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I've self-published a book of poems/writing. Let me know if you're interested. It's weird to self-promote but ah well. Proof that I do write and this isn't some kind of Ponzi scheme: https://www.lfgss.com/comments/9512763/
Info here: https://www.instagram.com/p/BNJyqXPBxoD/?taken-by=youramericanlover
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Haha. Drop me a PM if you'd actually like one :)
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To my darling wife and her enigmatic mum, Margaret:
There was a young lady from Amberley
Who came from a very nice famberley
When asked by mum Megs
How'd you like your eggs
She said boiled but my favourite is scramberley -
Batman
I murdered Batman in my workshop
strung him up by the feet and cut his throat
the blood was thick and dark, it stank
and when I cut him down blood dripped
onto my hand from the chord that had bound himI wrapped him in black bin liners
two, three layers,
but his pointed ears kept coming through the plastic
and I could feel his bony joints inside as I dragged him to the door
blood smeared in a trail accross the floorthe guilt claws at my insides
I think of all the people who will miss him
he probably has family, the whole orphan bit
was just a back story for the films
his poor parents
his sister
this man I don't even know is the most precious thing in the world to them
I will never know the pain I have causedI spent a long time trying to decide
after I had dumped his body, walked away,
if life would be bearable, knowing what I had done.
I have thought very hard about turning myself in.Every night I dream I am running down a coridoor
in an empty municipal building
to scrub my hands in a huge washroom of white tiles
where blood gushes from the taps -
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That is about as dreadful as it gets, surprised Duffy was prepared to put her name to it.
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Sleep
She sleeps with grit between her teeth, she sleeps beneath
a half opened parachute, she lies
accross two beds at once, she sleeps in the street.She sleeps by the open window, sleeps below
drifts of snow, sleeps with a black bow
tied around her neck, she sleeps on bare springs,
and in wet wool at sea, on deck,
she sleeps in an inch of water.She sleeps with her eyes open and her face covered,
kicking at the sheets like a marquee in a thunderstorm.
She sleeps through thunderstorms.
She sleeps on her belly in the rain on the grass,
she sleeps so close you can't move.She sleeps on her feet, she sways
back and forth on the quay
in time with the swell of the sea
and she'll sleep where she falls,
prone, prostrate, or curled in a ball
damp boots hanging off the harbour wall.She sleeps in her coat, sleeps with wet hair,
sleeps through dreams of talking fish, forest fires and nightmares
salt water welling up in her throat.
She sleeps better when you're not there. -
I'm starting a poetry event.
You are cordially invited to
Poetry Tuesdays at the Two Brewers
Every Tuesday from 7:30pm, starting Tuesday the 2nd October, 2018
at
The Two Brewers,
40 Monmouth Street,
Covent Garden,
London
WC2H 9EP.Everybody welcome. Poems every 10-15 minutes and plenty of time for socialising.
Free admission.
The theme for the first edition is 'Renewal', but if you have a poem you really want to recite that isn't on the theme, bring it along, anyway!
We like poems, songs, short pieces of prose, and poetry in languages other than English.
Come along if you liked Poetry Night at the Society Club or are just curious what it's all about.
We look forward to seeing you there!
Well, it's a sort-of continuation of an event that had to end because the venue closed.
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Hope to see you there sometime!
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The first Poetry Tuesday was lovely, with ten of us there at a successful pilot. Here are the details of the next one:
Poetry Tuesdays at the Two Brewers
Every Tuesday from 7:30pm. The next one will be on Tuesday the 9th October, 2018
at
The Two Brewers,
40 Monmouth Street,
Covent Garden,
London
WC2H 9EP.Everybody welcome. Poems every 10-15 minutes and plenty of time for socialising.
Free admission.
The theme for this coming Tuesday is 'Reunion'. The theme is not meant to be a restriction but an inspiration, so if you have a poem you really want to recite that isn't on the theme, please bring it along, anyway!
We like poems, songs, short pieces of prose, and poetry in languages other than English.
Come along if you liked Poetry Night at the Society Club or are just curious what it's all about.
We look forward to seeing you there!
(I won't keep spamming this thread with these notices forever--PM me your e-mail address if you want me to put you on the mailing list.)
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Bears have also been widely reported to deposit excrement in the woods:
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Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.Stevie Smith 1957
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Have a Nice Day
Spike Milligan‘Help, help,’ said a man. ‘I’m drowning.’
‘Hang on,’ said a man from the shore.
‘Help, help,’ said the man. ‘I’m not clowning.’
‘Yes, I know, I heard you before.
Be patient dear man who is drowning,
You see, I’ve got a disease.
I’m waiting for a Doctor J. Browning.
So do be patient please.’
‘How long,’ said the man who was drowning. ‘Will it take for the Doc to arrive?’
‘Not very long,’ said the man with the disease. ‘Till then try staying alive.’
‘Very well,’ said the man who was drowning. ‘I’ll try and stay afloat.
By reciting the poems of Browning
And other things he wrote.’
‘Help, help,’ said the man with the disease, ‘I suddenly feel quite ill.’
‘Keep calm,’ said the man who was drowning, ‘Breathe deeply and lie quite still.’
‘Oh dear,’ said the man with the awful disease. ‘I think I'm going to die.’
‘Farewell,’ said the man who was drowning
Said the man with the disease, ‘goodbye.’
So the man who was drowning, drownded
And the man with the disease passed away.
But apart from that,
And a fire in my flat,
It’s been a very nice day. -
(Inspired by a brief stay in Llandudno)
Elaborate functional flowering of cycle uses
Fused like vertebrae, stilling motion closed up thought.
Kevin swooshing down supermarket aisles on Brompton, dismounted by super-jobsworths, unconstruedProblems waved like jubilee flags
Can't do this
Won't do that
No solution here, keep moving on, slowly, statically riding immobility scooters and leaning on sticks and shuffle framesFine fit fat skinny tyred bike riders calling the shots, The Rules.
Their rules of helmet and bodysuits.
Muddled aged men and Breezy women
Dying-in for safe routes while people shuffle in slippers, sit-in boxes -
A pretty stunning discovery here:
youramericanlover
skydancer
MetalMelly
William.
marcomarcos
Oliver Schick
MrBaklava
el_presidente
Sharkstar
ekudduke-
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Poems / poetry / verse
Posted by
@aidan
Leave my rotting corpse beside the road for all who pass to see
As I slowed my bike to let a boy cross-over in front of me
A driver behind with half her mind on business on her phone
And the other half on her other half awaiting her at home