Searching For Blue Sea Glass

8

2009-11-20T20:14:00.000Z

A pigeon
On a rainy slate roof in July
Composes a haiku

Under Construction 7

2009-11-15T20:13:00.000Z

Do you ever feel sorry for inanimate objects?
The time you poured coffee into the cup with the teabag
And had to throw the teabag away?

Remember giving the last rites
To your favourite shoes?

The toilet roll that fell down the pan?

The hammer taken to Gran’s wardrobe.

The love letter that you found
By the bus stop?

Rupert

2009-11-08T20:11:00.000Z

Today I am
drifting around town
in a small boat
searching for Rupert

Floating along flooded streets
watching the rats
swimming in the evil waters

I am scanning the rooftops
searching for Rupert
Looking for a lad
Stranded on a roof
dressed in red
waving his school bag

I have a ladder in this boat
But have not yet had
The chance to use it

I have rescued seven rats
Who, although very pleased,
Are all crouched nervously
In the stern
Keeping as far from Kenny
As they can

Under Construction 6

2009-11-04T20:08:00.001Z

Don’t let your bits go to sleep
Be careful with your leg draped over the arm of the chair
Or you’ll stand up
And promptly fall over again
Like you did on Tuesday
Knocking the cup of hot chocolate, drinking chocolate
Over the new, cream carpet
And surprising the cat
Who leapt between Mum’s legs
Just as she was carrying the chain saw
From the kitchen into the back room
Dropping it and inadvertently turning it on
And sawing the TV in half

All I’m saying is
Be careful, that’s all.

Under Construction 5

2009-10-27T19:12:00.000Z

Two slow crows
On the dawn road
Fly from the mist
Spreading joy

Green Frogs

2009-10-21T19:08:00.000+01:00

We had green frogs once
They were a very rare kind
We had several thousand
because they kept on breeding
and Dad threatened to flush them down the toilet
so I crept downstairs
at midnight
and let them all go
You may have seen it in the papers
GREEN FROG EPIDEMIC
and they were poisonous
and lots of people died
but the authorities hushed it up

They always hush it up -
the authorities

Under Construction 4

2009-10-18T19:07:00.000+01:00

Sometimes it feels like I haven’t a minute to myself
A minute for watching the birds
A minute to think
A minute to contemplate death
A minute to visit the map shop
A minute to lose myself in the view from the train window
A minute to see how the Su Doku turned out
A minute to wonder what that last crossword clue was all about
A minute that passes to fast or too slowly
A minute to fire up my lap top
A minute to lay a wreath
A minute to finish my drink
A minute to finish these words
Sometimes it feels like I haven’t a minute to myself

Rooks

2009-10-14T19:05:00.000+01:00

Do the thousand roosting rooks
Have to say goodnight
To every member
Of their family
Before they turn in?

Under Construction 3

2009-10-10T19:04:00.000+01:00

It happened on the 8.16 to Victoria
She approached me from behind
Like a gunslinger’s shadow
I glanced up
Saw black, spiky hair
A bag slung casually
Around her long, dark, open overcoat
She reached towards me
She wore a silver ring on her thumb
She had the mark of a professional
But also an individual
And I shivered
As her eyes met mine,
As she clipped
My ticket

Dad's Coming Home

2009-10-07T19:02:00.000+01:00

Dad’s coming home tomorrow
And he always brings me a present
And my sister, Sally, too
And mum.
But I’m his favourite
And my presents are best
Once he brought home
Two tigers
They were tame tigers
A prince in India
Had tamed them
To hunt flamingos
Using a special method
We rode them on the lawns
Sally rode Saranga
And I rode Rajah
We had three races and I won two
You should have seen us
Flashing and roaring
Orange and black on the green grass
On the winner’s podium
I shook up a bottle of Coke
And sprayed everyone
And even the pigeons
Rose into the sky, applauding

Under Construction 2

2009-10-01T18:58:00.000+01:00

He met her standing on the train
Victoria bound. She leant against him
As they swung into the curve
Approaching Haywards Heath

She whispered, Can you feel it?
Magic… you’ll not forget it
Stand below my balcony
And call me Juliet

I’ll unlock the gates of silver
That lead down to your dark thoughts
The basement of your wild dreams
And this the wildest yet

And this may be your last chance
To taste youth’s sweetest offering
For I am young and you are old
And death waits in the wings

