George Last night I dreamt of Club Tropicana again. The pool house with inflatable donuts on the heated water, at the end of his garden in Highgate, with a view across Hampstead Heath. He’d wake late, smoke a joint, record demos. He loved throwing his acrobatic voice around the basement studio. After lunch he’d look for men online. He’d bought the bed especially, it fit … Continue reading Poem: George
Me and Kenneth Williams We met over suds in the Russell Square laundrette. Afternoons, we lie together on his single bed slacks, socks, shirts and v-neck sweaters on. Watching or not watching each other’s closeness. The national anthem plays on the television. The Beeb keeps us in taxis and sensible shoes. I feel favourite for now, I’ve been given the spare door key but also … Continue reading Poem: Me and Kenneth Williams
The Taxidermist The squirrel had been in the freezer for weeks, wrapped up tightly in Tesco bags wedged between the frozen fish and quorn. His evening was just beginning, giving me a quick kiss whilst putting on his rubber gloves. The bathroom was soon heavy with blood and borax. He used a scalpel and nail scissors to slip out the organs and to tease muscle … Continue reading Poem: The Taxidermist
Vogue Whitney Houston, Eartha Kitt Gladys Knight and Bessie Smith. Ellen, Björk, and Britney Jean on the cover of a magazine. George Eliot, Austen, Jane Intellectuals, eternal fame. Nicki Raps, Madonna’s grand Beyonce and Babs Streisand They have style, they have grace Nichelle Nichols explored space. Michelle Obama, Malala too, Hillary Clinton, we love you ! Ladies with an attitude Women that are in the … Continue reading Poem: Vogue
My poem “House Keys” was recently featured in Porridge Magazine. Porridge post interesting work with accompanying visual art and I feel like the match of this poem with a Jackson Pollock painting is perfect. Here’s a link Continue reading House Keys in Porridge Magazine
Behind the British Museum The road is closed on Montague Place and a mobile crane has been engaged to sift through the contents of the lorry and hoist up particular blondewood boxes. Anonymous, they sail upward with a slow spin steadied by the neon orange safety straps. Bodies inside bandages inside caskets inside boxes, the artefacts return. Continue reading Poem: Behind the British Museum
Ex In time the standing water on the upside down mugs on the draining board will be gone, left to the atmosphere imperceptibly This poem appeared in a visual form on twitter here Continue reading Poem: Ex
