Monday 29 March 2010

Flexing my writing muscles...

.. with another reworking from Catalogue 25. All in the name of practice!

Upon the movable earth

It's the hole in the road that does it,
makes him test the ground at rest.
It seems firm like before but he can no longer know

the impact of his weight or the weight
of the sky. He clings to the fence that holds
him back from falling in; pulls slowly on the reigns

his mum holds with one clenched fist.
A revelation like this takes time to settle. It will be years
before he remembers the fury of his own ignorance;

how he cast it off with the tethers
which no longer held sway tied to anything
upon the movable earth.

Friday 26 March 2010


I have made the pledge, I have signed myself up and counted myself in. One poem a day for a month, this April. It will hopefully bring back some (pleasant) memories of daily composition. Anyone else taking part?

I'm looking forward to it. With trepidation.

Monday 22 March 2010


Another poem from the Back-catalogue(25). Or, perhaps, 'one from the vaults!'

Stooge contemplates a law of physics

An accident of gravity, I am hovering above stage planks
in Newcastle’s Theatre Royal when it dawns on me
how long I have lain for him.

I have pored these hours over amateur mathematics
trying to figure it out; the wonder for me is not in suspension
but how things must always fall.

They say gravity is an overlap from another dimension,
a dimple in the shape of our continuum, an equation
no-one can override. I have not yet got it all ironed out.

Sometimes, when I drift off, my dreams are of waking naked;
all eyes on my gooseflesh skin.

Thursday 18 March 2010

Believe it or not... actual poem! Reworked from an old one from Catalogue 25. I knew there was a reason I did one a day for a year: the fun of editing poems I'd forgotten about.


The man I am hugging is decidedly taller
than I'm used to and wearing a leather jacket
in a fetching shade of red. We are skewiff,
my head towards his shoulder out of line.
We are not alone, but I feel only our own hearts
beating. I am contained; in possession of his shoulders.

My arms tighten, my grip is stronger. I test myself
against his ribs; he responds by breathing. Our breaths
stretch us out, give us purchase for the deepening hold.

With my eyes closed it is not just his heart I feel
but the veins themselves; tissue fluid whooshing between cells
all calling for combination. There is no way out
but through. It feels for the longest time like stalemate.

My arms are shaking. I am lighter than blood
through his head through his knees through body cavity

I am lost in a singular us. I hear a sudden silence as now
and break out gasping. We turn to each other. His coat is open
where a button is missing; on my chest its imprint remains.

Important, time-consuming tasks that have prevented me from blogging so far this month:

  • Working my way up to the Pokémon League with Hetty, Josephine, Therese, Valerie, Wayne and Phyllis.
  • Getting the Mslexia directory into a state that is passable for publication in issue 45.
  • Watching Skins. And getting quite upset at the latest plot turn.
  • Thinking about blogging.
  • Blogging elsewhere.
  • Reading Twitter.
  • Going on adventures with Craig.
  • Tidying.
  • Getting my Northern Promise application together.
  • Reading Bleach.
  • Considering my poems, and then deciding that I really need some new ones.
  • Drinking coffee (decaf).
  • Reading the Guardian.
  • Looking at design blogs longingly. (Ffffound and Yay! Everyday, particularly)

These also all apply as reasons I have not been writing poems.

Oh! This means I have constructed a blog post whose entire reason for existence is EXCUSE. Excellent.