It was a two-storey terrace. A small front square of garden, a struggling rosemary, standard rose, and a bay tree in a pot. Victorian tiles on a rectangle of porch. The biggest room upstairs, once a lounge, faced the street with windows to step through onto a veranda. An older guy lived in that one, … Continue reading The Big Gas, 1973
Author: James Walton
Triangulation
Between hospital cemetery and rubbish tip find me in clamour I have called down swans a saltpetre of full netting let swing a while longer the cardiology spinnaker all squelch spine as low as the watermark I remain ungraded Sift letters words and Carats find me in pages I have swum outside flags a recidivist … Continue reading Triangulation
Opaque the day, wherein she lay
The city flickers off. Although, of course, some lights are eternal. The canal bends lamp posts catching an invisible current. The sky has a pantomime moon, orange, fallen on the stagey horizon. Cats, foxes, an occasional possum, glow in their own way – eyes out, about, lingering. Jonah fingers the cash in his pocket; … Continue reading Opaque the day, wherein she lay
Three Chord Morning
Just becauseI’m on my kneesdoesn’t mean I’m down I could be praying, hell Just becauseI can’t affordyour lazy opinion Doesn’t mean I’m poor, no Just becausethese hands hold dirtdoesn’t mean they’re clenched They may be cradling, yes Just becausein each of them a life lineholds a garden’s sanity Doesn’t mean I’m rising, yetFirst published in … Continue reading Three Chord Morning
Jesus, They Must Think I’m Dead
we should do something about pain managementmy doctor Eileen concerned my talon handswhat was my good kneeand the dull ache in my back need My Body is a Temple OK? pressing the green pensioner buttonOld Bill comes in the reception doormoves slowly a square rule on a caneacross and out the waiting room slider a … Continue reading Jesus, They Must Think I’m Dead
They don’t know about horses
those who talk of standing sleephow they curl like catssnuffle ground as wingless dragons or idle attent in the full sun because there are not enough daysto feel earth undulate in the tease of burlap pose rump into the weather always alert for the summonsthe startled flap of ploversas unshod hooves cherish gallop then call … Continue reading They don’t know about horses
There, but for the grace of a stranger
it is the thing about sufferingthe excuses of a friend’s gobbling cheeks full with unknown currency over the ankles in sandthis slow thaw to conscience weathered, open to sky every now and thenwhile dragging knees toward it a glance of redeemed sunshine clapping foreign discoursewhere every shadow is anonymous identical to the core how our … Continue reading There, but for the grace of a stranger
Wanna see me juggle
an immeasurable weightthe tear drop fallseverything there is the anticipationpatting a doga travel between lick or bite fifty years ago I bought the albumwith the song of the age I’ll bethis summer Christmas working on my headstonean abstract of heart on a sleevehistory is truancy but when my grandfatherwas laid out by nannain his one … Continue reading Wanna see me juggle
That’s all, folks
These mornings my dreamsseem to lack production values on the asphalt in the back lotthe noir misplaceduneven between the scenes the director’s chairblown against an earlier century waiting for that new kidchewing words at an angleconfident that the world understands the lines a lone sparrow driftingmaking feast of scattered crumbs then the ocean’s tracer lightsoundtracks … Continue reading That’s all, folks
Stop The War
About four hundred metresbefore Brew Roadout along the Princes Highwayon a rise to your leftif you’re not going too fastthe Peace rock is still there Remember how we hikedinto Lake Tali Karngthat black water blue all fablethe last year of schoolwe saw the unholy tuitiona seared hole in the half back’s thigh Someone on the … Continue reading Stop The War