Alan.

The acrid fragrance of your stain-coated jacket and
the poorly-kept perennial imperial point
you out.

Indicating to polite company
that you would not be found easily
acceptable.

To be shut out,
kept away from the top table.
Not allowed to enter into any hallowed home.

However,
the badge you wear on your flat cap
telling those you meet that you'd want them
"OUT ON N30", indicates, to me at least,
that you possess something of a sense of
solidarity, with others if not yourself.

So try to continue to keep you head above
the deep, dark, murky waters
where at least you may
find a measure of acceptance
with those who share
your taste in swimwear.

Absence by Carol Ann Duffy

Then the birds stitching the dawn with their song
have patterned your name.

Then the green bowl of the garden filling with light
is your gaze.

Then the lawn lengthening and warming itself
is your skin.

Then a cloud disclosing itself overhead
is your opening hand.

Then the first seven bells from the church
pine on the air.

Then the sun's soft bite on my face
is your mouth.

Then a bee in a rose is your fingertip
touching me here.

Then the trees bending and meshing their leaves
are what we would do.

Then my steps to the river are text to a prayer
printing the ground.

Then the river searching its bank for your shape
is desire.

Then a fish nuzzling for the water's throat
has a lover's ease.

Then a shawl of sunlight dropped in the grass
is a garment discarded.

Then a sudden scatter of summer rain
is your tongue.

Then a butterfly paused on a trembling leaf
is your breath.

Then the gauzy mist relaxed on the ground
is your pose.

Then the fruit from the cherry tree falling on grass
is your kiss, your kiss.

Then the day's hours are theatres of air
where I watch you entranced.

Then the sun's light going down from the sky
is the length of your back.

Then the evening bells over the rooftops
are lovers' vows.

Then the river staring up, lovesick for the moon,
is my long night.

Then the stars between us are love
urging its light.

Gone by Imtiaz Dharker

I see you have been and gone.
Such a small space between
your being here and having
been, just the bedroom door
ajar, and in the kitchen
the kettle and your cup still
warm. You forgot
your umbrella, and now it has begun
to rain. In my mind I see you
turn and look back over your shoulder
towards this room, your
umbrella and me holding on
to it.

Attraction.

the moon pulls the water
the flower pulls the bee
the horse pulls the cart
and you hold me.

Long Weekend.

stretching out
to try reaching
for the future.

back arched, releasing
a tension unheeded,
so made pure.

days on fire
nights of rum
the hurt let alone.

leave the dog
to chew on it,
say bye bye to the bone.

A Butterfly in the British Museum by Kelly Grovier

Smuggled in on a schoolgirl's cuff,
its brushed wings dusting
the cabinet edges - agate seals

and scarabs, a charlatan's scrying
crystal and the turquoise teeth
of an Aztec skull. Spinning

to kneel, she shrugs loose
her knapsack, scrabbling
for sketchbook and pen,

when suddenly her wrist blossoms,
takes flight, meets itself
in a ricochet of glare -

its hieroglyphs ghosting
into cartouched tombs.
For an instant, the mystery

of the living and the beauty of the dead
flutter in the glass; impulsive
lenses zoom too late!, too late!

as the soul of a doodling girl
vibrates to the sky-light's deep,
unpinnable blue.

Elephants Vs. Insects by Allan Ahlberg

The Elephants and the Insects
Came out to play a match
They trampled in the jungle
Till they cleared a little patch.
They scuttled round and trumpeted
Just glad to be alive
Until the half-time whistle
when the score was 15-5.

The Insects in the second half
Brought on a substitute
A modest little centipede
But, brother, could he shoot.
He ran around on all his legs
Beneath the tropic sun
And by the time he'd finished
Well, the Insects, they had won.

"Oh, tell us" said the Elephants
"We're mystified indeed
Why wait until the second half
To play the centipede?"
"That's easy" cried the Insects
As they carried off the cup.
"He needs and hour
to sort his boots...

And tie his laces up!"

From: A Red Cherry on a White-tiled Floor by Maram Al-Massri

You should not
have touched my hand
and left it dreaming
of your touch.

You should not
have kissed my lips
and left them burning
for your muffling caress.

You should have
remained quiet
so that I would not stop
hoping.

Frozen Through.

standing over glacial space
mutely reaching to embrace.
heads hung, coldly conceiving
the kinetic absence
of a still hole filled in.
missed gurgling of good times gone,
faded now the star's gone on.

