Dicks in space-suits

UNEP, environment

Dead beetles die in their skins, and

Seychellois, Mauritanians, Maurtians, Martians,
Fighting with sun-tans all, and

Bad lip jobs,

In Nairobi,
Silent giraffes grope for love,

God,
Tends to antelopes,

The world ends
In a traffic jam or,

Dicks in space-suits building railways​ through the heart of a city.

♦Photo♦ Friends of Nairobi National Park

-short evocative poetry-

Published in: on April 21, 2017 at 09:21  Leave a Comment  
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The Painting with the smudge

I remember her detail,

How she looked, how she talked to her husband,
I just stood on the pavement and cried, I’ll

Never see her again, not here,
That’s it.

Whatever came, came for a moment and then left, we were
Going to live forever.

I don’t get in touch with anyone anymore,
It scares me, the

Vast leap of events between the last meeting twenty years ago, and the ‘hello’ now,
Like a slug or snail whose antenne has grazed something unpalatable;

I’ve withdrawn.

I don’t mean to do it I don’t mean to have this strange mist shroud me, I
Feel tenuous –

Like a smudge in the corner of a pristine painting you could reach out to touch me and find,

Nothing there left at all.

Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep. Rom. 12:15

♦Photo – Personal♦

-short evocative poetry-

Published in: on April 9, 2017 at 10:59  Leave a Comment  
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Editing the bible

poem, religion

We’ve all seen them,

Womens circle knitting on,
Saturday,

Mens having breakfast to learn,
How to lead,

Ever been inside a church,
I mean inside?

You know the ones;
Don’t

Talk on the phone when you’re,
Writing notes,

Don’t come in late when right
Next door,

Over the shoulder of
The fat woman in green,

They are editing the bible at the behest of the priest!

Yellow dragons,
Farmhouse animals –

Beware the document groaning,
With the evidence of having been read.

Photo – ♦Fruit Of Hands

-short evocative poetry-

Published in: on March 30, 2017 at 23:42  Leave a Comment  
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On gender based toiletry

poem, gender, toilets

Attack your assailant with the baguette,
You are carrying in your hand.

Soft weapon.

Transgender toilet,
Beat the crap out of the hoodlum, male
Or female,

Black or white, think
Not you must explain,

Why, during the attack
Men should not wear,

Flaming pink knickers, demand
The sex of the person approaching,

On the dark night,
In the lovely cottage,

Be determined after you have finished
The mission.

The lady so obviously not,
In the red heels,

And the blue make-up

Knows how to use her baguette, just
Do not touch her strong leather hand-bag.

PictureViewpoint♦

-short evocative poetry-

Published in: on March 30, 2017 at 22:07  Leave a Comment  
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Living on a prayer

You punish me for telling you my fantasy,
At night I lock the door so no one else can see,

Watch while the queen,
In one false move,

Turns herself into a pawn,

It’s like-
Drinking gasoline to quench your thirst until there’s nothing there left at all, I

Went to the doctor I,
Went to the mountains,

And then you happen to bring up reincarnation over,
A couple of beers the other night,

Spitting out all the bitterness along with half of my last drink,
This is no ordinary love,

Refrain!
Come Oberon!

Able only to gasp at the splendor of the sun,
Come satellite!

Saturns rings are lit by the Universe’s light!

For Simon

Photo – ♦Natsumi Hayashi

-evocative short poetry-

Published in: on March 21, 2017 at 13:03  Comments (1)  
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Cancer

 

decade_45pierreholtzreutersyeehee-com_2010_12_16_best-pictures-of-the-decade-the-noughties_.jpg

I’ve lost the use of my heart,
But I’m still alive.

I hear voices,

The hustler and the prostitute,
The gleaming car salesman,

Audible to me all,

The rat at the corner,
Selling drugs,
My husband in the study being busy.

I’m crying everyone’s tears.

 

Photo♦Pierre Holtz for ReutersBest Pictures of the Decade

 

 

 

-short evocative poetry-

Published in: on February 15, 2017 at 09:41  Comments (4)  
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Dying is the first race

20170110_1541431

Never mind Lawyers,
Children with no mouths,

Never mind Inspiration,
Write Now.

