hideous

Lots of things are hideous
If you look at them long enough
The wrinkles on my thumb
The smooth grey corner of the television.

Lots of things are hideous
If you look at them without thought
The sleeping lady's lips on the bus
The out of date lino - not yet retro.

Lots of things are hideous
If you look at them with disappointment
The bare trees against a rainy sky
The dust on the piano keys.

Lots of things are hideous
Through my eyes -
And I apologise.

my little pony

Pink horse with straw mane
Points its hooves towards me -
Eyes look straight ahead
As if I never existed.
Didn't I play with you pink pony?
Did I?
Only to cart around my fairies.
No! I remember now -
You were enchanted.

african drum

Drumming, drumming
Hands slapping goat skin
Until palms are red meat, pounded.

Drumming, drumming
Fearful of being out of time
Rhythm as instinct not thought

Drumming until the sound meets
In the middle of the circle
As ancient voices, singing.

Drumming, drumming
They speak to me
As I leave the circle, never to return.

train ride

Passing blue bin lorries,

Privet and concrete warehouses

On the way to Deal.

Rolling by cranes and sand piles

Calling at Ashford -

Debenhams and Stagecoach buses.

Pink woolly hats and a zipped up coat

Wrap up warm for the seaside

A windy February morning.

Picking up speed past redbrick homes

A monkey puzzle tree and PC World.

Faster and faster until church spires fade

Green fields appear, sheep, ploughed land.

Whiz into a tunnel and rumble out

To a home for electricity, pylons skyhigh -

Shaped like helter-skelters.

cat

Cat is a caricature gone wrong

Meant to be a baby panda -

They gave him the wrong ears.

Cat is a flash of storm

Zipping from room to room, skidding

Sometimes crashing.

Cat is a philosopher

Pondering the nature of my quilt

Inside, outside, what does it mean?

Quake

The quake of the shutters

Wakes me.

The vendors in the market

Banging noisy crates.

The sun shines through my curtains

I hope they sell something today.

The stalls exist below me

I hear them shout 'morning'

And want to reply

But above all the din

They wouldn't hear me, wrapped

In the quiet of my duvet.

umbrella

Buying an umbrella would be sensible

This persistent rain with its large teardrops

Getting me wet right through

Jeans sticking to my cold-lumped skin

Rain dripping from my nose, into my open mouth

As I walk, head down, neck aching to my interview.

Fennel

I've run out of fennel,

The supermarket queue is exhausting

My basket in browsers' way

Lined up along the aisle

Staring sharply at pink-boxed powder

Blue plastic bottles of softener

The beige jacket of the man ahead.

I lean sideways to see the front.

There isn't a smile,

Scan, bag, scan, bag.

She could go faster.

I'm bashed by a trolley and turn around

A baby screams, but I don't care.

I just spotted an old friend,

The fennel I forgot again.

Ravage

I say I want to ravage you,

You are devastated.

As if I would burn down the whole of Camberwell

Leaving it without church spire,

The people gone,

The pubs and supermarkets.

The hospital in cinders.

When I say I want to ravage you

I don't mean to plunder,

Cut off your balls and eat them.

I want you left intact

So I can ravage you again.

mordant

The sharpness of your mordant words

Is lost when you apologise.

I can laugh it off.

I can laugh and laugh

When I'm pretending that there isn't ill intent.

Don't be sorry that you hurt my feelings

It was banter

Only banter.

Funny, funny woman you are

Biting at me like a playful kitten

I won't let anyone cut your claws.