In The Poetry

Corpse

This is my body, me, splayed
on the road’s crown like a shot bird.

Back street. No cars. Men step
over me, dogs and crows investigate.

My eyes gape. Circuitry of soul
is broken. I am in an odd shape

- twisted star – a pose I could never
strike in life. Gymnastic, almost.

This double-jointedness in death
soon tightens as the muscles lock.

My [...]

Apologia pro Vita Sua

One night in Paris I saw glowing in a small shopwindow a page of Ren

This is a group of poems is taken from my cycle about some of the people, seen from a child’s perspective, living in the lightly disguised village I call Waterslain – that’s an old Norfolk word meaning ‘flooded’. ‘Diz’, Sheila Disney, had a moustache and she used to catch her breakfast with her feet. She [...]