you who the know and lie;
that wily throat
has a denser tongue
and betrays your fostered eyes.
And here ends forgery
of desperate, wounded cool;
pitter patter
back to crowds
a disarmed and tainted fool...
© Steven Francis poems 2012
'The Heron Ponds' is the 7th collection of poetry and short stories from Welsh poet, writer and blogger Steven Francis. Enjoy!
Sunday 30 September 2012
Madam Abstract
You know who
you who the know and lie;
that wily throat
has a denser tongue
and betrays your fostered eyes.
And here ends forgery
of desperate, wounded cool;
pitter patter
back to crowds
a disarmed and tainted fool...
© Steven Francis poems 2012
you who the know and lie;
that wily throat
has a denser tongue
and betrays your fostered eyes.
And here ends forgery
of desperate, wounded cool;
pitter patter
back to crowds
a disarmed and tainted fool...
© Steven Francis poems 2012
Saturday 22 September 2012
Nutwig's Big Writer Type
By the blessed grail of God (and the godless)
that final crack in a poet's wall
has surfaced like Moses from a sin club,
and now smiles a wormy grin
at conoiseurs who lost their minds to cigarettes
and starry starry nights.
Disheveled husks in greasy wards
stir in wax cocoons
while their limbs march on eggs to hit a novel
for million feathered quids
and messy pages.
Hoorah for fraud and the smacking sound of words!
Cross the corpses and dot the noose
as pale loquacious witches
comb their libra wombs
for sounds of the vivid blind...
© Steven Francis poems 2012
that final crack in a poet's wall
has surfaced like Moses from a sin club,
and now smiles a wormy grin
at conoiseurs who lost their minds to cigarettes
and starry starry nights.
Disheveled husks in greasy wards
stir in wax cocoons
while their limbs march on eggs to hit a novel
for million feathered quids
and messy pages.
Hoorah for fraud and the smacking sound of words!
Cross the corpses and dot the noose
as pale loquacious witches
comb their libra wombs
for sounds of the vivid blind...
© Steven Francis poems 2012
Tuesday 18 September 2012
Copyright and Crevices
Copyright,
that logo like a dog
pi$$ing on a post,
its neverending tail
flipping bird
to the honest zero.
And silent the heels
to glossy page threes,
burst water pipes in feline hip bombs,
Dark the mark
that exclamation crevice.
Bold and cheeky fonts all,
and like the big brother
smoldering of a happy TM trademark,
the chancers crease a page
with saturated grids...
© Steven Francis poems 2012
that logo like a dog
pi$$ing on a post,
its neverending tail
flipping bird
to the honest zero.
And silent the heels
to glossy page threes,
burst water pipes in feline hip bombs,
Dark the mark
that exclamation crevice.
Bold and cheeky fonts all,
and like the big brother
smoldering of a happy TM trademark,
the chancers crease a page
with saturated grids...
© Steven Francis poems 2012
Monday 10 September 2012
A Key Of Sorts, A Sort Of Key
The sad weeping of a discarded Allen key
trails through halls metallic as they are dim.
Oh to be heartless as steel
or as endless as offal,
to see a word spill from dying lips.
It would be harmony
a fit like talons in a shrew,
that bastard punch of combs through hair...
© Steven Francis poems 2012
@ Steven Francis 2011
trails through halls metallic as they are dim.
Oh to be heartless as steel
or as endless as offal,
to see a word spill from dying lips.
It would be harmony
a fit like talons in a shrew,
that bastard punch of combs through hair...
© Steven Francis poems 2012
@ Steven Francis 2011
Saturday 8 September 2012
Disillusioned Thoughts of a Vagabond
© Steven Francis 1991
I used to sketch a few images to accompany my poetry in the good old bad days. (Early 1990s.) Heres one little drawing I did to go with a forword I wrote to one of the poetry anthologies I appeared in. As you can see, I used to sign my stuff as 'Zombie', in an attempt to look as cool as 'Pushead', an artist who used to do artwork for bands like Metallica.
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