Love is all you need.
On scabbed paws,
love makes everything go away.
You are never alone with Love,
the master skin.
I Love beer.
And fish & chips.
Ginger headed damsels
in furies for the eagles.
Love is the batter
the rolling meadows,
song of oak
and woolen ministries.
The world beyond the clotted tendrils
is Love...
@Steven Francis poems 2011
Slip the noose of dying and madness for a time and share some observations with Welsh poet Steven Francis in this, his 5th collection of poetry.
Friday, 14 January 2011
Monday, 10 January 2011
Phantom Carousel
Circling above the crib in plumes of calm;
a hawk, but not of beak nor talon soars
crying sonnets from a nettle raspy throat.
The king phantom,
a ghostly touch and ode to the ivisible;
corpse shavings
rammed into sweet shells and smothered
into wafer horses.
Hold back those lily crisp creases
and kneel before a song of ages,
the death pages toll their eternal winds...
@Steven Francis poems 2011
a hawk, but not of beak nor talon soars
crying sonnets from a nettle raspy throat.
The king phantom,
a ghostly touch and ode to the ivisible;
corpse shavings
rammed into sweet shells and smothered
into wafer horses.
Hold back those lily crisp creases
and kneel before a song of ages,
the death pages toll their eternal winds...
@Steven Francis poems 2011
Monday, 3 January 2011
Where Do You Wait?
Where do you wait, Mr Postlethwaite?
As you shake the dust from this world away.
Are you striding the gallant boards
and enthralling the saintly hoardes?
Are you drinking with Burton?
Have you still got your shirt on?
And do wings stick out from your clothes?
@Steven Francis poems 2011
In Memory of Pete Postlethwaite OBE
As you shake the dust from this world away.
Are you striding the gallant boards
and enthralling the saintly hoardes?
Are you drinking with Burton?
Have you still got your shirt on?
And do wings stick out from your clothes?
@Steven Francis poems 2011
In Memory of Pete Postlethwaite OBE
Sunday, 2 January 2011
Ton Dernier Acte
When I am gone, distant from this green and woody earth
remember to leave tears from any eulogies ~
they are kind but never needed
for I am in a kingdom no mouth shaped love can touch.
I am not laden with ageing flesh and cataracts,
nor feel tender pain through gums and fingertips.
The hand-me-downs have left my heel
like eels in lather;
cigar smoke breaking free from rats on a leash
and there the tides meet coral raptures.
The hands strike for armageddon,
slapping for the breaking of human chains.
@Steven Francis poems 2011
remember to leave tears from any eulogies ~
they are kind but never needed
for I am in a kingdom no mouth shaped love can touch.
I am not laden with ageing flesh and cataracts,
nor feel tender pain through gums and fingertips.
The hand-me-downs have left my heel
like eels in lather;
cigar smoke breaking free from rats on a leash
and there the tides meet coral raptures.
The hands strike for armageddon,
slapping for the breaking of human chains.
@Steven Francis poems 2011
Saturday, 18 December 2010
In Glorious Advent
This sullen hock,
my leather'd fever
shall lay in fragrant pose,
with strained mouth
objecting to its demise.
@Steven Francis poems 2010
my leather'd fever
shall lay in fragrant pose,
with strained mouth
objecting to its demise.
@Steven Francis poems 2010
Tuesday, 14 December 2010
In Cloves Of Ice
Obelisk in shell
smooth as a diamond devil
nestled in a hornets cove.
The organs throb ~
heart first
lungs entwined,
buttery glands slopping in fissures
while the cadaver yawns in earnest,
dead eyed as sharks.
Bloodcurdling echoes roar over the eyelash forest
as winter descends onto mortal shores,
and the bullet squinted mass hurled to oblivion.
Those pits where fish quiver,
drilled on thistle barbs to be sucked dry
by rats and serpents ~
those splintered gutsy angels.
And hell's things eager to corrupt
salivating to poison hilts.
The murder wax,
glinting swords sequined with ruby droplets
plunge into a zulu moon to skewer song
and slice memory to ribbons.
Another gulp of polished flesh
a twist of knuckle,
there lay the abominable, delicate babes
in a new sound of ages...
@Steven Francis poems 2010
smooth as a diamond devil
nestled in a hornets cove.
The organs throb ~
heart first
lungs entwined,
buttery glands slopping in fissures
while the cadaver yawns in earnest,
dead eyed as sharks.
Bloodcurdling echoes roar over the eyelash forest
as winter descends onto mortal shores,
and the bullet squinted mass hurled to oblivion.
Those pits where fish quiver,
drilled on thistle barbs to be sucked dry
by rats and serpents ~
those splintered gutsy angels.
And hell's things eager to corrupt
salivating to poison hilts.
The murder wax,
glinting swords sequined with ruby droplets
plunge into a zulu moon to skewer song
and slice memory to ribbons.
Another gulp of polished flesh
a twist of knuckle,
there lay the abominable, delicate babes
in a new sound of ages...
@Steven Francis poems 2010
Wednesday, 1 December 2010
It Takes Longer To Dry In Real Life Than In Film
Rest In Peace ~
as universal as Coke,
and fitting as Wrangler jeans on a printed herd
the world in dire threads.
Blitzkreig bonanza whipped up in a cauldron,
never envy one mans luxury for another dies
wasted in pain.
Welcome to the gunships ~
to the revelry of smoking corpses
and delight of sabres winking in a gore fest.
Time is stretched
or snapped like fish bones,
there is no middle road up for grabs.
Its all grenades or dandelions...
@Steven Francis poems 2010
as universal as Coke,
and fitting as Wrangler jeans on a printed herd
the world in dire threads.
Blitzkreig bonanza whipped up in a cauldron,
never envy one mans luxury for another dies
wasted in pain.
Welcome to the gunships ~
to the revelry of smoking corpses
and delight of sabres winking in a gore fest.
Time is stretched
or snapped like fish bones,
there is no middle road up for grabs.
Its all grenades or dandelions...
@Steven Francis poems 2010
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)