Wednesday, 12 November 2008

The Reader

‘Be warned this book has a long sinister history.’ said Warren. ‘Born of clay when Ur still nestled in Euphrates mouth; it lived on papyrus under Anenemhet I watchful eye. In late Rome, renegade Monks scratched it on parchment, ready for the day when Caxton could print it in secret.’

Love’s weathervane

I dread his sandpaper touch
I love her princesses’ skin
I dread his sea stench

I love her freshness
I dread his oak taste
I love her summer flavour
I dread his monotones
I love her footsteps
I dread his shadow
I love her spaces
‘Hello love, a good day?

A Dreamer

When I slumber life’s good
Men tremble at my waking
Debrecen burns in the night
Hymen rip at my taking

Tacitus fooled into battle
Covetous of thrones lost
Fortuitous fate smiles

Coitus interruptus riposte

Wakeful to life greys
Doleful bedclothes cast off
Slothful discards raked
Vengeful hopes do a Romanov

Fresh Produce

‘I have come for the position,’ said Tom fresh from the Poorhouse.

‘Let me look at you,’ grunted the cook wiping her stained apron, ‘the last lad could only last a week. Hmm you’ll do, with a bit of fattening-up.’
That week’s supply of meat bleeds in the lar

A Fool’s Errand

With half an ear on the breathless lecturer- ‘for enchantment protection… the lark uses grass… but the crow… uses withy’- Gawain rushed out to the Eagles.

Glancing down on the moving dots, he held on tight as clouds enveloped him.

Looking up Hedith, whispered, ‘the fool.’ Her plan was working.