Poem #80

There are just so many of them

And they all have ideas.

Do you know how I’ve scraped and trawled

For a tuft

A tuft

That hasn’t been trodden, retrodden,

Rucked over by sixteen pairs of aluminium-studded boots?

But now I think I’ve got it –

Just in time, too.

And I tell you:

One unplucked wisp of green

Is worth a mudded life

In sullied nails.

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.