Poem by Penelope Shuttle

A poem stays awake long after midnight
talking you from room to room

does not care that walls have ears
las parades oyen

A poem prefers tin to silver,
silver to gold,
gold to platinum

Every year
a poem tosses a young woman from the cliffs
to the rocky sea below

A poem accidentally sends the entire letter f
off to Florence

but keeps the letter t
in a matchbox, like a tiny contraband tortoise

Sometimes
a poem is your only daughter

busy and happy in the world,
China or Spain
abundancia de riqueza

Like the partial Angel Gabriel
in Santa Sophia
a poem is half-gold, half-invisible

A poem will do things in England
she'll never do in France

It will take more than ten thousand lakes
for which minnesota is famous
to drown a poem

The poem pauses now and then
to look at nothing-much-in-particular

A poem likes scraping and burnishing
the prepared surface of the etching copper,

is frequently found note-taking copiously
from The Fantastic Historia Animalium of the Rain

A poem makes herself as tiny as a waterbear
or a tardygrade,
a mite able to survive freezing, boiling,

able to go into suspended animation
for one hundred years, if need be

shivering timbres running right
through the lights.

stop a runaway pram as it plummets
down the hill to mortify for such
a certainty as to be unstoppable.

but you do
manage to stop it.
somehow throwing an entire
sinewously wrapped up
package of pain in the way of hurt.

yet all will
hail heroes until

they

fall.

Passionately.

Once so close
Wild dogs
Could not have torn us.

Bonded.
Super glued together.
Not a crack
Between
To let daylight in.

Couldn’t see the trees, just the wood.
Loved what we wanted, coz we could.

The Meaningtime by Adrian Mitchell

Bananas and bicycles are beautiful animals
Elephants and waterfalls are wonderful machines
Show me a bucket and I'll bite you a biscuit –
Now you know what the universe means

Scary

the suspect package
lies in wait
filled, perhaps,
with fiery hate
or just clothes and a radio.

everybody has
to wait
outside, in the nipped
night air.
anywhere but here

so we all go to the cafe
for tea and anecdotes.
protected by an
arm wrestling authority
that ain't sure why it's there.

Parlour-Piece by Ted Hughes

With love so like fire they dared not
Let it out into strawy small talk;
With love so like a flood they dared not
Let out a trickle lest the whole crack,

These two sat speechlessly:
Pale cool tea in tea-cups chaperoned
Stillness, silence, the eyes
Where fire and flood strained.

Algebraic Heartache

2 + 2 = 5
the maths is all wrong
nothing adds up
all has gone for a song

can’t seem to formulate
a corrected answer
want to believe I
could just stand a chance

to make it ok again
make it alright
lost all blindsided
and can’t find the light.

Simon Turp RIP

On golden sands stands young Vinny,
next to him the deep, cold sea.

Holding tight in gentle grasp
a slender thread, that does hold fast

a kite to Gaia, life and hearth
to all that exists here on earth.

In the heavens soars the kite,
floating free no need to fight

with clouds that don’t hold any rain
precipitate of cold, hard pain.

The string it breaks, the kite it falls
Vinny cries out, much appalled.

The kite, you see, no longer flies,
it hits the ground and Vinny cries.

And the Others by David Berman

Some find The Light in literature;
Others in fine art,
And some persist in being sure
The Light shines in the heart.

Some find The Light in alcohol;
Some, in the sexual spark;
Some never find The Light at all
And make do with the dark,

And one might guess that these would be
A gloomy lot indeed,
But, no, The Light they never see
They think they do not need.

Swimming to Work on My Bicycle.

The water hits like a wave. Slapping
me about with closed fists,
a proper beating. I
wend away while
brutal blows
keep on
raining
down on
my head now
drenched. A drowned
rat, caught splat, slap
in the middle of a blind storm.

Delay by Elizabeth Jennings

The radiance of the star that leans on me
Was shining years ago. The light that now
Glitters up there my eyes may never see,
And so the time lag teases me with how

Love that loves now may not reach me until
Its first desire is spent. The star's impulse
Must wait for eyes to claim it beautiful
And love arrived may find us somewhere else.

An Acrostic Poem for Ralph.

Rearing up he roars
And though his spittle
Flies I find it
Funny that my
Little friend can show such
Enmity toward a
Stranger of his own morphology.

That he seems to feel such
Hate leads me to
Expect

Ghastly things would sure occur were I to
Even think
(Ne’er mind
The risk to me) of
Loosing him,
Even though he
May well want me to
And, although I love him so, I’m
Not prepared

To pay for any damage. I mean,
Have you heard how
Unreasonably priced
Going to the vet can be nowadays?