Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Leaning out my open window late at night.
Two cats are fighting over territory in the back garden.
I cannot see them, only hear, and listen.
They square up to one another, prowling in circles,
Eyeing each other Gladiatorial, swiping paws cutting through air,
letting out piercing screeches like sharpening blades.
They want to kill each other.
They want to wound so there will be a victory,
until the next cat comes along with bigger, sharper, smarter claws.
I take off my boxing gloves,
shut the window securely,
And leap into to bed.
I have no idea who won.
No one ever does.
Monday, November 07, 2011
'Boys should be
'But Da a canny,
get us a pair
o arms bands.'
'You'll need more than that, Son.
You'll droon if yee don't stop bleatin.
A never got arms bands in ma day,
yee got flung in - sink or swim.
And that taught us.None of this inflatable
life guard material.
Shower o splashers.
Stoap yir gurnin fir Christ
Away doon the shallow end.'
to keep themselves
a float, Son.’
‘B u t d a, a c a n n y s w i m g o n n y g e t s u z a p a i r a a r m b a n d s!
Friday, November 04, 2011
What radicals you are blowing up in suburban streets.
Startling the solemn households from their quiet Sunday
breathing, lighting up thousands of tiny troops of Civil War.
Anarchy! Streets run amok!
In flocks you burst and scream, a chorus of crazed baby
chicks being strangled, a thousand wild light bulbs sent up
into the air fusing,
bouquets of flowers, flying out
like burning feathers.
You fizz and whistle like sparks of fat.
Breaking the rude silence of safe
towns, reminding us of a war
the corner, or
to shut the curtains, lock the door, and always
blow out candles.
(An old favourite I've posted before.)