visiting the chelsea hotel

we walk along the hudson river climb
onto the highline where monarchs swarm
purple verbenas and dry grass
cross block on block heart in mouth
walk don’t walk yellow taxi traffic horns
count down the numbers on west 25
spot the red brick high rise one time
‘world’s tallest building’

ventilator shaft intubates basement window
the building pegged by scaffoldin...

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Bristol poets especially may be interested in this event: The brilliant local poets Deborah Harvey and Tom Sastry with Open Mike. More details on the Gig Guide

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For over a year I've been co-hosting the Satellite of Love event in Easton, Bristol

See gig guide for more details

All write out loud poets welcome

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On December 14th the 1st anniversary of SATELLITE OF LOVE is happening at The Greenbank Pub in Easton Bristol. Poetry and Spoken Word from ANGIE BELCHER, MATT DUGGAN, MELANIE BRATON AND TIM BURROUGHS

READ THE GIG GUIDE FOR MORE DETAILS

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I'm reading on 6th July at The Poetry Cafe for Southbank Poetry magazine

Will post full line-up on here when I know it.

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https://www.facebook.com/groups/1506646746311682/

I'm co-hosting a poetry night on the 2nd Wednesday of every month at The Greenbank Pub, Easton, Bristol. Helen Sheppard, another Write Out Loud poet is Poet in Residence.

See gig guide and facebook link above

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The Laws of Family Migration

The Venn diagram of transcultural love
has no full intersections.

A spouse is not a spouse but is a potentially
non economically active burden on the State

Hearts become coins become cherries

in a fruit machine. There are no

winning lines, nothing adds up. Love

conquers nothing, counts for nothing.

Meanwhile your child

is free to live in any c...

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I've had a great poetry time recently: taking part in the advanced  group at the Poetry cafe run by the talented and insightful Katy Evans-Bush , reading at some fabulous places - The Cellar Bards, Shine so Hard and feature spots at Survivors poetry and for book launches of Clare Saponia's new collection 'The Oranges of Revolution'. So in the last few weeks I've had the pleasure and honour of read...

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How to leave Soho

Un-tongue the archaic idioms of Wardour Street prose,

those acronyms and codes. Sign out for the last time.

Delete all opinionated indiscretions.

Surrender your keys and password.

Purge details of pharmacists from your phone

as if they were the names of dealers.

Time will end at six as the Swiss clock chimes;

cow chases maiden chases wa...

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Snowman

Lived in half breaths

taken with one lung

christened in haste 

for expected brevity

given a half name

Bert

Bert

not Albert

or Herbert

or the apocryphal Plain Bert

as inscribed by the officer at the Labour Exchange 

Bert

the name that lasted him for seventy years

of milking, ploughing, hedging, ma...

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Only a licensed waterman can present a boy for binding -

seven years an apprentice, learning to row, with long paddles, 

the punts that hold fifty tons of cargo, iron hull, timbered deck,
     greasy gun’les, walked with toes turned in.

Seven years to learn
       the moods and feelings of the Thames,

come to terms with the wind,
      names of points, reaches, bridges, wh...

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Synaesthetes night out at Cafe Oto

This is an impression of an impression,
the hyperreal of ketchup in a painting,
a kid’s wax crayon drawing,
a pulp paperback, lurid and lovely,
a pastiche of unstitched pop songs.

This music tastes not of red wine but cold beer,
electronic gizmos sharpen silence,
club cut hair is feather black on cheek bones,
basket weave lantern throws...

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Highgate Women’s Pond We are fair feather swimmers, lucked out on sunshine dipping down among the moorhens and the mandarin ducks. Remember the house we shared, the book we all read - from The Women’s Press - ‘Steaming Ahead’ - picture of an iron on the spine. It was called Three Ply Yarn, told the stories of women’s lives, how they combine, pull apart and coincide. Today our hair dri...

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  Here

At the corner of the Croft

is a Basket of Light

This is where songlines weave up 

through pavement cracks

Despite

This is where, not so long ago, 

breeze blew over poppies in wheat and cows in clover

on Stokes Farm

Now

skateboarders wheel round pecked out buildings

and boots stamp burnt foil into the tarmac

of Stokes Croft

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  easy roommate

that winter she mainly looked at rooms

the thumbnail pictures

of beds still in their plastic wrappings

gleaming kitchens

granite veneer uncluttered

she read descriptions of gardens

and single quiet dogs

winced at misspellings in descriptions

free of grammar

and although she could not remember

showing interest

in Docklands, Le...

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