And as the man passed with the trolley
Tinkling like tambourines
She slipped her hand inside his jacket
And found his hot damp skin

But then the train pulled to a halt
At Clapham Junction she was gone
He glimpsed her on the platform
The train continued on

He thought, I should have got her number.
Left the train at Clapham with her.
Maybe next time if I meet her
Maybe next time, maybe then…

But in a way was pleased he hadn’t
As he found a seat left vacant
As the train slowed for Victoria
And her touch began to fade

Under Construction

2009-09-27T18:29:00.002+01:00

The young woman
(Ignoring the blue sky and passing greenery,
The misty vistas of an early Saturday morning)
Proceeds to transform her face
With a variety of Lily Lo products -
Brushes, powders, lotions.

After thirty minutes
Her spotty, pale face has given way
To unnatural pink
She paints on a scowl
Beneath the table I notice
Her heavy brown boots

When Skies Were Orange

2009-06-30T18:19:00.000+01:00

Once in a long time ago
The skies were orange
Erupting volcanoes threw up
Small islands
into the dark sea
and the air was carbon dioxide and nitrogen

Once in a long time to come
The earth will fry
Or come to some other violent end

Right now I’m thinking
We are but tiny and brief
bursts of light.
And I watch you sleep
Naked beside me
In the hot night
Your back pain momentarily forgotten
And I listen to the seagulls
That interrupt my thoughts
And my mind swings to and fro

I Must Not Shoot Water at Mr Walton

2009-06-25T18:17:00.001+01:00

I must not shoot water at Mr Walton
I must not shoot water at Mr Walton
I must not shoot water at Mr Walton
I must not shoot water at Mr Walton
I must not shoot water at Mr Walton
I must not shoot water from my Titan Mk2 Water Cannon
at Mr Walton
I must not shoot water from my Titan Mk2 Water Cannon
at Mr Walton
I must not shoot water from my really powerful Titan Mk2 Water Cannon
at Mr Walton
I am sorry I made you sopping wet, Mr Walton
I must not shoot water at Mr Walton
And the blast of water knocked you off your feet
and carried you half way across the playground, Mr Walton
I must not shoot water at Mr Walton
I must not shoot water at Mr Walton
That gun sure delivers a mean jet of water doesn’t it?
Wow!!! It was fantastic. It was brilliant.
But I am sorry you got wet, Mr Walton.
Really sorry.
And I’m really sorry I’m in detention writing lines
When I could be out in the playground
shooting my Titan Mk2 Water Cannon
Mr Walton – don’t mess
with the Titan Mk2 Water Cannon!!!

Dream

2009-06-16T22:04:00.000+01:00

I sometimes dream of battles
The clash of steel on steel
And explosions
And I wake in the dark
To the angry voice
Of dad
The bashing and knocking
And clumping and swearing
And I pull the duvet over my head
And imagine a thunderstone
Rolling across the sky
Spitting sparks
And sloughing dragons
Whose wings
Crash against my window
With the hail and rain
But the wind
Gradually moves the thunderstone out to sea
And the air clears
And the dawn sun eases himself sulkily
Above the horizon
To the empty sky
And I fall back into a dream
Of peace

Metaphor Poem

2009-06-11T23:08:00.000+01:00

He is a broken sofa
A bent branch of broom
He is a tune heard faintly in the early afternoon
A sprint, slowing, ragged for the Gatwick Express
A yellow plastic drawer
A visit to the soothsayer, dressed to impress
He is an ancient arrow head, caked with dried mud
He is words, chosen for their own sake
Lightly written in anything but blood
He is a zero, a mean nothing
A slight ache in the right wrist
A twinge after supper
Heavy eyelids
A grass snake on the edge of a dream
A distracted kiss
A mined seam

Secret World

2009-06-06T22:58:00.000+01:00

You need a passport
To visit my secret world
Which you send for on the internet
Or you can get special permission
To make your own
As long as they stamp it
With their special gold stamp
Most people fly there
In a Boeing 999
But you can walk
If you know the secret way
I stumbled upon it walking Kenny
There was a gap
Where bits of the world
Don’t quite join up
Like that shirt my mum made
And Kenny found it
Looking for a rabbit and I followed him
The weather?
Very hot and sunny all the time.
Although I went in winter once
And it rained non-stop
When I got home
I told Mum I’d fallen in the pond
What’s it called?
Its name is secret.
No one knows it.
I could take you there if you like.
To my World Without a Name
If you take me to your other world
And make me laugh

