Friend's Friend's Friend

(Try this at home. Use a FB friend, click on one of their friends who's unknown to you
and take a line from their page. Repeat 10 times and then arrange into a poem). 

Doesn't get much cuter than 3 Hawaiian mermaids
what a gig that must have been!
so many people are going live
I thought I'd do my version.
You crack me up Kathy
only you would see and say something like that
no encouragement needed.
I'm in the Alfred once again,
oh too far for us, would have loved to see you
it's very quiet here in Marsworth!

© Graham Sherwood 12/2016

Organic

(Wintry garden observations)

Spade cracks heavy blue grey clay
each piercing quake
a baleful squealing squelch,
life force evacuated
cleaved, lifted, turned over bare
a submissive corpse,
the plot sports a cadaverous battlefield
anointed with my sweat.

Remorseless
resurrection now begins
with horseshit salve
a potent potion
the victor’s gift
for ease of future skirmishes
and the chance of roses.

© Graham Sherwood 12/2016

Nether Muse

(More insomnia).

Ebbing from safe anchorage,
willingly as if hypnotised
I enter the soporific darkness
in search of words containing light.

As the Angelus suffocates behind me
and an invisible contagion
of night daemons quietly close ranks,
here I am plagued by music
from the deafening silence.

My pupils dilate to saucers
desperate for sanctuary,
from this deprived inebriation.

Then an unlikely fissure,
a needle’s eye, of
brilliant black light,
a polished ebony altar
bearing my words.

© Graham Sherwood 11/2016

Cohen Haiku

poet leaves his stage
soft words still ring in our ears
cry hallelujah.

© Graham Sherwood 11/2016

Haiku-ween

All Hallows Eve ends
old bones return to the grave
skeleton keys lost


© Graham Sherwood 11/16

Struck

(In memory of the late PC Martin Fletcher)

What am I bloody well doing here?

Bussed up

all the way from Northamptonshire,

we’re knackered before we start,

the overtime will be handy mind

with our Ben off to college.

Keeping the peace in a sodding field,

bleeding daft.

I’ve never seen so many police horses,

stay out of their way, big buggers.

Here we go, it’s kicking off,

it’s funny really,

we were only chatting to these blokes

half an hour ago,

they’d come nearly as far as us

now its fisticuffs!

© Graham Sherwood 11/16

Koan on a Snowflake

Where is the single snowflake

that fell to earth in a storm,

one wondrous moment

in the palm of my hand,

before melting into oblivion?

What purpose did it serve

or message did it bear,

where is the snowflake now?

© Graham Sherwood 10/2016

PoliticaL

limp lettuce liberal lemmings,

laughingly lecture

labour leader’s long lost legacy.

-L-

later, liaising legions

lying lacklustre, lachrymose

laryngeal lesions lashed

leagues licking libidos

licentiously lurching leaning left

-L-

lapsed latently leveraged

lewdly lauding laminated

lapidary leaked letters

lavishly launched literature

learning little

landfill likely

landmark landslide looming

leaving lifestyle limbo

© Graham Sherwood 10/2016

Wide-Angle

We all come to this sea,

for the promise of pearls,

fabulous riches

found full five fathoms deep,

but our fine word nets naively

gather unwanted disciples,

tainted limpets that cynically cling,

invade our true sentiments

and weigh down our aspirations

with jealous avarice.

With acrid scowls, we

from beneath our cloaks

judge our fellow anglers’ casts,

berate their bountiful catch

and dismiss as luck

such just rewards.

© Graham Sherwood 10/2016

Dream Daemons

I have captured my daemons

near 5.45am

Sisyphus and Tantalus

caught like errant moths

wings plucked

imprisoned

 in the bell jar of my waking

stripped of nocturnal immortality, and

like Count Dracula,

forced to face their deathly dawn

chained together, like

crumbling funereal edifices

scotched teetering

upon the bottom of my bed

sallow and redundant

I, like a great white hunter

sit proudly between them both

relieved

but saddened at the same instant

to have finally deposed

their tormenting reign.

