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Tuesday, 20 December 2016

Writing Home To Whoever

I am alone
As alone as I was listening to John Cage
Alone listening to his silence; I never felt so alone
As when I had to explain his Four minutes thirty-three
I escaped, went to a committee meeting
And afterwards, alone, I went on to the opera
I never was so alone, as when I had to explain that story
More so, when I had to explain why I had enjoyed myself so
So I escaped, went to an international convention
And afterwards, we went to a bar in the Bavarian Forest
Stood on the tables, sang our big hearts out, accompanied
By a very excitable, oompah band
Beethoven never got a look in
I was found; I had another beer


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Monday, 19 December 2016

Running For The Hills

The water was crystal clear, the parliament buildings behind me were of solid stone, clean stone, plain stone; the building getting its presence from its bold stature, a rigid protective structure, in an otherwise deregulated place

The steps, onto the yacht, had thick guide ropes, one felt steady just by wrapping ones hands around them. The champagne, poured out to greet you, was a surprise to a northern working class chap, but a neat touch nonetheless

Your hosts, businessmen hoping to make money out of your wares, sat you at the head of the table, at the head of the twelve seater, cotton and crystal covered table, with place settings of sterling silver

Anders, with his waxed curled up moustache, raised a toast "Here's to Christopher; I give you a toast to Christopher"

Christopher was thus so easily impressed


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Sunday, 18 December 2016

Poets On The Peaks

That hat suits
You look good for dancing
Don't you go bother yourself at all
Drilling down
The night's stars always collide


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Saturday, 17 December 2016

Inspired By Grace Nichols' Poem: Like A Beacon

A good suit
A pair of good shoes
A good cotton shirt
A tie
With a good, and strong, woven pattern

He needs these

Articles of faith
Articles of possession
Articles of strength
Ties
Of your articled businessman


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Friday, 16 December 2016

Ingrained Years

Yesterday I thought your face
Appeared mildly oriental
I so wanted to tell you
But could not choose the words
After you said your face felt tired
I should have taken a photograph
To better explain myself
Perhaps you will look vaguely similar
On our next weekend together


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