august 28th, 1927
mum was 4 days old
august 28th, 2023
here I am in athens
standing among the ruins
of a temple
draw your own conclusions
medea
poems
holiday snaps
some time back in the early ADs
a Roman went storming the Persian areas
the Sasanians were finally brought to their knees
and the Roman’s name was Emperor Galerius
to celebrate his glorious victories
he ordered friezes of considerable heft
triumphal arches, a great rotunda
but now there’s not a whole lot left
hundreds of years have come and gone
soldiers, emperors, all ploughed under
a few cats dozing on a sun-browned lawn
or looking for shade amongst the rubble
and the only lasting sense of wonder
is why they went to all that trouble
(three) incidents at the archaeological museum
I’m walking into the neolithic room
(the exhibits are neolithic; the room is not
the room’s just the place for all the stuff they’ve got:
arrowheads, axes, bones etc
map projectors
that kinda thing)
sandals squeaking
everyone speaking
in respectful tones
shuffling through millennia
with an app on their phones
suddenly
a guard comes up to me
points to the floor
at the painted arrows for
showing
which way you should be going
which is embarrassing
and my face turns hot
but she’s smiling
so I’m guessing
it happens a lot
later
I’m in the museum cafe
cooling off with a frappe
looking for a bin
to chuck my paper napkin in
when the ancient man
at the table next to me
smiles sympathetically
points with his stick
to the square
where
they’ve lined up all their
spare
headless statues
so I bow and say thank you
just
as a big bug
drops from a tree
right in the middle of a table of three
women
who jump up screaming
something so coincident with my leaving
I’m reluctant to go through with it
or it might look like I had something to do with it
status update XLVIII
A figure of fun whenever I flex / a wayward witch with a dodgy hex / sex on legs but the legs are wonky / hairy as a goddamn donkey / shabby n’shonky / itchy n’glitchy / singing a song but sounding pitchy / flapping like a flunky / back on Monday / diary to shit and the chocolate chunky / bagga nerves, sick of it / next in line and fine with it
But what’s that clunk? / a fault you thunk? / the hatch just cracked and the submarine sunk / you’re flat on your bunk / in a flop sweat funk / your eyes pop out and you lose your junk / how cheerfully you seem to grin / and welcome little fishes in
Macbeth’s back on the ChatGPT / about Act 5 apparently / Lear on the street / rats on his feet / says they’re his slippers and ain’t that sweet / Prospero and Caliban / camping in a caravan / going to Comic Con, both as Batman / Ariel swoops in late as Robin / does some magically tragic hobnobbing / but not as bad as pixie Puck / who doesn’t give a flying you-hoo
I’m a country boy who knows his onions / restraining orders, court injunctions / veterinary tests, farmyard functions / following all the text instructions / causing ructions / Spiderman without the suction / whacked not woke / sparingly spoke / asks for a rise, they think it’s a joke
Give us this day our daily litre / lines for Paul and shots for Peter / demon cops with tape and tarps / to shut down heaven and haul off harps
Woke up early, unexpectedly me / thought I was human but found I’m a tree / tried to walk and shake the dream / but my boots were roots so I stood and screamed
Pinocchio farts and jumps the table / Gepetto starts and chokes on his bagel / it’s almost fatal / but the fairy knows Heimlich and for that we’re grateful / puppets can be a nice surprise / but it’s good to know your limits, guys
motivational posters, reduced to clear
your only limit
is your mind
or 500 dollars,
whichever comes first
*
the
saddest
thing in life
is wasted talent
but
the best thing in life
is
whatever
*
stay hungry
stay foolish
stay the hell off my porch
*
in the midst of winter
I found
within me
an invincible summer
and the rage
to storm
the energy companies
*
don’t let
FEAR
kill your dreams
(that’s the government’s job)
*
if your ship
doesn’t come in
swim out to meet it
and if they don’t lower a rope
there’s not much you can do
already exhausted
by such a long swim
& all the jellyfish stings
etc
so
basically
boats, am I right?
