NO LONGER A WINTER BOY

long winter of 

morning baths &

early lunches & 

the cat sleeping  

just where i want to 

stretch out next 

~ 

a derelict bridge halfway 

over give or take

wooden handrail cratered 

by cigarettes &

the black water is 

moving but only just 

~ 

i am suit tense but 

pyjama wasted & 

waiting on the blossom & 

breeze to make the air 

air again as i am no 

longer a winter boy

MULTITUDES AWAY

under the bridge

concrete pyramids

stacked out in grids
climb up
the motorway berm

where we sheltered once

from the afternoon rain

with bicycles & snacks

& backpacks & anoraks

school fools

multitudes away

OFFCUT POSEY No 10

the absolute morning of the workplace

the medieval rack of it -

its keys & cups 

& trucks & cogs
corralled just so

bright but dull too 

& loaded with overthought precision

only just this side of chaos

yes even the dust -

especially the dust 

~

its too much world
&
pooh sticks race
under the trouble bridge
in 

a 

pink floyd of the mind

ANOTHER POETS POEM

 

the atrocious swan of love*
said the poem

published in landscape

in a book like a calendar

& i stop there
picturing it

a calm river

& brick arch bridge

the image halts 

my hospital rush

* from May, in Shia LaBeouf, by A K Blakemore

WATER CYCLED

 

i had no choice

when the water forked

& that river branch 

i couldnt sail

still smarts 

like a ghost limb

~

its water 

under a different bridge now 

but still

i get to taste it

here

on the garden rain

DYING ART

suicide
is
a
dying
art

announces the man to no one
wobbling and sweating and gurning

alone 
on the 
steel bridge ledge rivets

hes going
to nowhere
to nothing

hes going
to a 21st century heaven

why not why not

or to 
hospital and inquisition

he is
ecstatic and free and terrified

wearing his last shoes
and his clever pun

smug that he packed 
a lunch for himself