When the Dogs Bite

Thursday, 19 February 2026

19th February 2026

heat exchange

considering convenience

doggie door

Februral Dreaming

Night's vast hollow

bleeding slowly into daylight

covering your eyes

with sweet kisses of delight,

luring you with the promise

of misremembered delight.

Succumbing to its warm embrace

you are plunged into the terrors

of an open-mouth howling;

reliving nightmares that plague

all the waking day

wound tight with sheets and ropes

of twisted memory

and there,

below the soft mantle of dawn,

under linen sodden with night's sweat

the promise of comfort

in the warm, cheesy blanket

of sleeping dog snuffles.

Wednesday, 18 February 2026

18th February 2026

in the pre-dawn

walking with the dogs

cookie's barking

Twisted Candlesticks

You ask if we have allergies

and he does; his throat will close

to the size of a needle (without the eye)

and prevent a breath from moving past.

I have no allergies

(that I am aware of)

but may I lie and tell you "yes!

I am allergic to cucumber and celery"

when in fact I don't, but dislike the taste

and would rather not force it down, but

if I just tell you it's a 'do not like'

you think I can just pick it out of the dish

whereas, like petrol on a salad,

contaminates it all.

Tuesday, 17 February 2026

17th February 2026

how bad

must the other party be, that I

agree with Sinn Féin?

Neither an Onion

No red rose do I give you;

there are plenty in the garden

where they clamber untamed

through honeysuckle and vine.

No chocolate in plastic coated saccharine

for if eternal be thy request

let it not be at the expense of the earth

and our children's children.

No rubies or shiny gemstones

you have no need for adornment

and thy wealth is measured by figures

and thy legacy in solicitor's copies.

Instead I give you art;

paint and ink and a wordsmith's choosing

for the love I bear thee is heartfelt

reflected in the eyes of strangers.

Sinn Féin will not attend White House

Monday, 16 February 2026

16th February 2026

fumbling with clay

after a forty-year break

lumpy demons

After Duffy, After Radstone

Next to my own skin, her scent,

resting against my lips, my fingers

where they ran across her skin

and pressed the soft, pale flesh around her throat.

All day long, I think of her cocooned

with her yellow room as sunshine

guilds the shutters of her nightly trysts

with Death and yet survives to greet

another dawn with beauty and with grace.

Today will see creation of a masterpiece

for by her hand she moulds both light and dark

and weaves another instance of mortality

to give the world a taste of what it is to slip

with naked flesh between the sheets of agony.

and ecstasy; that mausoleum shroud

of cotton where the blessed pearls still sleep.

Sunday, 15 February 2026

15th February 2026

intrigue thickens

in the custard of the plotting

novel trifle

Definitely not about Her

"I fucked a Transgirl once," she said when asked

why she was so against the rights of folk

who do not choose what sex they are inside

their pleas for intervention not a joke.

"And though Portuguese this woman's seed

gave me a daughter whom I took away

lest she be corrupted by their gender creed

and, God Forbid, maybe turn out gay.

"So my campaign to stop the gender-bend

of those who might deny that God was right

to give them dicks at birth is just. I'll pretend

I didn't want to be a man and smoke cigars at night.

"That steep rise in transteen mortality?

it really has got naught to do with me."

Saturday, 14 February 2026

14th February 2026

sunshine

Lupercalia runners

bloodied backs

After the Pound

send my love to those live in loneliness

and those who toil in slaver's pits

and Elon's data centres under stress,

starving to work for billionaire shits.

Take with thee my wildest hopes and dreams

for revolution, when the poor and undertrod

declare 'no more' and dance to all the screams

of old white men and stuff their bones beneath the sod.

Go now; take thy vengeance with thy sharp

and righteous blade and tear away the old

entitlement where those who pluck the harp

of wealth wield laws against the hungered cold.

Cut away these rotted limbs of history

share out the earthen bounty and be free.

Friday, 13 February 2026

13th February 2026

bitter winds

cutting short the dog walk

discarded bottles

Mystery Meat

Cutting meat and fat from butcher's bones

neither use nor ornament and given free

by Kenneth at the Funeral Home

my mother, frugal lived as frugal be.

Then loaded in the mincing mill

pressed down hard with splintered ends of shin

and thigh and rounded end of arm until

the stoneware bowl beneath was filled to brim.

And then from out the garden was brought forth

potatoes carrots, parsnips and a mound

of peas and bean for shelling by the kitchen door

held ever open 'til the night came down.

A shepherds pie for tea, the gristly meat

an evening meal after the sunshine's swift retreat.