Saturday 28 April 2012

Poems about People

Andy's ears


He's on
The telephone all day
His ears full
Of all the complaints
Human beings can muster

After dark
His ears crave
The thrill that is
The human voice
When it's hanging
By a thread
Vocal chords fighting
Duels with each other

His ears make
The most of their diversions
They dance
By night
Free from the tensions
Of their daytime employment
They slurp down
Intoxicating alcoholic sounds
They live it up
Right up in there
They make believe passion
Is all there is
To hear
They tire themselves
To sleep and dream
Of aural joy
That's all days
And forever





Born-again renaissance man


He'll be angry forever
World owes him big time
He's all over spiky
And he likes that just fine
He pouts when he thinks
No-one cares about him
He's brilliant, talented
Full to the brim
He's creative, it swamps him
His feelings are rare
He is thought, he is meaning
He's beyond all compare
How could you know anything
When he knows it all
He's one big huge wonder
So you must be small





Cakes in rain


Here at your close we stand
Thinking racking torturing
We want
You to be
You left so soon and before time
Has left us
We want to meet you
Set a date
You'll never
We want to tell you struggling
Is over now
We're glad
We come to lay your brain to rest
A mighty
Fight it's
You tried to draw the perfect plan
Your pens
Were filled with
Confusion wasted ever drop
You turned
Too tired to
And then to bake the world a cake
Feed every
Girl and
But in your final set of scales





Questions for a queen


What do you think of your children's divorces?
Do you close your eyes and dream about horses?
Is it tiring to always be part of a show?
Do you care when a poet to honours says 'no'?
Do you feel like us, do you cry wet tears?
Have you changed, as we all have, over the years?
Has it been a real life, has it felt real to you?
To us it seems fiction, your story, untrue
Parades and carriages and armies of staff
Do you never just long to run your own bath?
Do you like it, would you choose it, would you be queen again?
Or would you rather live quietly, just one of them?
Less money, fewer banquets, not a sniff of a crown
Just headscarves or, better still, hair let right down





She’s not there


(Joan Eardley – ‘Joan Eardley, 1921 -1963, Artist’ 1943)


There are bad days
Not even half days
And when they come
The broken pieces of her face
Seem so perfectly formed

Reassuring, they say
‘The sky is still there
The colours still worth seeing
Being broken simply isn’t
The worst thing you can be’

Comforted, I brush my crumbs together
And look carefully, cautiously
At the slightly scrappy, sorry collection
Still sad but less lonely
In their fragments than before

The portrait feels like family
Or so I can imagine
We are the not quite whole people
The bits and pieces people
The hundreds and the thousands





The loveliest girl 


Her smile spells
In big letters
She is most truly
Too good for this world
She lives
And stamps her feet to dance
Her voice is raised alright
But just to sing





Unfulfilled Annie


She wants a record in the charts
(and crisps and pie and jam-filled tarts)
She wants a trust fund full of cash
(and bags and bags of shopping trash)
She wants love and health and money
(and to be kind and warm and funny)
She wants to paint and sing and dance
(the moonlight, music and romance)
She wants the latest in all fields
(plus someone else to cook her meals)
She wants so much it's plain to see
She always will awanting be






Widows talk about the war
An old kiss
They dance the quick steps
Their feet miss
The photos are grey
But the hearts pound
Some widows are half
Buried underground

The man

You stink of power
Sweaty, wrong
Your stupid vests
Off white, too long
Your meat-slab hands
So mean and low
Your eating habits
Far to go

You're selfish, greedy
Cruel, lazy
More TV dinner
Than Scorsese
You're hooked on women
Screw by screw
What you don't care
Is why or who

And yet you're craved
With passions strong
At home we wait
Full hungry throng
We know it's fatal
Falling so
God damn you, Tony

All poems by Rachel Fox (some time after 1997)

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