75PoWriMo - XIX

a ight of fancy



there was a gerbil in a cage
who tired of running in a wheel
to burn off the impotent rage
imprisoned creatures always feel
with freedom in such short supply
determined he would learn to fly

but lacking opposable thumbs
and the required dexterity
to construct wings from chewing gum
and feathers (like mythology)
he realised that to increase his
odds he'd need telekinesis

trial one was to move some sawdust
a task that he achieved with ease
(though cynics argue it was more just
shifted sideways by a breeze
such killjoys are never impressed)
he moved on to a second test

concentrating all the steel
contained in his small rodent brain
he slowly raised that cursed wheel
and gently placed it down again
then raised it higher, swirled it round
and hurled it crashing to the ground

whilst clearly an impressive gift
and therapeutic to destroy
he couldn't work out how to lift
himself aloft whatever ploy
or scheme he'd dream up or propound
he couldn't get up off the ground

until he climbed the rusty bars
up to the ceiling of his prison
(which might to you not seem that far
but from his point of view he'd risen
higher than he'd been before)
he slowly opened up his paw

he gave a squeal, he held his breath
he braced for the impending pain
he strained each braincell he possessed
the dreaded impact never came
he simply hovered in midair
and wondered where to go from there

cautiously round his cage he flew
gained confidence as time went by
and once he'd done a lap or two
he started dreaming of the sky
though he lost some of zeal in
crashing hard into the ceiling

by practising it every day
the gerbil became quite adept
at flying but could find no way
to leave the cage where he was kept
no matter which way out he tried
he was enclosed on all six sides


you may well be wondering why
i told this tale, so i'll supply
the moral: never learn to fly
for even though i'm well aware
you may make a few people stare
it just won't get you anywhere

Stats - Day 10

poems written = 18

poems written per day = 1.8



poems remaining = 57

required poems per day = 2.85

75PoWriMo - XVIII

no


a man came up to me in the street
and asked if i had a light
i said no
a man came up to me in the street
and asked if i could spare any change
i said no
a man came up to me in the street
and asked if i knew the way
to foxly road
i said no
a man came up to me in the street
and asked if i was looking at his bird
i said no
a man came up to me in the street
and asked if i knew where i was going
i said
       physically, immediately:        yes
       spiritually, eternally:         yes
       in all other figurative senses: no

75PoWriMo - XVII

the fragile nature of reality



conditioned by the fiction
of the all-pervasive themes
that the media try to feed you
in repeated tropic scenes
there's a doubt that's breaking out
over how everything seems
i spend hours thinking how as
sure as i am i exist
i could peel away, revealing
something realer i had missed
it feels as though the set-up's over
and i'm waiting for the twist

Stats - Day 9

poems written = 16

poems written per day = 1.7778



poems remaining = 59

required poems per day = 2.8095

75PoWriMo - XVI

in the end



when i die
i would like all the people
who love me
to mourn for a moment
the briefest of bereavements
and then get on with
living happily

when i die
i would like all the people
who never loved me
to mourn their mistake
to realise retrospectively
to wish they had the chance
to start over with me
and then get on with
living better

75PoWriMo - XV

to the cheap looking girl in the cheap looking clothes



when i think of the far-eastern factory worker
     hunched over a needle,
          calloused fingers flying
when i think of the thousands of miles travelled
     by laden container ships
          over ocean expanses
when i think of the false-smiled shop staff
     whose rights are casually eroded
          whilst their souls are gently crushed
when i think of all the effort
     the world has gone to
          in order for you
               to look
                    that
                         bad
i want to hold you up
     and scream into the ears
          of the public consciousness
was it worth it?
was it worth it?
was it really worth it?
really?

