grahamswords1962

A Freudian slice of Bacon

March 31. The self-portraits of Francis Bacon and Lucien Freud have captivated me for a long time. so I grabbed the prompt and the chance to write about both of them. Tectonic plates of colour collide, and slide,So much man mud, muddled, confused.Internally, Externally abused. The fist to the head,The minds that bleed; and bled.WhoContinue reading “A Freudian slice of Bacon”

Plums

There’s no shame in having a fumble,It’s good advice my good lads,Don’t be shy about your y-front rumble,Get your hand in and check your gonads. There’s a pleasure in doing and knowing,You can ignore the advice of our mums,When you feel for what shouldn’t be growing,When you fondle your well matured plums. They may beContinue reading “Plums”

Daylight through my window

In the summer, the whole world overA dissolving moon in a brightening skyWill watch the saffron lips of the sunSoftly kiss the day awake. In my bedroom, however,Through the curtain’s gapped slashed sliver,It stabs me with its taser and yells“Get up, you must not sleep”. Yet in the depth of winter,In the dark of duvetContinue reading “Daylight through my window”

Seascape of slaughter

The ink on the note she wroteLeaches and bleeds,Into the sea. The water that carried her message of hope.On a sea that is deaf to her tearsThat stream downstreamBack to the sea. The cold, black, barren sea,Lifeless water,Grave of her daughter,Seascape of slaughter.

Concrete evidence

Through the tops of the spindle finger trees,Winds the windy breeze of autumn,Whispering in advance its warning,Its promise, of inevitable winter. It sings no song of hibernation,No prospect of warm spring regeneration,Just certain, guaranteed annihilation,And concrete dust;On children’s anticipation, Of death.

Mr Anthracite

When Mr An-thra-Cite is in town,The air falls to its knees in praise.The trees,Lower their limbs,Cover their leaves andAvert their gaze,As he takes to his stage.Dressed in the finest of ebony silk,He gleams resplendent.Such stature, such panache,So much elegance,Not a hint of “flash”.He is the maestro of the treetops,Dusk’s dazzling Diva,His notes can split clouds,PierceContinue reading “Mr Anthracite”

Norfolk morning

Owls, hidden in acorn laden oaks,Speak a soothing, soft goodnight to each otherAs the sunrise, that only I and the farmer greet,Suggests the bright night stars should sleep. The gentle rolling simmer of ochre pigeon chatter,Is occasionally broken by the staccato scratches dispatched by fire-grate painted pheasants.Hares scuttle through the sharp spikes of fadingContinue reading “Norfolk morning”

Future postcard

Through the plain glass paneThe cool, unmoved, slate grey is the same,As yesterday’s.As it will no doubt be tomorrow. Has anything changed?Will anything remain,Of the laughter, the love, the strains?Should we pour our memories down the drain? What if we wrote ourselves a note?We could sign it “well done you”,Then put it in theContinue reading “Future postcard”

Seasonal Punctuation

This weather, this part of this season,It’s nothing more than punctuation.A semicolon in our breathing,That slows our thoughtsTo calm hearts beating,A parenthesis with inserted meaning;You need to rest a while. It brings a comma to the budding flowers,And with bitter coldAnd sleet filled showers,That shut away all Jackdaw caws,And keeps sensible catsSensibly indoors,& makes theContinue reading “Seasonal Punctuation”

The last laff

See me, I’m the conten kreata,A full-blown, viral, soshul influenza,I aint no chuffing know-all,See my fans, day no me betta,I’m a opinion sensashun,A media manipulata,A digital top gun,A diamond instigata,A solid gold, star on a roll,Yeah, bye, I’ll see you later.I can cry like a crocodileAn smile like a alleygata,You can see me on daContinue reading “The last laff”