Shouting at the Ocean

2009-06-01T21:50:00.002+01:00

There’s no point shouting at the ocean
When you’re feeling low
The tide will still come in
It doesn’t want to know

It’s no good shouting at the ocean
Just because it’s there
You can yell, throw stones or kick the sand
The ocean doesn’t care

There’s no use railing at the ocean
If you’re angry or upset
The sea won’t even notice
It’s too busy being wet

For the sea has no emotion
It doesn’t hear you shout
It only listens to the moon
It just comes in and out

So if you’re hurt, upset or angry
Write down all you want to say
Then post it in the ocean
And watch your troubles float away

Branch

2009-05-26T22:55:00.000+01:00

There’s a branch
Of a tree
That I see
From my window

Horizontal
A thick pencil mark
Across a tiny rectangle
Of sky

And on it sits a bird
Sometimes a crow
Black and sinister
Sometimes a pigeon

The pigeon is fat
Probably the only fat bird
On the estate
With its own private store
Of peanuts

Sometimes I see the pigeon
Sometimes the crow

As I lie in bed
In the morning half awake
Before I open my eyes
I sometimes wonder

Will I see the pigeon
Will I see the crow
Or will the branch be empty?

Why Off By Heart Missed a Beat

2009-05-23T15:30:00.001+01:00

I was one of the heat judges for the BBC2 Off By Heart programme, part of the BBC’s Poetry Season.

I thought it was very disappointing. Sure, it was a very interesting look at the winners and their families but…

1 - despite the fact that 1000s of kids entered it and hundreds of schools supported it there was very little mention of either. How about showing some of the schools preparing for it and some of the other children who entered?

2 It was all about children entering a competition - but not made FOR children at all. It was on late (9 o'clock until 10.30)) and made for adults. It should have been FOR children. Or at least for families to watch.

3 Why are the BBC so scared of actually having someone recite a WHOLE POEM on screen. Why, in all these BBC Poetry Season films, has there been so very little actual poetry - so few poems read from beginning to end?

(And one of the very best bits of the season, I think, is the trailer when Phil Jupitus does recite a whole poem. In fact it's a very imaginative piece. I'd like to see more like that. I'd like to see lots of poets reading their poems.)

And finally - 4 - I'm fed up that everyone you ever hear talking on the BBC seems continually surprised that children enjoy poetry. They love it.

What do you think?

Staffroom Disaster

2009-05-20T22:40:00.001+01:00

(for Moss Lane School)

It’s been that kind of day at school
When you know you just can’t win
The school cat has been sick again
And no biscuits in the tin

Lesson plans need updating
Reports, you still have plenty
The head teacher is on your case
The biscuit tin is empty

The school cloakrooms are flooded
We can’t find Michael’s shoe
No biscuits in the biscuit tin
Now what are we to do?

For when your class runs riot
And you cannot stand the din
Retreat into the staff room
And eat biscuits from the tin

When it’s a wet playtime
And it’s windy and it’s snowing
Custard creams and hobnobs
Are all that keep you going

So here I sit, all on my own
Feeling blue and wondering why
There are no biscuits in the tin
I think I’m going to cry.

Tattoo

2009-05-08T17:32:00.000+01:00

I’d call him a big man
Swarthy and dark
And he sat in the seat in front of me
And wrote trouble in the air
And passengers avoided his eye

He spoke on the phone
He’d been to Brighton
To talk to the police
About the sneak thief
Who had stolen his briefcase

He would recognise him
He had a star tattoo
On his neck

I pulled up my collar
And sank down in my seat
And concentrated on the Metro
And finishing the difficult Su Doku

Cinquains

2009-05-08T17:31:00.000+01:00

Cinquains
Can disappoint
They start promisingly
As each line grows, tension builds, then
They end

Iron Bars

2009-05-04T17:29:00.000+01:00

There are iron bars
Around my house
A wall
Edged with barbed wire and broken glass

You say
But where?
It looks like any other.

I say, look!
There!

Mnemonics

2009-05-01T17:27:00.000+01:00

You may be familiar with the mnemonic for spelling Mississippi.
Here’s one for Isis.

One snake
One snake

Or… on a similar tack - The River Thames.

Junction
Hut with chimney
Orange with a crutch
Two huts with no chimney
Moon with an eye
Snake