I can’t see it’s hard to be a stoic

when you’ve never cooked a meal

or paid a bill.

 

Still

 

I’ll allow it was rather heroic

to share a bed all them years

with Prince Phil.

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I don’t know what to do with my self

and indeed I can seldom locate it.

I’m circled on maps but as I advance

a dust has covered the traces.

In living rooms and in limbo,

on all fours and on tiptoe I’ve chased it.

I’ve read the self-help literature,

Bergson et al and etcetera:

the brain is but a filter

and in theory all can be heard and seen,

what is now and what has b...

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This one with the upside-down mouth

is Mommy; Daddy’s hung over

the end of the bed. That’s why he’s grumpy

when she tries to wake him for dinner –

shouting, crying, pushing him onto the cold,

plastic floor. Me and my sister are stuck

on chairs at the empty table.

 

It’s Mommy’s turn to go sleepy because

she’s taken too many tablets. Or not enough,

Daddy said, a...

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The flood stole in throughout the night,

she listened from an upstairs room

for cattle moaning in their stalls

and those who could no longer speak.

The silence brought the stars to sky

and then the trickle, gulp and suck

that blanketed the roads and fields

reflecting pallor of the dawn.

From window to window she went and heard

the first uncertain song of birds.

...

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to think smoke

might lift a frost

instead of thickening the glass

 

where thought is stuck

within a loop

double- packed in bubble-wrap

 

a snow globe scene

the kind you shake

then watch it flat

 

where he is frozen

jelly-set

imagining there’s no way back

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They said it was the longest suicide note ever

and created Care in the Community.

 

They said a donkey jacket was disrespectful

and manufactured shell suits.

 

They said there was an enemy within

and gave birth to New Labour.

 

They said there was no such thing as society

and we all stopped in to watch telly.

 

They said only failures caught the bus

and charg...

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A grammar school education

didn’t spare me British Leyland;

post-continental drift saw me slip

into the rut of Birmingham

on to the track my path

should’ve been turning from.

Days and nights were plaited,

moulding metal into traffic,

everything was automatic –

you only had to punch yourself

in and out each shift.

 

I was the relief man, the filler-in.

Wheneve...

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In time all things shall be counted and weighed,

yet not until 1798

did Monsieur Pinel, famed breaker of chains

which bound the insane, pause to explain

that there were but 4 mental disorders:

madness had been drawn and quartered

and hung from up above.

 

You might be manic or melancholic,

maybe demented or idiotic;

you could suffer combinations of it -

Monsieur Pi...

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Another piss puddle on the wooden tiles

and generous portions of shit ornament

our back-room carpet. The younger dog

scrambles down from the sofa,

the older remains beneath the table

frantically avoiding eye contact.

People sometimes ask why I hate dogs so much,

but after about fifteen minutes narration

I can see they’re not really interested.

They never hear how the you...

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During the Big Freeze of ’63

the older lads made a den of snow

on the North Worcestershire golf course.

We were trespassing, but as the golf course

was in Warwickshire it was clear

they’d started it first. Carpeted

with linoleum, lit by torch and candles,

a magical land of gleaming white where

the big boys smoked for months on end

and we disciples imbibed cans of pop,

...

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I found Jesus in 1970

in between Southern Comfort and acid.

I followed Him all the way to Wembley

with a girl I’d studied in Bible classes.

 

We heard Billy Graham preach the gospel

of Chosen People in the Promised Lands.

Linda, said Billy, be very watchful

Ray’s hands don’t stray inside your bra and pants.

 

Beware of Buddha, Mohammed, yoga -

he promoted Christ ...

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A city sliding serpentine,

the swans upon the Severn stream

towards us sinuous, then curve

away as we draw close. She strokes

the river from our boat, swallows

dive then bank and soar the jeopardy

to punctuate the canopy.

All is floaty, on the bridges

cars and buses undulate,

shimmer in the summer haze.

Fingers circling tiny eddies,

she whispers to me in it...

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There’s lots of shops in Selly Oak

and I’m writing down their names

KwikSave

to show the wife when I get home

that I’m trying hard to change

New Look

I’m on the number 61 bus

after visiting a therapist

Barking Mad

I’m on the 61 bus because

I’ve got an Attention Deficit

Focus

I discovered it last Saturday -

well, my missus found it really

The Treasure Trove...

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This poem went places that it shouldn’t have gone

in the beer tent listening to a jazz ensemble,

who came on after the dance band

and are suffering by comparison.

I’m trying to examine the difference between

flute solos and close harmonies,

between thrown together and tightly knit,

being here for themselves or the audience.

I’m with two of my grown-up daughters

an...

