“Had T. S. Eliot been born in the late 1980s I have no doubt that he would be standing on a dingy stage, clad in a Converse T-shirt roaring incomprehensibly about April being the cruellest month.” The Dreaded Press

In the morning I watch the 2012 Olympic torch being lit

by the sun (it only took a few seconds) while a group of Greek

actors strike classical poses and move slowly as isl...

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stuff comes from volcanoes

stuff is also the roar of 45 fire engines, phone calls and alarms that didn’t work

stuff is the roar of where are my family, what will I do now, where are the authorities

stuff is the roar of inside the volcano, waving from windows or crawling on the ground

stuff is the roar of mothers clutching their children and fathers dropping them to people 3 floors belo...

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I’ve forgotten when I first read

books about John and Mary,

The Happy Train or Let’s Learn To Read

but I remember the comics

dad bought home each Saturday afternoon

from work. Bundled in his arms were

Beano, Dandy, Eagle, Hotspur, Look & Learn

and I’d devour them one at a time

and no one stopped me.

I loved the strips: Corporal Clott,

Desperate Dan, Dan...

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This is one of the things I wanted to write about:

back in March 1975 when I was randy and 22

I had to go into hospital to be circumcised because

my foreskin bled when my penis grew and blew.

As to the operation I can’t remember anything.

When I blearily came too I looked at my bird,

my disco stick, my ding-a-ling, my joystick,

my middle-leg, my rod, my willie, my wood.

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At nine Steve looks at me and says we may as well begin

and as I was the only one so far signed up to read that night

make my way to the gloomy stage between rows of empty

chairs and empty tables to a lone microphone that haunts

a threadbare carpet.

You start, I’ll round up a few more people. Steve disappears

downstairs to an indistinct moan of voices, clink of glasses,

s...

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Streetlights

slanted through blinds

and made the wall

a television.

We dived beneath sheets

as the bedroom

was uncarpeted,

the central heating

didn't work

and the nights

were freezing.

It wasn't quite our dream

because only we weren't naked

(wearing

warm but unappealing

winceyette pyjamas)

or blessed by the sun

and life soon in...

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after seeing Carcer City at the Westy

“Had T. S. Eliot been born in the late 1980s I have no doubt that he would be standing on a dingy stage, clad in a Converse T-shirt roaring incomprehensibly about April being the cruellest month.” The Dreaded Press

In the morning I watched the 2012 Olympic torch

being lit by the sun (it only took a few seconds)

while a group of Gree...

Read and leave comments (2)

He said one day you will be totally deaf

and before I left said Thank you to the Doctor

even though his gift was a sentence

to be carried out at some unspecified date.

While I was able I had to go to Montreux

to hear at least Miles Davis, Gary Burton,

BB King, Charles Mingus, Ornette Coleman,

Keith Jarrett, Sun Ra and Horace Silver.

And I had to hear everything i...

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What do you call an intelligent, good looking, sensitive man?

A rumour.

I married the King of all idiots as summer erupted all dripping green

and hated the insensitive bastard, especially the bit at the base of his penis.

He was a lawn mower - hard to get started, emitted noxious fumes and didn't work

half the time.

He used to whistle when sitti...

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After he read the poem to the group

it was so quiet you could hear the drone

of the air conditioning fan whining

that it's being punished by having

to listen to words as exciting as a puddle.

Someone said “I loved the poem's language”

which really means “English was a good choice”.

Then someone else said “it's very

precise” and that means “you wo...

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Hang on a moment.

Did I say sonnet? Sorry,

I meant a haiku.

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On the bus there are people going to see Bob:- girls with their new Apple iPhones; women who carry orange shopping bags; men on their way from work; and some young dudes behind me whose vowels skid all over the place as they talk; the referee, rugby players and crowd huddled under floodlights.

They're the sort of people whose life won't be complete until a few hours time when they wou...

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Abraham Cowley (a version of the poem using the formulae N+)

Lunchtime her sunny facials doth basking play;

Luck walks the pleasant meanies of her halibut;

Lunatics dollop on both her lips for every streetwalker;

And spacemen reap a thousand knobs there;

In all her outward passages lubricant's always seen;

but oh! he never went within.

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I will tell my heirs she pushed a note through my letter box

that was printed on A4 using Good Times font and a bold typeface.