 

 

Photo – ♦Personal♦

-short evocative poetry-

Published in: on January 29, 2017 at 18:15  Leave a Comment  
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Pain relief

800px-semana_santa_antigua_guatemala

Builders will continue to build, and
White folk dumpster dive, 

In the winter anyway,

In red,
And blue overalls, scavenge –

Scavenger,
Some for profit, others fun, and I

Cannot be a predator, I
Cannot carry luggage, I

Am dying, and

Perhaps giving things away, a
book or something will relive the pain, lord

Knows I just need some pain relief and, I
Just cannot afford to hoard right now, nor pilgrimage, how

I wish I had done this earlier like,
Forgiven my lover, myself –

Wait,
I’ll do it in dungarees, I am dying and I

Will give away yellow popsicles instead.
 

photoHoly Week, Guatemala♦

-short evocative poetry-

 

 

Published in: on December 31, 2016 at 20:01  Leave a Comment  
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Tea-time in the sun with friends

20161213_0728281

Imagine all those who have to swallow pills;
One a day,

Everyday for every illness,
-and sometimes just

For age, they don’t

Taste good in,
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday packets-

Bitter pharmaceuticals to make you better,

Those that do it with smiles,
Yellow,

And creaking bones and gorgeous flannel;

Respect their furrowed brows and dimpled cheeks, their
Trick of light, their

Twilight years,
Respect your elders now.

Photo – Shitsugane

-short evocative poetry-

Published in: on December 13, 2016 at 11:50  Leave a Comment  
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Refugee

 

Gay, homosexual, inter-racial, relationships

Smelly in the corner,
On a black,

Leather sofa,

We speak he and I with oiled bodies, we
Recline at will,

With silver-lined laptops,
With morning beer in,

Plastic cups, ice-cream
Tins, we

Touch minds gently across thrusting porn-stars,
He and I, and we

We will make it happen,
Perhaps,

Emigrate,

Fiddle with love beyond borders, have
Sex in public,

Don’t laugh,

Book an hotel room in an Islamic country,
Without scrutiny,

Hold hands in an African one, do
Battle in Mississippi.

(more…)

Published in: on November 28, 2016 at 11:47  Leave a Comment  
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Midnight Gardener

jacob-y-angel-pelean

I hear God in cushion prints,
Leopard pants,

Ancestors,
We Forget;

What if it took place at midnight, would you

Stack hay and win,
Chicago with the broad shoulders,

Hunt mosquitos,
Midnight lover, the

Ebullient wrestler in a,
Pink Venetian mask,

Would you,
Be a brute,

Pretending the contender was not God,
Brisk breeze,

Be the one who,
Proof read the script,

Then promptly forgot,

Alzheimer,
And Jung?

Anger never works.

Photo – Jacob and Esau

-short evocative poetry-

Published in: on November 7, 2016 at 02:15  Leave a Comment  
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The smell of new curtains

It came from the right side like God, or a deer, a

Migraine warning;
Chemotherapy strikes at any time.

Where am I going wrong?

Under community skies and red roofed buildings, immaculate
And unfinished,

Holding on for next week’s rent,
Even if you were alive,

I’d not have listened,

Missing a father to say what’s wrong
In his opinion,

Old enough how,
To hear sterner words in music,

To understand that the clinic serves Japanese-Americans and Kenyans alike,
On the dusty Main Street of the farming village,

The dusty, ochre-coloured Main Street covered,
With maize drying, and

Women slipping from bus-stop to bus-stop with children in their hair, that was
Probably,

Paid for,
By a man with a plan – the clinic,

And mum’s words,
Soft and gentle and supportive,

And different from yours;

I can take it now daddy,
Where did I go wrong?

I can make things right now,
The deer came from the left.

And whilst hindsight works in accidents we do not see coming,
At least Cancer gives us time.

 

♦Photo♦ –  laurieanichols.wordpress.com

-short evocative poetry-

Published in: on October 23, 2016 at 21:45  Leave a Comment  
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