a guided tour of Holdersland
Welcome to our version of Heaven
This is Gloria, my name’s Kevin
Please take your seat on the monorail
We’ll whizz you along our guided trail
You’ll notice everything’s up on legs
a thousand feet above the heads
of all the dreadful hoi polloi
the toxic waste and alkaloids
but flying guards with zapping clubs
efficiently stop them climbing up
Each cluster of our living units
is serviced by gondolas of startling newness
rowed by robots with programmed voices
to sync with your particular choices
Your food is grown in satellite sects
in shimmering domes of silvered perspex
to provide your body with all it needs
to keep your earnings up to speed
Every month The Holders meet
in a gilded dome on Krugerrand Street
where the founding plutocrats briefly appear
beneath a crystal chandelier
to answer any points or gripes
and keep your earnings in their sights
But as in life there’s always a catch
each of our houses come with a hatch
we open remotely at any time
to punish you for a range of crimes
the worst of which being Failure to Fund
which renders your tenancy moribund
The board convenes, the lever’s thrown
and off you go to the great unknown!
So – Lovely to see you! Now – what’s next?
Please hand in your passports for credit checks
a glitch in the machine
Stanley’s sick
glitchy, arthritic
his howls quite loud and apocalyptic
scuffling his paws
on the floor
as he wildly gnaws
at a phantom pain he can’t ignore
burying his face
in the exact same place
he’s gnawed before
(the top of his left thigh)
Why Stanley? WHY?
we leap off the sofa
and hurry straight over
like physios from the dugout
to massage his muscle and straighten the rug out
it seems to work
we ease the jerks
and even though the procedure’s hazardous
he rises again like a shaggy Lazarus
and, glad it’s all over,
has a quick shake and leaps on the sofa
we sent the vet a video clip;
we’ve yet to hear what she thinks of it
a reading
whilst you can be the life and soul
kick off your shoes and dance
sometimes you have to retreat to your hole
and heal yourself in a trance
you have big doubts you took the right path
and you’re not fully using your talents
sometime you cry, sometimes you laugh
it’s hard to find the right balance
one day you’re up, the next you’re down
but generally speaking you cope
gritting your teeth on the merry-go-round
you’ve tied yourself to with a rope
I’m getting that somebody recently died?
your grandmother?! Well – she’s HERE!
she’s waving to you from the other side
she says smile and persevere
Oh! That’s cute! There’s a little dog, too!
A name beginning with S?
She hated dogs? Hmm. I wonder who…
A ghostly stray I guess
I’m afraid that’s where I must call it a day
(ghosts can make you queasy)
I hope I’ve been able to help in some way
(debit or BACS – I’m easy)
Hammer Horror
prop
strop
Peter Cushing
keeps pushing
for a reshoot
says his suit
feels out of character
yes – he’s an actor
but everyone has their limit
and HE’S reached HIS, goddammit
the director shouts take ten people
puts his fingers in a steeple
Pete he says we’ve talked about this
we really can’t afford another wardrobe crisis
talk to Chris – he’s a cheery sorta bloke
he seems to be coping despite the cloak
take it as a challenge; van Helsing of Mayfair!
oxford brogues, sharp threads, pince-nez and long grey hair!
Pete says I accept the prof in a stovepipe hat
but I draw the line at a fucking silk cravat
and the golden paw goes to…
Stanley’s claws need clipping
‘cos his paws keep slipping
on the laminate floor
unfortunately
because although it scores
pleasingly for ease of cleaning
for long-legged dogs it’s less appealing
and sometimes Stan spins around on his snoot
like Bambi on ice but not so cute
Stan HATES the groomer;
he’d really rather sooner
offer his paws
to the slavering jaws
of a grizzly bear
than have them scissored by the assistant there
(it’s bad enough
when you give him a brush;
his acting would make even Jim Carrey blush)
so – the vet’s it is
and it’s a pretty sticky business
the vet cries what in God’s name IS this?
Can I get a hand in here, Jenny?
I think this lurcher’s up for an Emmy
