After reading Fleur Adcock’s “Knife Play”…

…I was reminded of writing my own poem, “Knife Thrower’s Assistant”. I had not been aware of Adcock’s poem until @markanthonyowen made me aware of her work, at least beyond the wonderful Against Coupling

Any way, while her poem is infinitely better than mine, here is mine. I can share this one; hers will have all sorts of copyright issues and the like.

Besides, if it makes you go and buy her book then that can only be a good thing.

Knife Throwers’ Assistant

I hand myself to him on a plate
twice a day, night after night.
I am not one for tempting fate;
luck gets taken for no ride, or a fool.
NO FLASH PHOTOGRAPHY
is a steadfast, iron-cast rule.

Don’t talk to me of faith.
I have to remember the knives are thrown around me
and never at or against.
I have grown to see this:
His aim is his word, and it is true.
I freely take part in this tryst.

Trust being the currency here,
we spend it wisely.
We don’t talk after work or come near.
I need no holds over him, or he over me.
For obvious reason we keep the other
precisely where we want them to be.

Arms at five past and five to,
feet at twenty five to and past;
then a whoosh as the blade is passing through:
Six in as many seconds as balloons burst.
Even if he were to hit me
the show must always come first.

When I started people came here
to be entertained, or cheaply thrilled
It’s getting harder to keep the audiences’ attention;
sometimes I suspect blood needs to be spilled.

With thanks to www.painproofrubbergirls.com

Some things

Beam of Light

For a picosecond
I make tiny scorches on your retina;
a dance across a synapse.
I have travelled for years, millennia.

I could have exploded when your eye
was a heat sensitive flap of skin
on an amphibians back.
So where do I begin…?

When I was nowhere near
your ancestors had barely begun
daubing walls with berries
and kneeling before the sun.

I have travelled for years, millennia
to mix with the dust dancing down me.
in the time it takes you to blink.
Now do you see?

Mirroring

They call me the “Mynah Bird”.
It’s a little trick of mine,
I will become a tiny bit of you when we talk;
your inflections slip to me over time.

In a heart pulse, or a blink of an eye
my accent changes on a sixpence.
It’s not an echo, or Doppler Effect.
I am no siren, though I draw you in close.

You will feel nothing when everything you have
becomes my weapon of choice.
All I have to work with is pulled
from your shows and tells; your very own voice.

We’re kith and kin now,
cut from a cloth and of the same kidney.
You’ve sold yourself short,
now what have you left to give me?

A Goldfish Dreams

I want to watch waves break from below.

I’ve only got to swim around,
while he talks me through his day.
You’ll find me on the bottom
at night, and when he’s away.

All the time I’m thinking of an open sea
above and beyond this plastic incarceration.
No more surface feeding on flakes;
enough of this calm, low tension.

I’ve thought it through, and
can taste the salt, and imagine the smell of blood.
I almost nearly feel teeth
where my gormless lips cover nothing of any good.

I’ve practiced sneers through a sharp smile
on the little plastic diver caught in my bowl
and readied myself for the quiet;
prepared myself for the cold.

The idea of curtains drawn
and moving in circles no longer appeals.
I want to range far and wide, with options,
and see how absolute darkness feels.

When they finally catch me
and slit me from tail to gill,
they will find I have been far and wide;
I’ll have had my fill

of bits of surfboard and
shoes peculiar to certain regions,
an old car number plate
and, for no particular reason,

a divers flashlight, still turned on;
the light behind my eyes.
Try looking in them then.
Don’t be surprised.

A newer one, a WIP…

The Proverbial

At the end of a piece of string
how long is the day?
Steady and slow waters run deep,
and still win the race.

Don’t look a sleeping dog in the mouth
and let a gift horse lay.
You can lead the sun to water
and while a horse shines make hay.

Pluck out thine stitch
if you are soonest mended.
The least said in time
shall have you offended.

Scratch my back and spoil the child,
spare the rod and I’ll scratch yours.
It never rains over spilt milk
but if you cry it pours.

Strike while absence makes
the heart grow hot.
If you are too fond of the iron
the cooks will spoil the broth

Give him an inch and
he’ll take a penny in for a pound.
Go around a mile in his shoes
is what it takes to come around.

A storm in the hand
is worth a bird in a teacup.
Your enemies will have a closer look,
keep your friends close before you leap.

A fool and his bad penny are always turned up.
Good money deserves one another parted.
What becomes of the lost?
He who hesitates is broken-hearted

———————————–
A work in-progress, but closer to being finished than some.

Another oldie

Commissioner Gordon

As I fire up that Bat-signal for the last time
I start to wonder what I have done.
How have I used my life?
What battles have I truly won?

I was always the straight-man,
never really took to my moments in the limelight.
I clocked on by day
and he took over at night.

I was left with cats up trees, stolen watches,
lost wallets, the missing kittens of little girls.
He’s been out collaring the culpable;
driving that car, always winning over the world.

The desktop photo-frames are packed away.
I have tidied and closed up all my files.
My carriage clock awaits me
to take me away from these times.

I have been only human;
I don’t doubt that he is as well.
I am only human, I have faults,
and at least you can tell.

Today is now over;
the day shift is replaced by the night.
He still has not shown his face
as I switch of this infernal searchlight.

An old one, but I felt like posting it tonight

Kizelbel, September 2004
For R.

Last night was all too perfect.
The only noise was the local crickets’
nightly jam session in the hills.
All conversation was above insect music,
as one lone virtuoso near our balcony
sang his own exquisite love songs.

The midges massed to our left
like a Luftwaffe wave;
ready to dive-bomb us back inside.
Moths were taking off and landing
like burning paper scraps
against a bonfire sun.

Figs fell from the trees
at exactly the same time as the Muezzin’s siren call began,
punctuated by the click of a microphone.
Modern life beat a path inland
as you beat me at backgammon.

* * * *

Kizelbel was a tiny village we stayed in in Turkey on our first holiday together

What’s this? A finished poem you say..Surely some mistake…

Siamese Twins

He annoys the shite out of me
at least once every month.
We’re closer than most, but
he can be a total cunt.

Twice a year I want to
start running in the other direction
and hope he’s stubborn enough
to hold his ground; honour his intentions.

We often joke that he got the looks,
and I got the legs, but we share the rest.
I say let’s see what takes whom where
and how far each of us gets.

It’s fair to say that in keeping us together
family has played no small part,
but when it all comes down to it;
He hasn’t got the heart.

So I re-uploaded to Scribd

A new sampler went up. Still haven’t sorted out the title on the wrong page bit, but I am getting there…The link is here

I think I have finished editing Palm Reading. I need to print it out once more and walk around with it for a couple of days. Then I just need some cash to get a few printed…Easy really. I don’t know what I am worried about…

I keep meaning to find the time to finish off Palm Reading

..I do, I do, I  do. Work appears to be taking over, blah, blah, blah.  Jesus (Hey-Zeus) Christ Marimba, will I ever take a look at my arse and listen to myself. …

I am just waiting to double-check a few grammatical things, dot some i’s, punctuate some things properly and the like, but then it’s ready to go.

Oh, and I need some spare cash to pay to have them printed, but that’ll come…

To sit down and write some new stuff would be great as well…

In the meantime, while I work on some sort of finger extractor please make every conceivable effort to read the work of this lady…http://elikafm.wordpress.com/ and this guy http://albionics.blogspot.com/

They are both very talented, write beautifully and deserve all the attention you can lavish on them…and I have yet to meet either of them…