truth

Moving wedding poem gives weight to sentiments -

A wind of change blows through the trees

Holiday antics

Away from prying eyes

Of neighbours, parents and friends;

The yo...

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Coffee Morning

Front door ajar, no Jack Russell alarm,

their house has the uncanny air of a crime scene.

‘’Hello?’’

‘’We’re all in the living room!’’

Her casual text had suggested coffee and gossip at the kitchen table.

I put on ‘Jolly Fiona’ like a heavy coat and enter,

am a brief comic turn as I reveal with a conjurer’s flourish

my contribution , a ...

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“To Thine Own Self”

(Hamlet: Shakespeare)

No offence to the Bard,

But I found it quite hard

When composing a sonnet

My face had a frown on it….

His iambic pentameter

Could not have been sweeter –

Mine should have been neater….

His verse flowed like sweet wine,

Every word quite divine –

Rough and ready, was mine!

...

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I've hit the wall

full stop ! 

I'm blocked out

with nowt

to say

I can't play a note

or even hum

a tune.

I've tried  spoon

feeding

my eyes

and rubbing

my thighs

like Vic Reeves

but I can't

retrieve

a rhyme or thought

my brain age

is nought.

I'm distraught !

Please help

por favor

before I ban...

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I'm here to shed light on your day

We're not having any black or grey,

Ride the rainbow high and low

Spread the colour wherever you go.

From the rainbows seven colours true

Painting the sky with dazzling hue,

Red, orange, yellow, green,

Blue, indigo and violet seen.

In every life there's a rainbow

With nothing but the world below,

It has...

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(to the tune of 'coming round the mountain')

The Greek people they have had it up to here,

With those ‘haves’ that say these times must be austere.

Forbes’ list shows the same old picture

The poor pay up - the rich get richer

Publishing financial crimes without a fear.

Has the Parisian Republic gone berserk?

I mean, growth through spending... ...

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On Tumbledown, no doubting of our love,

No bishopric’s accusing finger points,

Proclaiming: ‘Gays can’t die for God above,

Or marry Harry, Jessica or George’!

No holy men in dresses and big hats,

Will stem this bloody flow, or hold my hand,

Or sing my soul aloft; no music wafts

Along the breeze from England’s pleasant land.

Are you still there, Jim? God, it’s blo...

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How many folk have ever had the chance,
to converse with an angel and to glance,
into the eyes of one who flies where they will,
one who we know will never swoop to make a kill...

Up amongst the eagles they may choose to fly,
and perhaps they share the falcon's sharper eye,
does greater vision let them know reasons why mankind,
seems ever ready to break their fellows in spir...

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Love turns the other cheek

absorbs the sting

lingers on the memories

of better times

treads water

holds back tides

hides fear

to steer its course

through arid land

sows understanding

to a hostile soil

waits faithfully

waits patiently

for seed to grow

from deep abyss

to planted kiss

then

like a dolphin

basking in the early m...

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Benny and Jimmy and four hundred more

took to the hills for their freedom to walk

A working class pastime; a Socialist march

A right to roam Kinder for rambling men

No gamekeeper, landlord, Duke or police

could stop the mass trespass up there on the Peak

A breach of the peace; incitement to what?

‘Unlawful Assembly’ up on the Scout

The gam...

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Poetry   Competition

There will be an Anthology of 100 poems titled

“The Black Hole” for sale in August 2012.

Closing date: 30th June 2012.

The Black Hole theme is to get your views on opencast mining, the area around the opencast, such as Rhaslas pond, the wetlands & wildlife, & what living close to an opencast feels like. Also what effect you think it would h...

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Is told from Maisies father's point of view. I was kind of wrestling with how your life can never be the same. In my collection they go the distance and stay together, but in this poem this is an elderly man living with the guilt and hurt he has caused his wife.

The years have bobbed by

The grief subsiding and somehow

we became content with our jigsaw

of a life with ...

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This is me reading a poem by a poet I know known as Thismorning

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calligraphy by: Kel C Ann Johnston 

http://cargocollective.com/officeofjohnston

"It is forgetfulness that makes life possible.” Romare Bearden 

 Cliché

We escape dogma

Cannons

Textbook realities

Founding father visions

Museums

Zoos

Prisons

And plantations that hold stories

Made from brutal his-stories like

Drapetomaniacs

Forgetting captivity

Commodifica...

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It’s 1:30 am.

He takes me away from the others unpacking,

opens the front door to the first night

in our first home and squirts WD-40

over both hinges, explains

WD is water dispersal,

NASA concocted this stuff

to keep fields of rockets

from turning orange, then burnt umber.

He heard this on his pocket radio

cycling along blustery North London roads

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Flash of a camera.
Shot from a gun.
Click, a distant finger
Exposes the truth,

That you would have buried
Amongst the bodies in the sand.
Rolled over with aggressive force
So no trace could be left
Just red truth seeping into
The mouth of the thirsty beaten ground
Who will excrete the lies
Too hard to digest.
Deceitful coloured vomit
Stained
Is left on your h...

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Venus in Transit (2012)

Venus yellow darkens in fierce caress with the Sun,

their celestial sex signals that another cycle’s done.

But what offspring shall fall to our planet?

What offerings of sacrifice in return for this etheric gift?

Perhaps a shift in consciousness will ensue,

a rebirth to enlighten the hearts of human kind.

So ride the tempest,

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The miniatures we reproduced from saliva,

blood and juice once served to hold us as a glue,

called a truce on warring troops and propped us up

until the group had borne enough; the bairns

were insubordinate or simply grown too tall for us –

their skins sloughed while ours merely sag and drop.

Now those we foster and adopt, the cuckoo crop,

are practising the precipic...

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