Friday, September 20, 2013

Skulls & Flowers / Unemployed Daytime Sick Poem / Dear Blue Morning / Wood Through The Trees


David Mac


David Mac is one of the greatest forklift drivers ever to emerge from the UK. His prose and poetry has been published in many mags, journals, sites, zines and blogs. He has various self-published collections available, plus collections with Erbacce Press, Knives Forks & Spoons Press, Ten Pages Press, Writing Knights Press, and Like This Press. He lives somewhere deep in the Bedfordshire hell, above a shop that sells booze until 10pm. He likes wine, cats, and Humphrey Bogart.

 
Skulls & Flowers


The skulls and the flowers

The us in life

And I am thinking of things to do

Ways to live and die

The sun shines

Crawling down the street

As people go about their business

Going nowhere

They are living too

They are dying because

The skulls and the flowers

Each of us will grow

Each of us will grow until

We bend and break

The skulls and the flowers

Have us now

So we shall live

Until we are given the signal

Until we know nothing

Until we know when

Until then I shall buy you a coffee

And never think of asking your name


 

Unemployed Daytime Sick Poem

Reality TV

Chat shows
Four walls
And all the wine in the world

Applaud

If you dare
Cheer the host on
Watch him
Move amongst the crowd
 
He is great
A shining idol
An effigy
The majority are dumb
And more lost than yourself

I get up and switch off

I guess I’m alive again
For now
It’s been a while
 
I put on Son House
His voice up from the hard earth
His slide guitar
Preaching
Nothing but the blues

I go to the window and

Look out
In the street the
Doomed souls stir
Like flowers losing petals
One by one
She loves me she loves me not
Or like an insect having its
Legs removed by a
Child

They are all trying to get

Somewhere
But there is only one way

Somewhere better than this?

I’m not so sure

So here’s a toast

For I know we won’t survive


 

Dear Blue Morning

 
Blue morning dear
Dear blue morning
The girl I meet in the supermarket
With her kid
Who smiles at me with her eyes
Blue morning dear
Dear blue morning
All art be spontaneous
Coffee cups and church bells
Blue morning dear
Dear blue morning
Buying papers picking flowers
Van Gogh tips his hat
Tilts his red head to the side
Bids hello
Blue morning Van
Van blue morning
Schools and graveyards
Newborn babies bawling
Back from the dead
The children can hear the voices
But I have long since forgotten



 

Wood Through The Trees


 

She used to like me to chase her

through the woods as if I was
going to kill her
 
She’d scream and take off and
I’d be close behind
closing in
 
For some reason this
did it for her
but women are very
strange
 
And then we’d head to the
pre-arranged secluded spot
where the murderous pursuit
would end 

And I’d jump on her

force her
to the ground and
push myself on and
inside her

It was good and free

and the forest didn’t seem to
mind

It made me feel like a

wild beast
animalistic
which is a nice way to feel

and sometimes takes the

edge off
feeling like a
poet
 

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