National Poetry Writing Month/NaPoWriMo 2017 – 04/04/17

Covered

The snare drum rattles and pops a staccato introduction, doubles and triplets complemented by the low swinging parping of multiple trombones that get the shoulders swinging for several bars before the bright trumpet section start up the main riff of Marvin Gaye’s Sexual Healing; all high end sass and macho brassy swagger, teasing you instrumentally, over and over before, finally, three minutes in, a joyous chorus swells and erupts

impressed into wax

      an irrepressible groove

mounting to release

Image result for hot 8 brass band

National Poetry Writing Month/NaPoWriMo 2017 – 03/04/17

Jason Statham Buys Some Shark Repellent

The small boat drifted lonely on the cold ocean, miles from the shore; a luxury yacht packed with shiny brown leather, deep mahogany and chrome devices now an unmanned cabin lit yellow against the darkness of water at night. After several long moments an orange spark appeared upon the horizon, looping lazily, tracing a crescent as it arced through silent black sky to disappear beyond the bow before

                a fierce flower blooms,

                an infernal lotus borne

unfathomable

Image result for yacht fire night

National Poetry Writing Month/NaPoWriMo 2017 – 02/04/17

Marina Bay Sands

An enormous surfboard structure sits atop three white skyscrapers, towering above the bay. An azure blue sweep of water, speckled with tourists and selfie sticks, stretches the length of the gigantic shelf with no edge apparent, seemingly nothing to separate the laughing and tanned from falling fifty seven floors into the tarmac heart of the resort

        the great and the good

                    suspended, floating in clouds

forgetting to swim

Image result for marina bay sands

National Poetry Writing Month/NaPoWriMo 2017 – 01/04/17

Casing the Joint

Down there, by the industrial units with steel roller doors and weeds poking through brickwork, a selection of vans of various sizes came and went. One unit in particular drew a steady stream caked in muck or gleaming like teeth in a commercial. A red panel van sat with the engine running, headlights cutting through the falling gloom as a flash of bright white suddenly lit the small window in the galvanized frontage. A hooded figure clattered out awkwardly and made for the driver’s side; I prepared to take chase

                          turned up my collar

                          against the cold wind and sang

                          How You Like Me Now?

Image result for trading estate yeovil