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 three of us, sometimes four.
Afterwards we’d sit by the pool and he’d ask what we were up to.
He knew what normal life was, about charity shops
and running out of data. He’d flown Easyjet.

It was hard to know him as you had before.
Seeing the vaseline lensed camp of Last Christmas
knowing how fully you’d kissed his lips,
how you’d held his body with your body.

The poem originally appeared in my pamphlet, The Living Museum, published by Selcouth Station Press. Available here!

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 a list of times it’s O.K. for me to pop by.

I speak affected, I’ve hoovered up the language of Ken,
my PhD supervisors would prefer a spoken English
typewritten, clear with square-edged vowels.

Mother claims not to understand in our weekly calls.
Ken insists I use his ‘phone in the hallway
but I tell her I am in the booth on Coram Street.

He sings again on a chat show,
his Edith Piaf send up Ma Crepe Suzette
in amongst the jokes the code I listen for:

Corsage, Massage, Frere Jacques
Salon, Par Avion, Petula Clarke
Fiancee, ensemble, laundrette
Entourage, ma crepe suzette.

The poem originally appeared in my pamphlet, The Living Museum, published by Selcouth Station Press. Available here!

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 from bone, scrape down skin.
He always had to finish it in one night
before the body started to rot.

I sat in the living room
reading Agnes Grey aloud
into the high ceilings of our flat.

At midnight, this time, he called me in to show me:

The squirrel’s skin unpicked,
draped, a deflated balloon on the side of the bath.
Its claws still poised and sharp.
One of our dinner plates smeared,
a mess of organs and blood.

This poem appears in my debut pamphlet, The Living Museum, available here!

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 mood
Don’t just stand there, let’s get to it
Strike a pose, there’s nothing to it

A recording of me reading this poem is available here

This poem was published in PERVERSE here 

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

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.

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