closed mouths
welcome occupation
of tongue by tongue
gypsy together
into each private space
breathes, ripens
restless unsettling in
make a home in us
shape our tongue
their tongue entwines
with ours
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under bushes
around the lake
todays decoration
urban jewellery
silver squashed
energy drink cans
crinkly crisp packets
supped brown bottles on a roll
down the hill
where it’s up tails all
black plastic bin bags
steaming dogshit droplet earrings
swing from trees
pizza boxes fold
under Hazel and Oak
a place of recreation
a place of recuperation
a pleasant relandscaped walk
better than dirty, noisy, smelly
pit and sidings that used to be.
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‘Are there any English here?’ a woman shouts to market day shoppers
in Peel Square before joining
a bewhiskered chap holding
large 7 up bottle perfumed with ale.
Me garden were best on street,
gorgeous Azaleas, Petunias, Roses.
Started disappearing. Spotted immigrants across road in rented. Challenged them.
“You English think
you own everything!”
they told us.
Thirty years down
mines to get this, cock.
Thirty bleeding years.
I own me house, cock.
“You English think
you own everything”
Abroad for a better life
Abroad for an easier life
Abroad where we are worth more
Proud of who we are.
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far
how far is dark
how dark is
how far
is far
open dark
lift latch
how far is
latch
open latch
lift dark
how far
open latch
how open dark
2. stops
hear light leave
listen door shut
listen eyes close
listen breath stops
hear leave light
shut door close
stops eyes breath
listen
listen
door breath light
hear shut eyes
listen leave light
close door stops
listen
3. rests
how light rests
on this skin
rests how
on this skin
not my skin
that light
not light rests
on this skin
that light
this skin
rests
4. hold
this flesh in
skin out
in this flesh
in this skin
hold
this skin out
flesh in
out this flesh
out this skin
hold
5. word
your blood word
is my blood breath
is my word beat
your breath word
is my blood beat
is my word blood
breath needs blood
beat needs breath
blood needs beat
your word breath
is my breath blood
is my beat blood
is my beat breath
6. wood
follow grain
woodshine
wood line
round not
follow line
grain round
not wood
not follow
woodshine
woodlight
wood follow
round
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I am
as I hold
my blade to your gizzard
simplified
as to the reason being
my belief
that my God provides
my nafah this Occam’s Razor
you are
as I hold
this blade to your gizzard
complicated
as to the reason being
your belief
your God provides
your ruach
and must be removed
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passed from old age
through adolescence
to quiet child
cuts squares out of new
curtains with scissors
empties food cupboards
wraps it all
in newspaper
puts it in
her neighbour’s bin
stuffs paper
into electric plug-holes
runs taps
floods her house
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new hours
of grind
not yet comfy
arse fidgets
till it finds
a settled place
for cheeks
then they change
your shift again
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Arm on the bar of the pub
after
the writer’s workshop
I order the group’s drinks
a girl at the bar slurs
‘What time is it?’
A boy behind her, lit fag
in hand, curves round
the girl, slurs, ‘It’s our lass!’
A sear of pain
under my eye,
he pulls the hot stub
from the surface
of my lower eyelid.
I take the tray
of drinks back
to the group.
“Why dint Tha lamp
him one!” they ask
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fetch day in from the porch
it’s had enough
of cloudiness
and going to blazes
send night over threshold
let it mess
with flesh
and turn it’s blind eye.
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quietly lifts
feathered grey cumulus
stretches cloud out
until aloft
a silver spear
then folds dark skies
into a perch
stabs the oblivious
fish of day.
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The Wombwell Rainbow 