Category: poetry

getting old

when can I succumb to the sadness and the pain in my petrifying muscles hard as rock, the breath now hardly penetrates no wisdom in age, only perhaps a tired reconciliation with the facts


they’re all hot places now where I grew up was wet and cold, now it’s a lovely day they say, nothing between us and the sun. the vultures watch the line between earth and sky for carrion while I follow

dirty city

down the dirty mountain to the dirty city my hand touching yours your hand beneath mine it looks alright.

england from the m4

there’s some poetry in the sheep lying in the winter rape the trees dead-seeming stripped bare a dull blur under the leaden sky darkness come again before it’s gone


This place is mapped. I know where I am. On the bus between Hollywood and Santa Monica. In the traffic on Lamar in the morning. Arriving at Mornington Crescent. Standing on the sea wall by the estuary at night in

Softly, softly. Drop into the silence, to hear the roaring babble. Let’s leave this out of it. My present condition, “somewhat impaired.” Though not much. If this is me, how then the others, stumbling from chair to chair. I am


We’ll begin this thing at tack. The word misheard, bidet: the question was, “Why would you bring that to a hot springs?” If you’re going by the numbers, and the numbers add up, why is 2 and 2 still Sky?


I read poetry while I eat, scanning first for words like squelch or gelid, then for truth, wary of the trap of surprising juxtaposition, or the old trick of turn of phrase. Death creeps into the bones and stomach, the

If it’s any good, someone wants to burn the book you are reading. Pablo Neruda was carried to his grave in a black Ford Zephyr station wagon. I remember the first one I saw, as a child, and it seemed

Perfect and happy, like dachsunds dancing. Chambers’ goal in Doha is the 60m Cheap Jerseys from china gold medal. He goes into the heats tomorrow morning ranked second, cheap football jerseys china with a season’s best of 6.50sec 0.01sec