I sent my reply

by email, Twitter, Facebook, text, newsletter, carrier pigeon, courier,

by post, piece of paper from a pizza menu, my grandmother’s spirit,

by diplomatic bag, phone, Morse, Parcelforce, blog, videotape, letter,

b...

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A moth squeaking like a dog's arse.

A warm smile in the afternoon.

And afraid of the sound of footsteps.

And him with a pigeon on his head.

And neither does the dog.

And spends most days swatting flies.

And there's so much I'll never sing.

Before taking a deep breath.

Being herself was never an option.

Covering themselves with night.

Deep inside his...

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water

bogeyman

vacant

worldly

bubbles

reflection

discounting

death

familiar

jazz

brink

special

quantum

penis

thought

hope

quadrilateral

immort

taste

motherless

youth

virgin

swag

extremities

unnecessary

horizon

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Poems consisting of memories tend to leave me unfurled, particularly memories of family members..especially ones referred to as “Dad”.

Billy Collins

My Dad didn't teach me everything he knew

about darts or football

how I should practise for hours against a wall

and that it'll be more fun when I play with others

even though I can get down from from 501 in ...

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The 200th British soldier killed in Iraq.

How can I be useful, of what service can I be? Vincent Van Gogh

Weather brings rain

and smells of death

and the promise of roses

and the moon throws its beams

    over empty ground.

A cold wind plays around

and trunks bow their heads

and flowers lives in poverty

and a lone bird mourns

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Alt.country or Chinagrass

I listen to the first song and hear the sun creeping up

before it slaps me on the back like an old friend.

The journey tonight begins with music as the bass walks

over paths and fields of the flat Kazakh grasslands.

Someone plays a flute to the smoke from a kitchen fire

and the tumbling, freezing hills are pa...

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Ulysses takes 10 years to cross one of the most benign bodies of water on the planet and spent 8 years of them lounging about on various Greek isles with women who can't seem to resist his manly charms.

My wife looked at me through sunglasses covering her eyes.

“Surprise,” I said “it's your husband back from 10 years. I've escaped faraway barbarian lands and have tales th...

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While listening I couldn't get my head round the fact

that Andy played drums with the Spice Girls

that Robert used to slide his trombone outside hospitals

that Barney takes his cello to open fields

and that Chris (who released his first solo album in 2005) failed his 11+.

The generous sounds are being driven in a 4X4

to Mars where the electric motor (it's ...

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(a collage of song titles) 

I want a monster.

I want candy.

I want a dog.

I want a man.

I want to be your man.

I want you babe.

I want the one I can't have.

I want a lover.

I want to know what love is.

I want you so bad.

I want to be your friend.

I want to boogie with you.

I want to talk to you.

I want to go home...

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The Grenadines, Saltwhistle Bay.

I think of Robert Righteous

& de Youths Rasta Restaurant

while drinking a glass of Carrib Beer

on the shores of Saltwhistle Bay.

Lunchtime and I'm sitting under

a Rasta flag with Robert Righteous

who's an angel spreading stories,

plates of seafood, dreads and smiles

wider than Saltw...

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The Grenadines, Saltwhistle Bay.

I think of Robert Righteous

& de Youths Rasta Restaurant

while drinking a glass of Carrib Beer

on the shores of Saltwhistle Bay.

Lunchtime and I'm sitting under

a Rasta flag with Robert Righteous

who's an angel spreading stories,

plates of seafood, dreads and smiles

wider than Saltw...

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Walls act like they don't see a stuffed

lion on the bandstand, or her,

an angel painted by the old masters,

sitting behind an upright piano

and holding a blue cocktail.

Love enters smoking a cheap cigarette,

wearing size 14 shoes, a smile

exploding like nails from a suicide

bomber and all for this silicone

Madonna sipping a blue cocktail...

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The glass slipper is no good, neither is

the Fairy Godmother's wand, her spells,

the pumpkin, rat, lizard, rags, Stepsisters,

Prince and newly released Disney DVD.

They'll all superfluous.

What Cinderella wants is gold

but in the Kingdom everything's silver -

the clouds that consciously weep,

the glow of herring and mackerel,

rails marking the limits of disorder,

abandoned dust, ti...

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Tonight is the 37th of the tour and there are only two dates left. They've taken a week off

halfway through to appear on the radio with Jools Holland, record In The Bleak Midwinter

for BBC4, and just to chill out because playing somewhere new each night is just as hard

as mining three miles underground or drinking six pints of Newcastle brown each night.