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So un-asleep, the sheet’s

a beach of footprints

waiting for the tide.

 

Her shape question-marked,

crucified, an inquisition

scales her eyes.

 

Wincing at infinities,

she stares a spot

and picks at it.

 

Each star a prick,

a javelin

thrown across the centuries

 

makes waves

just deep enough to swim

before light breaks

 

 her open skin.

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I found that old wedding photo we lost behind a doll in our daughter’s room. Russian, as it happens, the doll that is - I can read some significance in that: so full of themselves, they miss the bleeding obvious. I wiped the dust from off its surface, made you 21 again and placed us on the bookshelf where P meets Q. I’d have liked it before your favourite author but her sh...

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Well, I’m not black, and I haven’t dreadlocks,

but I grew up in Birmingham

and I am a poet of sorts, a vegan,

and of course, I support Aston Villa.

 

And if someone told me I’d but weeks

to live. my only regret would be the same

as his, that I wouldn’t see Villa

win the Premier League.

 

But here is where I differ from him -

Benjamin couldn’t produce any k...

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Summat and Nuffin

 

Heard before seeing approaching train station;

bubbles of sound that he blows for beguiling

the purposive hordes in their panting impatience –

his smile isn’t worn by the faces that file in.

 

Sat cross-legged, upturned hat on the pavement,

he strives against platform announcements and sirens 

which torment the ears and evoke imprecations,

w...

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Bad families are coloured red;

to discover what’s above their heads,

take the northbound carriageway

and exit any junction that you like.

First left and on until the rain begins,

the rooftops blink through yellow fog

and for fuck’s sake is the common form of prayer.

We’re there.

Where drug dealing, phone stealing bandits on benefits

are having it large on stolen p...

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Some days I imagine it might really happen:

an orifice oozing with ectoplasm,

Dorises with messages that we can’t fathom;

transmigration’s been the fashion since ages ago

when Buddhists could make it to the sixth Bardo

or lose their many selves in Limbo.

You don’t think so?

Of course, it’s never on the news, YouTube or Skype,

not the kind of repeats you see on both sid...

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We’ve journeyed down to short-sleeved Chertsey

for my sister-in-law’s 60th birthday.

Get there early, 7.30, suitably thirsty,

knowing few of these middle-class, middle-aged bodies,  

I’m wondering how I shall get my jollies,

take a leap of faith, and I’m exchanging volleys

with this bald-headed guy, big scar on his forehead.

We’ve talked of favourite bands and beers,

now we...

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Inside the bars are tuned in

to the Holy Radio Station,

broadcasting the Bible 

from Genesis right up to

the Book of Revelation,

interrupted only

by life insurance adverts.

 

On the street, a woman’s tempted

by the babble of an Apple.

Wind, rain and fire

are bringing down the temples.

Men bearing crosses

disembowel the prophets.

The dead are being brought ...

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Elizabeth Woodville is my first nursing placement,

a spot where a man might be put and forgotten.

Sister Wesson’s routine with every new student

is to introduce the bed corners and curtains

then leave them to chat with some random person.

 

And so I’m conversing with one Howard Sargent;

he’s sharing a fag with a fellow patient,

who’s called Doctor Death - we’re already acqu...

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It’s nearly time for your medication.

I’m drinking my seventh cup of tea

and thinking how much better you’ve been

since the start of the new regime.

That sounds like you’re sick,

or a political beast,  not merely slow

and easily distracted; the worst

combination of tortoise and hare.

If the heavens were fair

your sister wouldn’t grasp

the lion’s share of love and loom...

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Past houses where spouses are spitting at children

and satellite dishes are marks of distinction;

where villainous vermin shadow-box curtains

and takeaway cartons bespatter the gardens;

where nobody bothers to pick up the dog shit

while stood on the pavement twittering gossip

and stubbing their ciggies on steps without polish,

deploring the darkies and ordering curries

and ...

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Holes

 

I’ve dug too deep and a reckless fork

has struck guts and gore

with a piercing hiss:

the smothering stink of dog remains.

I quickly cover a forgotten cadaver

but memory fastens upon the odour

and tugs me along again:

a guide-dog for the blind rejected

for showing fear when near traffic,

and a discomposing habit

of staring at the heavens. 

Neither trai...

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Learning Difficulties

 

She always wants the same thing as her sister

for breakfast, and when I read a book,

she opens hers, turns a page, marks her place

 

as if she were spooning every sentence.

Her birth mother says she doesn’t want her

to go to the school for dummies.

 

Her class teacher claims she’s fearless

and a real trouper; he doesn’t fathom

her ignoran...

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