MODERNPOSTMANISMPOEM1
Hunched and needy
Like a baby seagull
I stalk the street
For sustenance
Stepping gingerly
Over
The once
Used
Herbal
Tea bags
And broken needles
That spill from brightening bins
In the dwindling dawns of August
Once I dreamt
Of better days within this
Earthen purgatory
When I was brown and pretty
It was no job
To breathe more freely
But now I stalk the streets
Beneath the laughing mooning ball above
In between the raining drops
By the graffito shuttered shops
Into the maw
The muscled chops
Of
The Royal Mail
62-63 North Road
Brighton
BN1 1AA
The lifers inside
So lifeless with pride
Good Morningly grunt their acknowledge
Let out to their wives at eventide
They are always back here stirring their porridge
Will be two hours yet as a coffee-god’s pet
Before I can summon a smile
I keep my weather-beaten head down
In the back of a Transit
On old copies of goals extra or extra goals
Or made up goals with moving posts
As the red valkyries descend
From the upstairs garage
Into the yard yawning with boredom
Like the back doors cold open wide
Waiting is time
And labour intensive
And work is last on the mind
A beardy they branded Jumanji walks by
And there’s Wazzer sungover again
And Grizzly Badams with his drizzly voice
And desiccated Ruth with a fag at her chin
And are they as desperate or do they prepare
And are they aware and of course do they care
About this all pervasive attitude
The constant twatting platitudes
For that’s all I hear
Somedays
Shaven headed voices
Spitting casual brutalities
From their fascicle
There in an element that never forgives
Closed ranks of a herd
But this pack is bird like
Right wing they are
For a working union
A bundle of sour nazis
Who defend their misguide
With persiflage turning
To vicious whispers
And insult camouflaged by
Supposed camaraderie
Banter they call it
The fuckers
Seriously
Otherdays not
For people can be giving
And love their children
Not unusually
And provision gives dimensions
But even Postman Pat had three
Although that is hard to define
On a flatscreen tv
Don’t you think?
- Anthony Murphy
(featured in the poetry forum 02.08.10)
Rutter
The fucking foxes have come for me
Roses are bent
Tulip bells tormented
The window button
Gives at my grasp
When back bent
And salvo
My gun has no shot
So word is redundant
And bullshit is heard
Word crap is herded
Like grunts in a pen
Sighs from the open
She as a vixen
Wants it again
- Anthony Murphy
(featured in the poetry forum 12.06.09)
LATE NIGHT SPECIAL
I went three for one at Ace’s Pizza
And got handed my arse
In a blizzard of fists
All I asked for was olives
They gave me capers
With a young buck
Who placed his ring upon my crown
And his belly in my face
And the staff shouted police
And then please no mores
There’s tomato all over the
Black and checker floor tiles
And I guess I was trying to chuckle
But I couldn’t as he was so angry
With my head and
With the idiot within it
So I gave in
- Anthony Murphy
(featured in the poetry forum 10.14.09)
I GIVE OUT
I give in to everything
You all have me again
There is never only one
But a multitude
A legion that wills
Against mine
And what am I
A natural force
A fiery ball
A fall guy
And a fool
All of this
I never give up
For hope is the god
Who fucks like jesus
As rampant as mohammed
And other prophets from nothing
That prosper in the desert
Of our ever shrinking dreams
- Anthony Murphy
(featured in the poetry forum 09.02.09) |
