Monday, 5 September 2011

Belle Isle

Darker clouds took the last rays of sun from Belle Isle
As we walked the long road to a city that ignores us
Past the brick and concrete constructions of our youth
House by house, to the car covered barrier in our minds

We swam all night in a human sea, drawn like flies,
to half drown in bright light, sirens and screams
surfacing on Sunday with no money to return
A spiralling southern staircase, our own hands and feet

Bread Cake Bramley

Bread cake Bramley
With a potato wedge smile
Half moon, loose and seasoned skin
White, stubby, beer bottle arms
With a black label tattoo
Butt end fingers,
ringed with nicotine
Pin hole, salt shaker eyes

A View from Armley Prison

There is a view from Armley prison
A heartland on which to reflect
A view of clear skies and towers
In spring, happy visiting faces,
every morning's missed
A view of grey, pissing rain
Autumn cloud and concealment
A cold distant Christmas
Tired, empty darkness
Bright morning

Our Time

This is our time in Belle Isle
Margarie and I, dawn quiet,
the clear up and shut up of youth

On Heights estate, the gunnels of
discarded bottles are open
In Middleton and on Cavalier Hill

We're like birds who've waited for the roost
nights of noise have given over
to the morning power brokers

We tap our sticks on no go areas
the enemy asleep 'til lunchtime
this is our time


A dog called happy
Hippies my uncle calls them
Then he won't turn up for tea