Poem #67

Fear that I frittered my teenage years

And will stay playing catch-up

For however long I’m here;

Fear that a taut abdominal wall

Is the only partition

Between me, Joe Bloggs, et al.;

Fear that I can’t yoke words like Danny Brown,

Or spill seventeen pitchers

Of wit whilst acting the clown;

Fear that I do things I knew I would not,

Fear that my old-old-self I,

By necessity, forgot;

Fear that my idols are far less than their prattle;

Fear that i don’t really fear

This fear list

At all.

Poem #41

‘In a perfect world I would be perfect, world.’

 

Let’s talk long-term goals,

I mean really long-term,

Once the papery child has chewed the cud

And we’ve becked our metal ravens home to brood;

Once the five-day-week is ground to crud

And my neighbours reside round my longitude.

Then what will we do?

I suggest we create and love, love and create:

Sculpt towers to tower the empire state,

Write novels to crystallise human fate,

Paint portraits no honest heart could berate;

Eat fruits fed by oblivion’s river

And thank Earth for the time that you have with her.