Sisters Rachel and Becky (who was ...

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I have a lead covered with rhinestones and at the end of the lead is a piano and bass.

They're playing a boogie and the rhythm

leaches into me, takes over my muscles makes them so relaxed I think they've taken

a package holiday to the Canary Islands.

When I shuffle along I could easily be mistaken for a dancer, a salsa not a ballet dancer,

and when I talk I pause after 12 bars

a...

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i.m. Ivor Cutler (1923-2006)

Someone said they were dreaming outside

they were slumped over a cup of coffee

and it was milky and sweet

and the day smelt of suntan lotion

Someone said they were sitting on a bench

they were under a umbrella

and they saw a man wearing short trousers

and it was Mr Cutler beside a bicycle

Someone said they had a mint with their latte

they wanted to ...

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Squatting on the edge of stage these four Koreans

cradle their hour-glassed shaped drums before performing

a rock drum solo that would not disgrace those

by Keith Moon, Jon Bonham, Neil Peart or Ginger Baker

with their hands alive in the air, dancing like flowers. Afterwards

they're drained, retire between the 30 odd unpronounceable instruments

for a sushi (Aldershot is well known...

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Friday nights my parents retired

at nine and I stayed up till late to see

On The Braden Beat fronted by a square

jawed Canadian. One night Jake Thackray

played his guitar and sung about

his bantam cock thrusting his attention

on wild eyed hens, hysterical turkeys,

ducks, geese and a visiting migrant swan.

I was thirteen and saw the beautiful

Peter Cook with his extravagant grey ha...

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 At the Montreal Comedy Festival he opened with the line ”Hello, moose fuckers” followed with “I'll tell you why I hate Canada: half of you speak French and the other half fucking let them.” He was promptly attacked by a member of the audience.

There's must be some mistake. He's the 15th greatest standup

but he's aggressive, tasteless, racist, sexist and smells,

has a face like a soggy foot...

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I'm cool about it

but decide to hang around.

Everyone's so sad,

there's a chandelier of tears in the sky,

cars wipe their eyes

and streets hide their faces.

I'm cool about it

but smell almonds.

It's weird seeing myself

dressed in waistcoat and tux

lying in a coffin

and my face being shaved of three days growth.

I'm cool about it

but overhear friends say

I was an ordin...

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it says carrier bags make me nervous

it says I dream of birdseed hanging

above gnomes and a lake of roses

it says the breakdown won't help

it says I'm waiting for something

better to come along, like another day

it says love is a valley of dead things

it says I can withstand high winds

and aren't afraid of grotesque stones

it says I can strain myself in a bad way

it says so...

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It's my wedding anniversary and I catch the early morning train to work.

An hour later I'm walking along a corridor, into my office on the 13th floor

and I think I must be in trouble as my boss is standing by the door.

He says, You'd better go back home. The Doctor's with your mother.

Next thing I know I'm sitting on the blue seat of a train that's pulling

out from Waterloo Station. Opp...

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Black olives, the uneasy strokes of water

are a catwalk to the promised land

where jazz bands sing above the reeds.

Weeds display a roll of parking tickets

and wear cricket boxes like clouds

bowing to the horizon of mother's eyes.

On the volcanic island a table cloth

is moth-eaten like a street of rage

and two men in a cage block

the smiling light. Tonight, trampled by horses,

...

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and he went round and round a boating lake

and he was shouting I'm going to die, I'm going to die

and he came a weedy third in a Tarzan competition

and it was at a holiday camp in Bognor

and his voice broke while singing in the choir

and it was at Guildford Cathedral

and he passed a girl's school each morning

and they came to the fence to chant his name

and he had shoulder length hair

...

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I can't believe myself back then.

I was with a dozen other would be poets

attempting to become the real deal.

One afternoon as I was walking along

the outside terrace I noticed a committee

meeting was taking place in the library

and looking through the window I saw

one of it's members was Poet Laureate.

He was eating Garibaldi and Bourbon biscuits

and when he finished put ...

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LOUISIANA RED AND MICHAEL MESSER AT THE WEC 22 APRIL 2009

Just mention the names

of the people Red's played with

Muddy Waters, Lighting Hopkins,

Arthur Crudup or his stories

about Robert Johnson or Skip James

he's a walking encyclopaedia of the blues.

