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Category Archives: Poetry

Afternoon – Charlton station

Tuesday, May 13, 2014

A drunkard, railing against the sky (or madman?). A child emulates.

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Evacuation

Friday, May 9, 2014

The day has arrived I will have to leave home to take a dump without offending the builders.

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Health disclaimer (codicil)

Tuesday, February 4, 2014

An ale a day Leaves you needing two pees.

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Charlton II

Tuesday, February 4, 2014

Up through the valley, echoes of a pile-driver. Also, a rainbow.

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(After Kelis (for Scott))

Thursday, January 30, 2014

My breakfast shake brings all the boys to the yard. They’re like: ‘This is some kind of post-Hemingwayan ironic machismo statement, right?’

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Dicovery/Go Figure

Tuesday, January 14, 2014

My legs don’t get stiff when I go for a run. They get stiff when I sit down and write about it.

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Charlton pastorale

Sunday, January 12, 2014

The peacock’s cry on a Saturday night. …………………Sunday morning: the hoover.

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Found

Monday, December 2, 2013

3 times in the Literary Review (October edition): ‘cunts’ – or variant thereof.* What do I win?

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‘Hockey puck’ (or; A poet’s frame of reference)

Tuesday, November 19, 2013

I I like to have my steaks done ‘like a hockey puck’. Sometimes I actually say this to the waiters (though not in French restaurants, admittedly.) II In Ethiopia, some ‘baristas’ knock used coffee grounds out onto the bare-earth floors. Flat, round, and black. ‘Like a hockey puck,’ I tell people. III I used to play […]

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That situation

Friday, November 8, 2013

where you’re chatting up some girl ever so casually in a pub or a library or wherever, really, for a good half-hour or more only subsequently to realise you have one of your girlfriend’s hairs – a foot long, reddish, with noticeable purple highlights – stuck somehow to the front right shoulder of your sweater.

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