It stings so bad

I am sick of the clap

And I’m not talking about that nasty infection that bitch gave me that time
I got ointments and some nice pills for that and it cleared up just fine

Thank you very much

I mean this reflexive slapping of
On hand upon the other
Every time someone stands to read
Regardless of what they say and do

I am sick of the recognition clap
The reflex clap
The supportive, good on you for doing it
Clap
That makes bad poets think they were good
And good poets think you were listening

Give me your silence
Give me your pause
That time for recognition
Give me some sign
Of words being registered
Not just passing
Into ear and through
Down your arms
Making them flail
Come out as

*CLAP*

Give me…

Bitter Sweet Symphony

She tells me she’s so excited, can’t wait to go
I spoon the crema from my espresso
Into my mouth
Smooth coffee bitterness swallowed slowly

She reminds that we’ve got a month or two together left
I smile, acknowledge
My spoon slowly stirring, sugar dissolving
Taking the edge off the bite

She encourages me to come visit, it’s really nice
I nod, stop stirring
Put the spoon down
The sweetening complete

She holds one of my hands, smiling
My other lifts the glass to my mouth
Drinking deep, heat enters, suffuses through me
Artificially enervated

Looking into my eyes, she suggests we go home
I drain the glass
Savour all I can get
The tip we leave minimal

i don't take myself seriously, don't you

sitting at his regular table he
surveys
the room his realm counts
heads
notes faces calculates

considers

all who attend try to
catch
his eye

he holds
involuntary
court does not
disappoint
a wink here a
smile
there greetings verbal and
non
names used when he
thinks
the effect will be best

those who do
not
like him still curry
favour
try to turn his
head
want what is
his
to give

newer attendees just
wish
to be noticed

recognised

for now

above beneath
beside
never truly
with
the poets the
convenor
sits at his regular table
and considers

flirting with the barmaid

(true-ish story from about 10 years ago. posted for a friend)

eyes so disarmingly bright i am compelled

no commanded

to meet and hold them
locked together for as long as we have in these brief interludes

snatches of conversation
conspiratorial gestures
acknowledgment of existence from across the room

do you notice how i watch you
collecting pieces of you to take with me when i leave
capturing your smile in my mind imagining later that it is more than it was

wishing that
the fingers that unselfconsciously run themselves through your hair
the arms you fold across you, holding you
the tongue that plays inside your mouth
the teeth that bite gently, playfully, on your lower lip
as we steal these brief moments between drinks

may one day be mine

knowing as i leave this place where we meet all too regularly
that i must feel myself content with these friendly greetings
comfortable platonic gestures
these far too fleeting stolen moments of familiarity

Allegory

(another old DanPoets comp, where Ted set us the line "an angel black as soot")

Let’s talk, good folk, of war today
A war as old as sin
A war whose borders blur so much
Who knows where they begin

It all began so long ago
With plan ineffable
When one was cast for thinking that
His lord was fallible

Do they do right, who revile he
They call adversary
When only crime committed was
To be but contrary

And hells of fire and brimstone are
But tales told from above
And why so many children dead
In the name of His love

Threatened are we to act for good
With afterlife of hell
But foetid stench of ill deeds done
Comes from above as well

The story skewed by both sides to
Control what we all see
For both dependant are they on
Our human frailty

The powers that control each of
The camps from which they fight
One thing in common do they have
Both sides do claim their right

To do with our lives as they please
One just like another
The only goal at end of day
Win against the other

Priorities by them are set
Each judge their win, their loss
Reasons to fight are not our own
We but the fighting dross

We all of us but numbers scored
Death but a tally kept
Knowing the truth, his final day
No wonder Jesus wept

Can you be sure which to believe
Decide who’s good, who bad
The arguments for either side
Could drive a sane man mad

But if decision uninformed
Is made you may well find
The state of your immortal soul
Shall leave you in a bind

Can you this day, this time, be sure
Wherein your trust to put
A demon white as driven snow
An angel black as soot

trout fishing

bait is set
hook deep
dropped into water
now wait
tempt

first tug
interest on the line
balance the to and fro
let it play
draw the bait in

gentle resistance
entice
draw it to you with
its own motivation
resist urge to pull
too hard

line is drawn deep
feel acceptance of lure
resist a bit more
urge it to take it
complete

eagerness a hindrance
try too hard
pull too quick
bait is dropped

beautiful eyes leave dance floor
not seen again

outside my front door

on gnarled crooked
old-man-fingered branches
eucalypt leaves hang

long tapered strokes
of artist's brush

gray watercolour
trunk
pushing them up
to reach the sky