Today is National Poetry Day so here is a quick recital of a piece that came straight from the top of my head for the camera. No notes, no thought, simply press RECORD and this emerged. It sounds like I say "Tides" rwice but the second time is TIMES. Just something different I decided to do rather than rehash something written months ago. Makes poetry more interesting, more alive I feel.
Enjoy!
Steven xx
'The Heron Ponds' is the 7th collection of poetry and short stories from Welsh poet, writer and blogger Steven Francis. Enjoy!
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Thursday, 3 October 2013
Saturday, 12 January 2013
Dragon Streets
Mouthless svengalis line the pavements
where suns dry like coked out moths
under Tesco signs and local ads for tyres.
London to Cardiff to blah blah blah,
as wild winds and cities go
London is just Swansea with an ego.
Blunt and tired stiletto parks all,
full to the brim with orange faced girls
in tight skirts without menace or style for slogans
on their chip fat heavy breasts.
And then come the men
as lethal as moles in a bookstore,
dampened by a flat crotch and tin eyelids.
Little Los Angeles!
Dragon streets untamed
untamable,
a menagerie of flame and crusted sauce
battling to be King Blade
on the artery streets...
© Steven Francis 2013
where suns dry like coked out moths
under Tesco signs and local ads for tyres.
London to Cardiff to blah blah blah,
as wild winds and cities go
London is just Swansea with an ego.
Blunt and tired stiletto parks all,
full to the brim with orange faced girls
in tight skirts without menace or style for slogans
on their chip fat heavy breasts.
And then come the men
as lethal as moles in a bookstore,
dampened by a flat crotch and tin eyelids.
Little Los Angeles!
Dragon streets untamed
untamable,
a menagerie of flame and crusted sauce
battling to be King Blade
on the artery streets...
© Steven Francis 2013
Monday, 10 December 2012
Saturday, 9 June 2012
Friday, 27 April 2012
Wednesday, 4 April 2012
The Rats Are Loose
Dare not sleep tonight.
Care not for rest
with its morphine stabs and death wax.
Seek the Yanto men with glossy widowmakers
to engrave heretics with bullets
and pulverise each sermon to dust.
The sightless renegades are loose
to frame time in fires
as ham hock poetry from olive worded books
ladder down my gartered spine,
searching for the root of life
and its war fever...
@ Steven Francis poems 2012
Reading
Care not for rest
with its morphine stabs and death wax.
Seek the Yanto men with glossy widowmakers
to engrave heretics with bullets
and pulverise each sermon to dust.
The sightless renegades are loose
to frame time in fires
as ham hock poetry from olive worded books
ladder down my gartered spine,
searching for the root of life
and its war fever...
@ Steven Francis poems 2012
Reading
Tuesday, 20 March 2012
Every Time I See Black Holes I Think Of Heart Attacks
Those mighty blossoms of feral space
the black hole seizes my fungus fused liver with dread,
paralyzing every tenor of my mortal lungs.
Oh deepest pit where nightmares roost!
Like the very depths of hell suspended in a solar garden
sucking life out of light
as you offer horizons to end all sight and sound.
Galactic supermonster,
hero to a neverending thirst,
wake the dead, stir the galant muse.
Starry cove to swallow wing and fortune...
@ Steven Francis poems 2012
Reading
the black hole seizes my fungus fused liver with dread,
paralyzing every tenor of my mortal lungs.
Oh deepest pit where nightmares roost!
Like the very depths of hell suspended in a solar garden
sucking life out of light
as you offer horizons to end all sight and sound.
Galactic supermonster,
hero to a neverending thirst,
wake the dead, stir the galant muse.
Starry cove to swallow wing and fortune...
@ Steven Francis poems 2012
Reading
Tuesday, 21 February 2012
Mowing With Pets Nearby
Risk shame to caution
while firebranded cyclones
swipe at feathered golems without hindrance,
not a care about satisying the endless hole.
A bedded breast, fast to sentiment
loses echoes which rebound off mourning stalls
and shatter like a thousand deaf tumours.
Oh faithful subtle joinery of bone!
Bond with muted names
as happy as ever lasting smiles
but beware the corpse beneath those matted tags,
those pretty bells to ring away birthdays....
@ Steven Francis poems 2012
Reading
while firebranded cyclones
swipe at feathered golems without hindrance,
not a care about satisying the endless hole.
A bedded breast, fast to sentiment
loses echoes which rebound off mourning stalls
and shatter like a thousand deaf tumours.
Oh faithful subtle joinery of bone!
Bond with muted names
as happy as ever lasting smiles
but beware the corpse beneath those matted tags,
those pretty bells to ring away birthdays....
@ Steven Francis poems 2012
Reading
Friday, 20 January 2012
Dame H With A Canvas Limb (to married women)
Behold the pinched eyelet!
That three eyed heart is woken,
as she is framed for me
on crooked toes from nylon hammocks,
to tune the mossy summer whipsnake.
Dame Hollywood on Yellowbrick glossies
sidles to the scaffold pole;
she swears by affairs and furious cocaine binges
and her hilt is target by my wily range,
a fibre gizzard of inertia.
Thou art not perfect
with that flapping, moustached barnacle
on your frilly hip;
but shy not from me glassy babe
and I will pose and dare
to throw homecooked colics onto marble cheeks
as our thighs twist in excelsis grinds
kinked in endorphin hernias.
Arrest these neon arms on Dwynwens night
to defy not deify the solemn vows
and make us stand like statuettes
on starless hills visited only by prey riders.
Tryst angels in secluded coils,
crash onto sequined crests
as mania draws exotic barley from salacious roots
until beaks are at the bells again.
A solid sleep beneath clouded fathoms
to ward off widows in their paper flames...
@ Steven Francis poems 2012
The reading:
That three eyed heart is woken,
as she is framed for me
on crooked toes from nylon hammocks,
to tune the mossy summer whipsnake.
Dame Hollywood on Yellowbrick glossies
sidles to the scaffold pole;
she swears by affairs and furious cocaine binges
and her hilt is target by my wily range,
a fibre gizzard of inertia.
Thou art not perfect
with that flapping, moustached barnacle
on your frilly hip;
but shy not from me glassy babe
and I will pose and dare
to throw homecooked colics onto marble cheeks
as our thighs twist in excelsis grinds
kinked in endorphin hernias.
Arrest these neon arms on Dwynwens night
to defy not deify the solemn vows
and make us stand like statuettes
on starless hills visited only by prey riders.
Tryst angels in secluded coils,
crash onto sequined crests
as mania draws exotic barley from salacious roots
until beaks are at the bells again.
A solid sleep beneath clouded fathoms
to ward off widows in their paper flames...
@ Steven Francis poems 2012
The reading:
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