signs flicker
metallic, neon
hues
as concrete and wireframe
make love to a half hung
moon
two strangers sit
watching the night fade
the man speaks to her
reads her
every crack and break
&
she chews slowly
over his words
all the while
her heart
marchs
to the beat
of some whimpered
music
that is gobbling at her
soul
Category: Issue 4
Haiku For
the man in the seat in front of me, BA flight 1463, Edinburgh to Heathrow, 31 August 2012
you put your seat back
as soon as we’ve taken off
I learn about you
Too Late
he sits
on the toilet
i’m taking
a bath
she asks me
is there a future for us
requests
i don’t piss
in the water
as she’d like
to get in
i tell her
it’s too late
Writier Than The Sword
Let your pen write,
“The sword is sordid.”
The sword (contrite)
will duly find a forge
and beat itself
into the cutting
(or leading edge)
of a mouldboard
(or turner of topsoil)
and follow the coulter
(or ground-breaking spike)
to the end of the earth
which is just as well
for in war
no-one hears a bloody word
you write.
Der Kerzenhalter
“I like this” she says, lifting the black candlestick from the mantelpiece.
“Thanks. I bought it in a little fleamarket in Berlin. It’s nicely turned and it’s beautiful wood, Ebony I believe”.
“It’s cute, but looks so lonely standing there on its own. It’s a shame it isn’t part of a pair”.
“Oh he is”. I tell her. “His brother sits in the room of a girl in Prenzlauer Berg. They don’t talk anymore, but I hope that one day they’ll be together again”.
Night Soundings
Rain is sometimes morse,
repeating its message of the sea,
of secrets or recipes thought lost,
each drop preserving a story.
Cars scud – ore and oil wrought
by digits that grub in dirt.
Trains slide a line – bridge-high
metal worm muscling a bend.
Rain writes in long-hand –
letters that never arrive.
A Ring Of Black Feathers
A ring
of
black
feathers
That once
fanned
a life
Stopped
in the night
Red
like a fox