Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Graffiti

Oxbridge poems of wars invoke
the heroism of the average bloke,
in terms of classic tales of old
of muscled men fighting nude and gold.
These liberal times lend so much scope
for simpler meanings; the straighter dope.
As when in Dispatches Herr recalled
A young Marine in confusion scrawled:
"I think I'm falling in love with Jake!"
Laid bare, the meaning of allusions glossed ,
the rawness of emotions crossed,
how violence in it's turn demands,
the softness of a lovers arms.

Response to war poems from the Penguin book of Contemporary Verse (1918-1960)

Sunday, May 30, 2010

We eternal children

A moment will arrive
when your arms that cradled me
fail, like pink tree trunks,
exhausted by the years.

Then I shall rise
floating like a balloon
marvelling at the view
of mortality like the
world all around.

How then, I will long to rush home
wanting to tell you about all I've seen.

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

A lesson for boys

For some
love is a rose
as heady as youth.
A perfume from summer's nights
spilled onto sheets and burning skin.

For me love is an apple,
lipstick red -
familiar and knowing,
warmed by autumn's last rays
to shocking sweetness.

As winter falls, wet and dark,
the roses stand leafless:
barbed wire remarks;
empty as memory's bed.

And that is when
the applesweet kiss,
hotter than custard
on a rainy night,
turns your heart
to Strudel.