THE OLD MAN OF WARSAW WHO HOLDS UP THE WALLS

A ZIG TO THE ZAGAT

The bar on Avenue B looked suitably dirty

It was dark and the windows gave no hint

As to what went on inside

I needed someplace quiet

To finish the thoughts I had been carrying

There should have been sawdust on the floor

Like the pearly Yates’s of years ago

A few bearded men sat at the bar

Nibbling on their nuts

It was a trick they’d learnt early

I ordered a stout and watched the menu

And looked at the t.v. screen

Two ultimate fighters got bloody on the canvas

It was obscene

I could find no peace

The pizzas were dairy free

The gravy was vegan

And  the hippies happily nodded at my disgust

They have landed

A few punches

A righteous hook

Here and there

The cheezeless amongst us

WILDLIFE OF THE EAST VILLAGE

ONCE A MURPHY...

There was a baby named Ava

Known for her good behaviour

But with a twinkly eye

She gurgled a reply 

I'm not signing the naughty waiver

BORN IMMIGRANT

    

New York’s a mother

Who has held a torch for me

Visible in beauty

Through the fogs of liberty

THERE IS A CHASM, AVOID

There is a small space

Between forefinger and thumb

Where I sat

In expectation

Of some dark pressure

Whilst in this place I

Twiddledy dummed 

Yet then woke to a raucous call

There is a charming voice

After all 

These years

Deep like light and yodel

ly yours

GONE AND FLAKED

The Erumpent Eructations of Ava
Something worth waiting for

A JOHNNY FLASHBACK

I remember talking to statues in the park
They were good listeners when it got dark
Until that one mushroomy night
Near the Broadfield Hotel
Conversing with John Bright
Wow, he was an orator
And I woke with blood in my ears

HOW TO BUBBLE

SLAP, THROTTLE, BURP

NO MATTER

It doesn’t matter

Where we are

We will feel death

Be dead

Bunkered or trenched

Probably droned these days

We will be licked like the whimpering bitches of an history

That always professes to care for us

Born but to some ongoing bloody circus

As well as a nightingale’s song

Maybe abed we will go

Hospital bedded

Wearing striped pyjamas

Silk pajamas

Or none

Queueing for bread

On a line for corn

Anticipating rice

Craving gruel

Shaving gold

It doesn’t matter

How we go

We could die as communists or capitalists

And never know the difference

It won’t matter

And we will not be

We will whimper like licked bitches of history

Born bloody

Pinned and spun
All of us undone
Unless no unless