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Poem

Which can be brushed out long and fine
to lie across a pillow
or bunched and scrunched into an angry
knot of rain before it is undone, 
when long hanks of it hang

Poem

Next door live three old ladies. 
They’re sisters, well into their eighties, 
but to us kids, they seem beyond time. 

Poem

I’ve got the 
Teach-them-in-the-morning-
Playground-duty-
Teach-them-in-the-afternoon blues.
My head’s like a drum;
My feet, cold and sore.

Red Cherry Red
Poem

When I was born
I was a familiar,
a black cat, Satan’s favourite form.

Poem

The light through the blind is a poem,

the way it illuminates air.

And the shadows that fall

on the floor and the wall

are signs that a poem is there.

 

Poem

The sea lays big glass hands on the sand,
spreading its fingers out as if new
to the shore. It can’t quite believe in it.
It wants to hold on before the glass breaks.

Poem

I am the evil Slithermonchowchuck,
I am afraid of no one (well almost no one).
I munch on the marbles of lost lunatics,
I nibble on the toes of Tyrannosaurus 

The mysteries of zigomar
Poem

The phone rings
But never long enough
For the Slow Man.

By the time
The set’s switched on
His favourite programme’s over.

Poem

The space is a friend.
I tell it what hurts.

I tell it why I'm not good.
The space is a friend.
I tell it the bother I'm in.
It won't let me tell lies.

Poem

The playground is built on top of a graveyard.

Press your ear to the tarmac and you'll hear the undead

scratching on their coffin lids.

 

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