Key Phrases: A Poem

Key Phrases

As one door opens, another closes. Bad things
come to those who wait. Time hales all wounds.

The world’s our oyster, sickly, most
of it unpalatable, waste.

He was the apple of her eye, rotten to the core;
she a peach, a stone for a heart. A real dead wire.

Fell: A Poem

Fell

The inhabitants of Samarah saw the tower on fire
and Carathis and Vathek sacrificed them. Light
guided them to where no fire was found.

Ivory’s great but is no match for steel.
Stone, even better. Blow the tower down.
Anthony Royal designed Canary Wharf.

The Cashpoint: A Poem

The Cashpoint

Transactions common passing strange.
Such buttons pressed may yield so much.
Coterminal a gift exchange.
Reciprocal presents as such.

Such buttons pressed may yield so much,

London is the Capital of Great Britain: A Poem

London is the Capital of Great Britain

To get inside you have to climb the ladder.
The rungs, a greasy pole; your hands are sore.
A back window will suffice if there’s no other,
a loophole makes a door a portiere.

For now, from wall to wall you take your steps:
a case of no belongings, stashed under the bed
and ready to begin the whole rabid
rat race at a hat’s drop, when the music stops.

Carthage: A Poem

Carthage

Dismissed as propaganda, it was true
that Carthaginians sacrificed the youth
to please and mollify the gods they knew,

but most did not believe it true, because
they did not want to think our ancestors
capable of such atrocities.

The Mediums: A Poem

The Mediums

It took a week for us to stop hearing the voices.
Although they had been our constant companions
for years by then, a steady stream of chatter,
it reached the point where they became unbearable.
Each message had become a death to us. Just a little
to start with, soft like the twitter of birds,
not too intrusive perhaps, but then more insistent
by the day, slowly overwhelming, until
our own voices, thoughts, were lost to theirs.

Eventually, it was us or them. They became

Earth Summit: A Poem

Earth Summit

All gifts are off: for this stolen spark of power
the world rebelled and asked for something back.
He cheated. Man enjoyed playing with fire
too much, thought little of him on his rock,
chained and consumed. The air grew hot and dark.

Conjunction: A Poem

Conjunction

We are not seen together during the day,
keeping our distance, as one must. We do

nothing we should not, at least since centuries back.
Such an alignment is best kept for the dark.

Closures: A Poem

Closures

The line’s a line but drawn oblique.
Each day gives barely half the space.
The blood is work. The flesh is weak.

Mere charm in touch is all technique.
Clear eyes recoil, for nowadays
the line’s a line but drawn oblique.