Don’t let the legends mislead you;
we’re keen on personal hygiene.
I shower every day, sometimes twice.
I can tell you a thing or two about showers.
I have eaten the flesh of millions,
rejoiced in the sweet taste of blood,
following orders from above,
a mere instrument without guilt.
Look, I am moving towards you
arms outstretched, goose-stepping
in welcome as you step from the train.
This is the law; I am not responsible.
Each dawn, I am reanimated
ready to draw up another list of numbers.
So many zeroes; I am bloated with them.
You call me a bureaucrat, desk murderer
but when the order comes, tendons twitch,
watery eyes open wide in response.
Someone must move. Someone must act.
There is so much joy in this banality.
How it all began, I can’t remember.
There was a time when it was easy
to tell the living from the undead.
After Wansee, everything changed.
Look at my neck; no sign of a bolt
and the stitches have begun to heal.
I walk the streets of Buenos Aires,
innocent as the day I was created.
Membership of Cross Border Poets has reached bursting point. Regrettably, from January 2017 onwards, we are unable to accept new members but will review the situation in six months time.
Sun applies a tourniquet,
drips green into brown,
sups up red filigree.
for the sugar rush.
Mummy and daddy
waiting for the biggy
asked their five year old
`where do babies come from`?
`tut tut tut, its hardly rocket science!
A dove drinks
A caress of raindrops
As she flutters
Beneath the cascade
Of cold water
There just for her
As she relishes her
With seed in abundance
Lying on a dry earth
She perches there
It’s not that I think I’m right
It’s not that I want to present the facts
It’s not that I think you are wrong
It’s not that I want to change anyone.
I just want you to see it
how I see it
and spend time with me.
Coffee in hand
fifteen minutes of pre-school debate
Tussel – four minutes by Thesaurus
twenty four nouns
twenty two verbs
fifteen minutes of coffee and sour grapes.
Spit spit spit.
1st check for hedgehogs,
2nd wind direction,
3rd is it Sundays?
Tinder no larger than a spit
unraveled by nicotine fingers
just one match.
I was abandoned for a roll up.
Smoke not enough for me
I demanded flames
built a scaffold of prunings,
bashed them flat with the pitchfork.
BASH BASH BASH.
He returned, took my architecture to bits.
Not even a hot spot.
Another spit, cradled like a new born,
a glow, a breath of life
nurtured on match stick lengths of twigs
and then, and then a flame.
Now smoke doesn`t get in me eyes,
the curling tendrils are Harry.
Solstice Moon held us in its swoon,
midnight’s bracken flashed.
One by one they hatched
showed of their abdomens
pale reds, greens, yellows.
In there wake you left me,
fire flies in your eyes.