Friday, 29 April 2016

April Poems 2016/29

Guilted Cut

Lily's voice from the television
dropping matches and candle and
the concept of bacteria
though insects didn't bother her.
She goes to church in an unkempt building
drinking with parents in jacket and trousers;
the guilt of wasting an afternoon
with alcohol on her breath.
Her parents would never have approved
a twist of the  the relationship between brother
and the man who devours them whole.
English walkers and travellers
relieved of their hangers
leaving only bones behind.

© Rachel Green 2016

short forms29th April 2016

I'll abandon
the story of Chloe
focus instead on Jennifer's

© Rachel Green 2016

fresh nettles
along the woodland path

© Rachel Green 2016

novella fail
the cold sinking of my soul
could I make Mel gay
and maybe Brin?

© Rachel Green 2016

heart monitor
to be attached

in a way
I hope they find something
irregular beats

though I think I'm fine

© Rachel Green 2016

her painter's skills are sadly atrophied

© Rachel Green 2016

Thursday, 28 April 2016

April Poems 2016/28

Important Business

She says goodbye to the shopkeeper
walks outside into the sunlight
pauses at the litter bin
to scratch the silver from a lottery card.
She throws it in the bin, continues.

At the corner of the chip shop
she scratches off her second card,
hunched over like a beggar with a cigarette.
You can tell by her face she's won nothing.
She stuffs it in her pocket, moves on.

At the end of the gennel, number three;
the flash of sunlight from her 10p coin
as she chooses which windows
which three chances to win.
Frustrated, she scratches the rest off,
relieved the card wasn't a winner at all.

Outside her front door
she rests on the dustbin lid,
scratches off her fourth and final.
The smile on her face as she wins a fiver
not enough to escape the drudgery
but enough for another card.

short forms 28th April 2016

I should write her
ass less sympathetic --
more on an anti-hero like
John Salt

© Rachel Green 2016

overnight snow
silvers tulips with morning
prismatic sun

© Rachel Green 2016

for the best story
I've ever written
Unfortunately, I failed
the basic story call

© Rachel Green 2016

with a game
takes my time

I can't see me ever finishing
and will probably uninstall it
out of frustration

but until then...

© Rachel Green 2016

a word of criticism - abject depression

© Rachel Green 2016

Wednesday, 27 April 2016

April Poems 2016/27

Over the Field

It'll be all right
he touches the side of his nose
with his middle finger
a conspiratorial nudge harking to some gypsy rite
(he's one quarter gypsy on his mother's side
and has the eyes of his grandmother)
and against my better judgement I let him lead me
through the wood (private, no trespassing)
and along the back of the hawthorn hedge
where last summer's brambles pluck at my jumper,
unpicking the seam where I burned the cuff n the electric fire.
The cow shed is old, unused
and mostly dry thanks to an intact roof
though the rain spits at us through glassless windows
and the lime from crumbling mortar whitens our clothes.

He builds a fire in the middle,
a circle of sandstone boulders dredged from the canal
England's Glory kissing the edges
of yesterday's Sun,
dancing through straw and crackling pine needles
birch and alder twigs send shadows dancing.
He opens a can of Tizer,
offers half a Bounty bar.
The repast of Kings as his hand brushes my leg,
his fingernails caked with dirt and ash.
My heard thumping under my anorak.

The reflection of blue lights
against the crumbling brickwork
and he's off
a rabbit catching the scent of hounds
leaving the carrot untouched
with my knickers still around my ankles
when the officer shines a torch inside.

© Rachel Green 2016

Thank you for stopping by

Iscaron 2016

oil on canvas

short forms 27th April 2016

she tries
to kill herself
but is thwarted each time
freak accidents plague her attempts.

© Rachel Green 2016

frigid air
around the forsythia blooms
blackbird hen

© Rachel Green 2016

oil on canvas
Despite my love of them
they'll never sell

© Rachel Green 2016

of one of our tenants
comes to complain

their lad kicks his football
against her fence
it's downright annoying

as are you, dear lady

© Rachel Green 2016

"stone the crows." Father's last words.

© Rachel Green 2016