Behind Red, hanging like Armani suits,

were five acoustic guitars. The first

one's mother died when it was seven

days old; others...

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is at Kelvingrove Art Gallery

and Museum at the end

of a colonnaded gallery,

and lit by two halogen lights.

I had to kneel to see properly

those clean lines

and unresolved perspective

of Scotland's favourite painting.

Looking up I could see Christ

stripped of blood,

minus the Crown of Thorns,

pus and those eternal cries.

But I couldn't decide how

that hanging cross signa...

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When I stayed in Rhossili ten years ago

I walked from St Mary's Church

down limestone cliffs to the Goat's Hole

where the Reverend William Buckland unearthed

the red ochre dyed skeleton of a Roman Lady

(who he thought must have been a prostitute)

left in limestone cave of the Goat's Hole

and who now can't possibly be with God.

A few years ago he appeared in my dreams

carrying a mammo...

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Some foods are supposed to come in the one colour

and when they're not it feels just wrong, like touring

the city centre seeing an iguana stuck up a tree or four

legs tied with orange tape or shadows with leather pouches

looking after themselves or a six foot tall naked courgette

or my Father lying like a sharp Mafioso in the funeral parlour.

Take green beer. I know it's regular beer w...

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He blames the movement of plates including

the Amurian, Bird's Head, Caroline, Easter,

Kula, Manas, North Bismark, Cocos, Nazia,

Juan de Fuca and Scotia.

They've been slipping and sliding where

he lives: whole roads have disappeared

from the map and found in distant boroughs;

shops have disappeared

chains like Woolworths, Adams and MFI

and the local butcher, camera, sport, flor...

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When I stayed in Rhossili ten years ago

I walked from St Mary's Church

down limestone cliffs to the Goat's Hole

where the Reverend William Buckland unearthed

the red ochre dyed skeleton of a Roman Lady

(who he thought must have been a prostitute)

left in limestone cave of the Goat's Hole

and who now can't possibly be with God.

A few years ago he appeared in my dreams

carrying a mammo...

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It was Friday night after 10. Only

taxis and buses prowl the Reading Streets.

On my way to the station my steps

tell me that story about a lovesick

Russian Count and the aim of his affection,

Natasha, who would shoot him in the last line

of the poem. I was passing bars and clubs

where bouncers stood like crows in black overcoats

joking about small brutalities

and the power they ...

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Jill remembers 11 August 1999

when the moon stood before the sun.

She remembers the time, 11:15 am

how light rippled through the air

how the moon stood before the sun

how it became cold as night

how light rippled through the air

how dew swallowed the grass

how it became cold as night

how trees wore dresses of printed moons

how dew swallowed the grass

how street lights turned th...

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JERRY SADOWITZ AT THE WEST END CENTRE 10 DECEMBER 2008

There's been a mistake. He's the 15th greatest standup

but I think he's a cunt, a circumcised fucking Scottish cunt,

face like a soggy football, hair like ink stained worms

and a top hat stolen from some twat in Oliver.

I wish this man anal fissures, asthma, bleeding gums,

constipation, fungus covering internal organs, gout,

kidne...

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MARK THOMAS AT THE WEST END CENTRE 4 DECEMBER 2008

He came on stage with a cup of tea looking

like a younger Stanley Holloway ready with stories

about early heroes, free speech, Coke (the sort

you drink) and the toffs and sad ladies of Norfolk.

Mark's first love were these strange comedians

whose jokes were the landmine that killed Di,

performance artists like the one at the ICA

wh...

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People thought I was some sort of freak

and said my life must be incomplete

as my face had no tache or beard

in fact, was bald and looked plain weird.

All I wanted was a tache collecting debris,

that was fit for a screaming queen,

that was a badge sleek and evil

worn by the sprawling, grinning devil.

People thought I was some sort of freak

as I could only shaved twice a week

and t...

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I was sitting quietly at the bar with a pint of bitter

in my right hand and I was about to bring it to my lips

when a skinny man, wearing a trilby and knitted sweater

sad “you like art. Want to buy something as cheap as chips?”

On a red flatbed lorry with a crane at the back

was a bronze sculpture weighing at least 2 tons

“Yours for £1,000.” What could I say but “yes, I'll take it.”

It...

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