November Poems 08

Should there be a Reason?

The plot demands it by tradition but
in life it is not always apparent.
In the paper yesterday there was a young boy
found stuffed into a waste pipe
his trousers missing and one shoe
left some distance away
the laces still tied.
I think about that shoe
as my murderer carves off the face
of his latest victim and
pulls out the teeth with a pipe-wrench.
Why was the boy killed?
the police and I wonder and the answer
comes in rusted steep and a pair
of dental grips in my hand:

Because he knew the killer.

Entrance

We didn't go in --
it was too expensive
photos and gardens

November Poems 07

Daisies

blues and yellows
Michaelmas Daisies and Echinacea
leisure centre glass

November Poems 06

Desperate Uncovered

she sleeps
beneath gaily printed sheets;
dormant until interest
pulls them apart
with the caress of a lover
or the violence
of a serial killer

Of her thousand selves
only a precious few
will be asked to tell her tale
and be admired
or emulated
or plagiarised

While the rest
have their covers torn away
and she is pulped,
returned, recycled
or put on two-for-one sales
and internet bargains
in the forlorn hope
she will wake once more
from cover sheets
and slipcases.

Hartland Abbey Bench

among the ferns
a simple bench awaits
the weary walker

November Poems 05

Murder, a Muse

I once was thought and deed,

a careless word, a judgement made

too harsh!

and then I grew

a fallen branch -- a broken skull

makes marks upon a blameless man

who fled into the dark

with sudden thirst soon quenched;

a sharpened flint

a wooden pole and sinew

and the cycle grows

until a birth in rage and pain

and I am here with you again.