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  1. poemic's posterous

    IOCT Showcase – show time!

    So, this is the week that seemed so far away! A year ago I wasn't a Master's student (hell, I hadn't even graduated from Lincoln!) and I was amazed at getting a place on the IOCT Masters.  So much has changed since then - moved house (...
  2. poemic's posterous

    St Lucia

    Slide back the day denying shutter Let heat and light and sound flood in Let white noise sear the crumpled linen Loosely draped on all within. Wake the drowsing gentled woman The hand of day relentless, fierce Show the bounty of t...
  3. poemic's posterous

    I Love You

    Three little words that aren’t so little. Words so small and so easy to say And yet so laden with meaning You laugh. Didn’t you always ask me what do you mean By mean? Victim of an overactive education These words are huge Words...
  4. poemic's posterous

    The Tram Drivers Dream Comes True

    It's a tram driver's secret, dirty dream A horde of Boudicca schoolgirls racing towards him Eyes only on him, clad in overconfident short school skirts Unashamedly shouting and keening, eyes on him As if he and they are both in a dream ...
  5. poemic's posterous


    Less than three weeks ago The arboretum glowed in all its russet beauty Today the leaves are gone Ground bareTrees stripped of their fulsome overblown display Stark skeletal branchesClad now in icy binary Snow laid thick upon snow The groun...
  6. poemic's posterous

    The Wonder of Weather

    Struggling through this dreadful weather I can't help thinking it's actually one of the loveliest of things to observe, if not necessarily to participate in.  I walked through Leicester last night in the freezing cold and dark and it w...
  7. poemic's posterous

    Rafter Fruit

    If I hung myself out to dry would you cut me down? Would you wonder like a scientist at the paper thin fragility of deoxygenated skin? How would you lower me with dignity so important to an ugly girl More so than to a woman of beauty a...
  8. poemic's posterous

    Reject Fashion’s Stranglehold

    Do not wear jeans that you hate Do not be fooled into conforming to fashion’s dictate Resist the urge to dress in ways That don’t allow your true self to be itself Dress solely for comfort pleasure and joy Not least becau...
  9. poemic's posterous


    Monday morning just hit me in the face Like a muddy shovel and just as welcome. The doleful ringing of the tram bell shakes me The winos piss soaked is it live or dead corpse wakes me Child can’t sense the epic struggle goi...
  10. poemic's posterous

    Ronan Keating

    I’d fuck you With your boyband looks Your sinewy neck Your designer oh so casual yet so manicured beard Your 20, no 10 years Younger than me. Your TV inaccessibility The untouchability The ‘lookatmeI’mohsohands...
  11. poemic's posterous

    Dog’s Life

    Dog’s Life   Dog lies for all the world like cat Basking in the dust mote freckled sunlight Every wiry centimetre luxuriating in heat No, not a languid feline More invisibly alert Like a newly hatched lizard Dep...
  12. poemic's posterous


    Instead   The flowers on the mantelpiece faded eventually their jewel bright, improbably optimistic unenglish heads drooped and drained of their overheated hue and the palm leaf greenery complementary dried to crisp brown spi...
  13. poemic's posterous


    Time     We jumped No Fell. Into the quicksand of time Arms straight up Fingers with no purchase gained On its smooth inevitability And days and hours and minutes And seconds Raced, swooping deftly past Without s...
  14. poemic's posterous

    Pakistan Floods

    Pakistan Floods I am ashamed Deeply englishly embarrassed Squirming in discomfiture at my own shortcoming. Twenty minutes is all it took to yomp the hill to meet My son, to greet him. Thin greasy film of sweat From head to toe ...
  15. poemic's posterous




    I asked her to marry me here

    He said and gestured obliquely

    A gnarled liver spot scarred hand

    Curled and slightly twisted

    Waved across an ugly dual carriageway

    A flat liquorice ribbon that wound

    Both ways as far as the eye could see.

    Road without end he laughed solemnly

    But in those days he smiled

    His false teeth smoother than his uneven toothy smile

    This wasn’t here, oh no.

    This Devil’s Bridge was a cathedral, a sacrament to nature

    Where no one ever went.

    We climbed the hills and I surprised her

    Made her walk uphill with a five or more pint hangover

    She heard me mutter to myself before I heard myself

    Exhorting myself to broach the subject

    Stir up my courage

    And I know she knew what I was about to ask

    Before I even fell to my knees to ask her

    She was smiling serene

    She always knew, even then, in th

    e early days, what I was

    About to say.

    Before I knew myself.

    And she maintained that she’d always known

    From unexpected improbable beginnings

    That we should be together

    Still they call this progress

    He shrugged and pushed his glasses

    Back up his nose

    A familiar gesture, reassuring

    She hated this, she did.

    She called it hers.

    Called it a travesty to christen it progress

    Think it nearly killed her

    All that time ago

    When some or other faceless dignitary

    Sliced through the ribbon

    and the first trucks rolled in hooting

    took it dead personal she did.

    As though the corporation has intruded

    On her own private space

    A place where they had no right to be.

    And every time since then

    When I came home

    She launched her angry tirade

    Against the civil service, against

    The government (whichever shower were in power)

    Even god

    (in whose existence she truthfully didn’t believe)

    And more often than not with scalding, boiling tears of rage and frustration

    Coursing down her cheeks.

    She never saw it as just a road

    More a travesty

    Or precisely (in her words)

    A miscarriageway

    Not that it matters now of course

    Now it’s just a road that goes from A to B

    And that’s no more or less than it ought to be, or C

    And with that he opened the heavily lidded pot

    And cast my grandmother onto the road

    The slick black asphalt she hated so much

    He shrugged again. Almost imperceptibly

    I didn’t understand it either, son.

    I didn’t understand it, life.

    And it’s no clearer now than then

    He rested his slack once muscular arm

    Across my broad shoulder

    It’s what she expressly stipulated though

    I smiled

    If it’s what she wanted granddad I began

    He laughed, a hoarse choking sound

    Closer to a sob

    She never knew what she wanted son

    Not in life

    It surprises me that she could have predicted

    What she might have wanted in death

    A blast of icy wind blew down the valley and filled the silence,

    Swooping Grandma into a swirling cloud

    That dispersed her far across the road and beyond

    Into the grouseland woodland anonymous

    There. She’s gone. I did the best  I could

    Best get on with it now then, eh?

    © C Jackson 2010

    No reproduction in any form permitted without specific written permission of the author

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