Poor Poetry - by
Multiform work
Multiform work
MacKerral, that was one hard winter.
Your father died on the moor road,
his bag of meal buried under snows.
Death relieved him of his load.
A mean wind wanders through the backcourt trash.
Hackles on puddles rise, old mattresses
puff briefly and subside…
Two days before your death, you wrote / There is not much to report from here.
Far from the scent of the crocus
/ And the pavanne of Scottish daffodils
/ A loud crash was heard in Princes Street.
/ Safe from…
The Shopping Forecast issued by the Dole Office
/ at 1930 on Monday 1st January.
/
/ There are warnings of Sales in Frasers,
/ Debenhams,…
Gruff trams and trains criss-cross and intersect
/ With glittering steel this leprous countryside;
/ Pyramid slagheaps threaten, seamed and specked
/ With smouldering pink: a…
Hold on Women of great courage
/ You have held on so bravely and tirelessly
/ Hold on Women of great courage, hold on
/
/ Women…
For the screwfaced in good shoes that paper
/ the walls of dance halls. I have little patience.
/ I say dance, not to…
‘Ne, please prepare
/ lunch
/ for we have a guest.
/ He was my companion
/ when I was still studying
/ the foolish ways of the town.
/
/ Tell…
Where do the beggar children come from,
/ what forces multiply their rags?
/
/ Whose heart has never felt those fingers
/ pecked
/ by birds with copper…
Leaves turn sere and there are bings
/ from networks stretching in through the window:
/ you could tiptoe now among the stubby thumbs…
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