hobo

I want to share a poem my sister wrote. She’s the woman who inspired my poem Mother of Squalor. With all its bizarre grammar and madness it is the truest thing thing I’ve read in awhile, with her in mind, and her permission, hobo – hobo im a hobo a hobo and im doing it…

The Drinker’s Fallacy

I might need to apologise in the morning, but…   Is this a poem? –   I stood in my kitchen staring at the floor, so many gatherings happened here, and now I am hungry and the kitchen is empty.   Or just a sentence that has fallen down a stair case? Splitting a sentence…

The Beaten Ream

Enter Solitude Stare into its face Scream into its abyss   Grab your pen Tear through the paper Force ink into existence   Rake out your heart There lies nothingness Dying to bleed out and be   Your mind churns Scraping against your skull Cough and sweat those words   Piss into the glass Whisky…

Walk Between the Rain (a short Haiku story)

A man in a coat Poured whisky into a glass Trapped in by the rain   The bar was crowded All around him people talked Hunched over his drink   He glanced to his right The rain pounded the window He refilled his drink   The barman knew him He lets him keep the bottle…

New to Haiku

And now; a haiku Five syllables, seven, five The rules are simple   I need a subject So I can give this haiku Some needed substance   Haiku’s stand alone Three pithy lines and no more But I like stories   Good, I think that’s it Haiku’s are pretty easy I am a turtle  …

Expunging Life

Here comes the awful thing. It was stuck, but now it’s free. Trapped in the silk.   The paper colony, wasted A city of would-be men In a crumpled page   Flush the city of worms The tadpole manly things Searching the U-bend   No eggs in there my friends Death to the millions That…

Charlie Hillman

Charlie Hillman set off one day He had nothing but a song and his own good name He had no money, no house and no car Just a road and an old guitar   His feet was saw now and the road was long Three more steps and the sun was gone He stood alone…

Mother of Squalor

She tipped her hat against the wind and squinted through the rain Her life was a novella of pulp in a moonlit motion picture of class Her high heels kicked through puddles that reflected street lights The book in her bag was damp from intruding weather   Her coat held closed, her umbrella shielded her…

The Prince of the Skunks

Withered and wicked was the prince of the skunks God damn his reputation in the pubs of the drunks They knew him locally as the holder of the bar His legend ran deeper than the depth of his scars For which he had many   On the stage at the piano he pressed his keys…

An Art: the Rules of Which are Ambiguous and Hard to Dispute.

This is a poem. Don”t believe me? Prove it.   That’s the whole poem. Clever isn’t it? (he said sardonically). I was just going to upload the picture and that’s it but it didn’t seem like enough, so now I’m writing more words. Do you see them? Wow, that was a metaphysical  question. Can you…

The Ignoble Poet

It occurs to the Ignoble Poet that all things are shit We are many; us word beating priests of piss. Cracking verse on a smoke ridden page Death to all flower poems, and words about birds   Deftly we abandon the traditional iambic The pentameter of ten can crash and burn Structure will not decry…

Dystopian Insects. (The Emerald Society)

There is a wasp that stings a cockroach in the head It picks its place carefully, like an emerald surgeon The only attractive wasp, the worst of all its ilk   The innocent bug with its reputation for surviving Fails wholeheartedly at upholding stereotypes Obediently it is led toward the jewel’s nest   The bug…