75PoWriMo - XIV

transpontine panorama


rose-tinted skies
turning towerblocks
into crisp dark rectangles
sharp, silent silhouettes
adding a brutal elegance
to my transpontine homeland
constructs of definition
surrounded by trees
whose semi-shed shabbiness
lends a scruffy softening
to the sunset skyline

Stats - Day 8

poems written = 13

poems written per day = 1.625



poems remaining = 62

required poems per day = 2.8182

75PoWriMo - XIII

unfinished patchwork



i make so many promises
to myself but i break them all
the path i plot is littered
strewn with scraps of every plan
that has failed to reach fruition
that i've had to let fall
as i'm struggling to juggle
i don't know how it began
but i can't work out how to end it
as it continues to snowball
knitted from frayed scraps of thread
unravel me if you can

75PoWriMo - XII

another fellow passenger



there is only one other
notebook
visible in this train carriage
whose owner
is copying into it
data
from a blackberry
before
inputten them
into an iphone

75PoWriMo - XI

a fellow passenger



i'm trying to read your wrist
without you seeing me seeing
as your billowing cuffs expose
runic inked transliteration
each clench of your fist
stretching skin and skewing
as you fingers close
i believe you spelled "transition"

Stats - Day 7

poems written = 10

poems written per day = 1.4286



poems remaining = 65

required poems per day = 2.8261

75PoWriMo - X

memories can distract you from the moment


on late night quiz tv i once saw
     a woman in a squirrel outfit hit a pinata with a sword
when i was maybe 6 i won a playground fight
     by getting my mate stuck in a bin
i once saw chico on a train.
     i pointed and laughed. good times
i once slept for 32 straight hours.
     is it weird to envy your former self?
i once ate the most delicious bowl of prawns
     in a cuban restaurant in east berlin
i once pulled a girl by pouring lemonade over her head.
     i was 14 ... and unattractive
i once bought an argent album on tape for 20p
     - when i listened to it i felt ripped off
i had a friend when i was 17
     who kept b&w photos of the poll tax riots in her locker
i once got goosed by a stranger
     on a school trip to the barbican
in 1996 i got so sunburnt
     my shoulders were oozing pus for a week
i once shattered a maraca
     because i preferred the sound of it hitting the floor
"i'm a pacifist
     prepared to make exceptions for myself"
i spent hours painting stripes of blue & black lipstick
     smudged on the first pintglass
i once threw away a poster of val ium
     to prove to my gf i fancied her more (i didn't)
i spent my 22nd birthday sat alone in a dark house
     eating cheese toasties
i used to amuse myself by singing smiths songs
     in the style of type o negative
on gcse results day i got up early
     and had left the school before anyone else arrived
i used to do tweets ending
     "- memories can distract you from the moment"

Stats - Day 6

poems written = 9

poems written per day = 1.5



poems remaining = 66

required poems per day = 2.75

75PoWriMo - IX

a trio of waking thoughts



i

the distance
you have moved away from me
since i fell asleep
is the most unbearably chasmic
a few inches has ever appeared

ii

when i can't remember
if i have been dreaming
i always assume
i dreamt of you
since i never seem to remember
anything lovely

iii

my arms are well acquainted
with each contour
of your topography
enabling instant, perfect
tessellation

Stats - Day 5

poems written = 8

poems written per day = 1.6



poems remaining = 67

required poems per day = 2.68

75PoWriMo - VIII

the destination of dreams



moments only my mind can move
when weighed with worries
and trapped by the trappings
i seep away
creep away
deep into the hinterland
hinted at by the perceptible
beyond the boundaries of the bodily
into the uncharted terrain
i create for my own diversion
a landscape that cannot be seen
     even with my mind's eye
a form that cannot be felt
     even with the fingers of my faculties
an earth that exists
     only in the imaginings of my ears
an auditory utopia
the soundscape of my sentience
populated by the nonsense
of fragments of fascination
removed from their own environments
and reformed into an evolving collage
pulsing and swirling
describing and destroying
sketching and smearing
ebbing ebulliently
structuring the scenery of my subconscious
leading me through the labyrinth
until i'm lost
in my own static

75PoWriMo - VII

confession



i'm going to admit what everybody daren't
i'm not a very good parent

of course there's an inference
of a certain level of competence
from the fact my kids have never suffered
a major catastrophe
or significant injury
though that's mainly due to their mother
and i suppose it's not a given
i've never been abusive with them
but that hardly seems like a boast
and my best attempts at care
mostly end in despair
(i'm not sure for which of us most)

at least i know they've never been short of love
which is something, even if it's not enough

Stats - Day 4

poems written = 6

poems written per day = 1.5



poems remaining = 69

required poems per day = 2.6538