Oh Qatar,
fishing and pearl diving
until 1940
then oil and gas
on a flat, desert land
You’ve come so far
yet have far to go
before reaching the gates
to the semi-civilised court
of the rest of the world
Tag Archives: poetry
Plastic Teeth
These plastic teeth of mine
I bought online
In the advert
the model’s own teeth
slipped easily inside
into a strip of plastic teeth
First the top ones
then the film cut away
and the bottom ones were fitted
In the third scene
the model looks elated
is filmed pretty close-up
to the recording camera lens
They look great
the teeth
Amazing!
Stunning!
Uniform and the whitest white!
The model’s face is lit
The model looks elated
St Lonely-Heart
I lived alone
Sunday morning,
awoken,
I watched,
as a bright burst of shimmering light entered the bedroom,
and a vision appeared
Just like how we are told they do
I said “Who are you?”
I answered myself,
“You’re an apparition of a saint,
aren’t you?”
The figure emerging,
acknowledged my statement-question,
with a bow of the head
“Patron Saint of,
what?”
I asked
“This,”
the Saint spoke with a marginal echo,
“is of no importance”
“Maybe not for you,”
I said,
“but maybe for me it is,
giving credence to my story,
for when I tell others,
about when a vision of Saint So-and-So appeared before me”
Not for Now
I choose to shave
in the mornings
Although I have also,
at other times of the day
In the evening, for example
But in the mornings
it feels right
At other times
generally-speaking,
I am less inclined
less,
motivated
Sandals and a Scooter
As a little boy, the local newsagent shop owner
assumed I was a little girl.
He’d say so in a volume set lower,
as I chose which sweets to buy from the pick ‘n’ mix.
He’d lean forward and say,
“Aw, what a pretty little girl.”
He’d turn away to address
anyone else within earshot,
swapping “Aw” to the end of the sentence,
placing emphasis on the words “what” and “pretty”.
My Lesbian Love
A woman I felt more than fond of,
she didn’t like men.
Not in that way.
At the time, I thought
perhaps her mind might sway,
listening to the things I say,
the crazy things I talk about.
Maybe we’d become
more than friends.
Once,
I bought her a tie she liked as a gift,
hoping her thoughts about me,
these might shift.
Later on,
that same evening,
we rose up inside a tall building
in an elevator (a lift).
Lost in a maze of mirrored corridors,
finally, we picked a door.
Walked through, tentatively
into somebody else’s party!
On the open-plan top floor,
below the black night sky
we window-gazed,
out upon a universe of city lights.
And once comfortably seated,
I told her, I wanted more.
Mum Cat, Dad Dog.
Mum was cat mad when I was a kid.
In the morning, before I left for school,
She’d be in the kitchen, wearing her cat mask.
Often, she’d be making me an egg-based breakfast.
The mouth on the mask, totally fixed.
Had no moving parts in the construction.
This meant her voice always sounded really muffled.
I’d just nod my head and smile whenever she spoke to me.
Everything Is Likely
I don’t trust the helicopter
Flying overhead
Imagine if they crashed
Everyone’d be dead
I don’t trust the mighty military plane
Tha’ eventually they’ll not sky fall
Those scary thunderous engines
Destined one day to stall
Body Building Grandfather and the Feminist Artist.
When Grandfather started bodybuilding,
a lot of people asked why.
“You never used to before,
so why now do you try?”
“I don’t try, I do. Although,
I see it seems weird to you
an old head on a fit body”
Regardless, Grandfather looked proud.
One day, a painter artist type feminist,
said, “I’d like to paint you, before you die.”
“You had better start straight away.”
The rippling pensioner replied.
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
Metanoia Paranoia
You know those days when you feel hyper sensitive
and everything that goes consecutively wrong feels like a super negative
when your angel turns to say, having taken on the interrogative
“Believe me, no-one’s looking at you for any more seconds than their attention can handle; life is all just relative.”
Brinkinfield 