There’s work to be done
hand stitch the Axminster wind up the clocks extinguish all cigarettes find keys to fit locks disinfect toilets polish the glass varnish that turtle buff up the brass monitor wind speed net curtain the sun sweep up the cobwebs there’s work to be done launder the bedding whitewash the walls label all photographs vanish all […]
Making memories
let’s welcome the poet teacher and miner our neighbours who visit the landlord the farmer those loyal supporters all lovers all sinners the long distance drivers all losers all winners those who have been some who seek but can’t find if you’re surging ahead if you’ve been left behind you wellybob wearers the bright and […]
Cogs
The squire, with his maestro hands, mounts his penny farthing and the wheels go around. The black oiled hands of the mechanic crank up the Austin twelve. Not a grain of dirt on the king fisher blue chassis but his hands will never be clean. The unseen hands of the butler, de-corking a 1901 vintage […]
Lost Kingdom
Lost Kingdom Erddig 1973 Monarchs of all they survey Philip the Third and Trixie share candlelit splendour, the world kept at bay with tin can alarms and a shotgun as the house subsides, inch by inch, into a grave prepared by the NCB. In his parallel universe of penny farthings and musical saws he sees […]
Spider Brusher
The scrape of something past as if a broom roughly caressed a floorboard in an aging house, each stroke evicting tenants from the dark of unswept corners, falling, falling, eight-limbed tumblers herded by a wraith of dust in Erddig’s dying light.
Kingdom
Monarchs of all they survey Philip the Third and Trixie share candlelit splendour in each other’s arms, the world kept at bay with tin can alarms and a shotgun. Philip prays to the gods of aristocracy to save his home from the flames of republicanism as the house subsides, inch by inch, into a grave […]
Housebound
Housebound The little doll’s house for Simon and Philip to play with during their childhood. The huge country house for those two boys to struggle with the rest of their lives.
Pleached Limes
Here’s a slightly mad poem from the Erdigg workshop. Pleached Limes On a cowless path between corsetted trees, well-heeled ladies shade from Apollo; you could say they are bleached, not done to a turn, but taking a turn, promenading far from the ha-ha and tanning studio of the open field. There are daguerreotypes of such […]