The Pantomime.

December 17, 2008 at 7:04 pm | Posted in poetry, writing | 10 Comments
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Like a broken glass under a Punch and Judy stall
somewhere just south of the river he pops off
the red nose and throws it in the general direction
of the dog at the dressing room door.

Christmas has always been a terrible time for me
he mumbles into the mirror just listen to the sound
of the word Chrrstm’ss sharp and crystalline
like a cold dart through the palm of the hand
when the only parts available for bust down old drunks
worse than Ollie Reed, I tells ya, are Fagin stealer
of childhoods or Scrooge, one of his crew.

There’s a tiny box theatre down the road
he thinks untying his outsized shoes
where university drama students are doing
a modernist Passion play in which the sinner
faces god and says, in your omnipotence
could you not have found some easier redemption
than suffering? And when you say ‘my ways
are not yours’, do you realise that
not understanding why
only makes it worse.

The ending is predictable, I’ll never get the part,
as he shrugs on his overcoat, I’ll only make them

Some feller,

December 5, 2008 at 6:35 pm | Posted in poetry, writing | 10 Comments
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William or some such in a seen
somewhere pretending to some
reality or merely waving from the
Dali-Crowley deck
she said, sun in head, don’t look
for land, yer’ll smell it first
and fluttered from his shoulder
in a scatter of red feathers
you’ll be transported Paladin
not for stealing bread
oh no but for chopping off his
head. They know they know
your awful crime, revenge
recurs, is never dead.
Now catch that breeze stand on that
deck and
blow we will stash this jewellery
somewhere down below.

Which deck,

July 16, 2008 at 6:58 pm | Posted in writing | 11 Comments
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When in certain company, Ms Helpburn, says the old priest peering over his teacup at the soft pink landscape disappearing under white lace, it is important to maintain a certain manner of speech.
Of course, she replied reclining on the divan in an extravagant gesture. I was thinking for the Arts and Crafts Fair this year, Vicar, perhaps some new entertainments. Have you heard of three card monte?
No, dear, sounds awfully decadent and Italian, is it a new waltz?
Have you seen a Tarot, priest? she says, sitting upright suddenly.
Now dear, he says putting his teacup on the table and standing, i’ve warned you about that tongue of yours,

Alright, yehah!

May 8, 2008 at 6:31 pm | Posted in blogging, poetry, writing | 15 Comments
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Unveiling the first card in the Squires Tarot,

The Hanged Man.

Protected: The Hanged Man

May 8, 2008 at 6:11 pm | Posted in antihaiku, poetry, writing | Enter your password to view comments.
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