August 6th, 2016


Poem randomly derived from reading the TLS


A man so loved so easily admired
A leopard stroked her ribs against the bars
That furtip might reach fingers: like small stars
Electrostatic brightness. So desired
Thundered across their paddocks wildebeest
Brindled and widehorned buffalo and gnu
Did this for him but not for me or you
You'd think we'd get a soulful gaze at least
From big brown eyes. The tallest male giraffe
Would lick his parting, first lift off his hat
And drop. So loved was Prof John Arthur Platt.
It was recorded in a photograph
Embarrassing? Asked, he admìted, quite.
He only smiled at beasts to be polite.

Too much of the press assumes we are young fools


Our hair is sometimes purple sometimes white.
Blood quickened red as flags with joyful rage
Skeleton horses ride that died of age
We rise again. Submit to that old fight

We lost before. The giants are still there
They told us they were windmills and we heard
Creaking that lulled us years content we purred
Despaired perhaps a little. We still care.

Stories come true again. Nothing to lose
But stories. At our head open neck grey
Scruff beard we knew we'd find our knight one day
If madness it is madness not to choose.

We are Quixote's army. This or bed
That we helped make. In which the world is dead.



Brass notes in hair and voice rich honey sweet
A steel conviction to the perfect scene
Over and over gold poured onto screen
Into burst hourglass. Those tortured feet

In shoes that thrust her forwards breasts and loin
Carved as the perfect dish and wrapped in foil
Take her and eat it later. She is loyal
To lovers who betray whose love is coin

Turns fairy leaves. Yes yes repeated yes
Caught in the moment love that made her art
Out of deep feeling over over start
Methodical. The pains to curse and bless

And break. Treasure each moment that we've got.
Misfits and Diamonds. And Some Like It Hot