© Graham Sherwood 09/2016

Tango

Where certain things are concerned

our fleeting impasse

cries for help like a drowning child

a frenzied but short lived affair

before a millpond calm returns

to cloak the drama hidden underneath.

So, as we sit peacefully

both knowing, that

corpses eventually surface

to create a far more serious maelstrom,

we hurriedly gather rocks,

not for ammunition,

for ballast, 

to buy us time

to put on fine clothes

to plan a proper funeral

© Graham Sherwood 09/2016

Cricket Tea Haiku

Willow pattern cups

sliced cucumber sandwiches

scorer takes a break

© Graham Sherwood 09/2016

Road Trip

I’m going to take that road trip that I’ve dreamt of for so long,

search for myself and who knows what else might come along.

I’ll buy a bashed up Chevrolet, perhaps a vintage Oldsmobile

she’ll share the trip and keep me dry; I’ll call her “Sweet Lucille”.

There’ll be cool music on the radio, from lots of FM jocks

I’ll sing out loud, windows down, breeze blowing through my locks

You see I’ve also grown long hair, a nose ring and some tats

and one of those little goatee beards, perhaps a mite ersatz

First stop will be the desert, massive skies and cowboy rocks

meet the girl from Vanishing Point, wearing nothing but her socks

I’ll find some hippies, drop some tabs, pick fights in remote bars

drink thin beer, write great words and shout out to the stars

My clothes will smell but what the hell, no one will give a fuck

out on the Mesa, solitude, just me and my beloved truck

I’ll find what I think I’m looking for, nature’s hostile terrain

but if I miss the landmarks, I can always come again

You see it’s all about discovery, true reality, a test

Nature and the elements, a search to find what’s best

I know I’ll return a better man, at peace, calm, full of Zen 

Perhaps I’ll save up, chuck my job and do it again

But can I offer warnings, to others yearning for the road

to find themselves a Shangri-la, become no fixed abode

Don’t listen to your inner-self where common sense is sparse

Be like me, a pipe-dreamer, who stayed sat here on his arse

© Graham Sherwood 09/2016

Roller Coastal

Dull marine blues, wrestle grass-stain greens
these tumultuous, never-ending rolling horizons
rear up, to strike us down, fade
then slither beneath our keel and buck us skyward
on this perpetual ocean rodeo.

They come again, and again and again
but this time with teeth bared
lean watery shark’s fangs, drip
from the face of each ominous crashing wave,

there’ll be no let off this time
so we founder and fold.

© Graham Sherwood 09/2016

PicsX

The mountains are warm today,

friendly pale maroon with

richer oranges, scavenged

from a setting sun.

Yesterday they were proud

starched collar, godly grey

spanning the horizon

like a paper tear, badly repaired

untidy jags, in angry misshapen folds.

The locals say it will be cooler tomorrow

and the pics will recline bedecked

amongst white pillowed plumes.

© Graham Sherwood 08/2016

5-Bar Gait

Gingerly climbing the decrepit gate

it creaks then shudders, and

I bark my shin

before tumbling

into sun-baked tractor ruts.

Revealed,

the angry crimson slice

smarts keenly below my knee,

so I dab copious globules of spittle

onto the glistening wound.

Glancing through the hedge,

a similar shoe to mine

mouth agape, smiles back,

then and only then

do I see the funny side of this

ungainly fiasco.

© Graham Sherwood 08/2016

Summer's Lease

We were warned yesterday,
tomorrow will be the hottest of the year
and as docile supplicants,
we peel off our clothes
easily, like overripe fruit
sticky, vulgar,
already on the turn
and in this torpor, our satiety
flits briefly by,
shorter than a punch-line
leaving sweaty arses
pits and brows
to smoulder, leaking
passion by the pint.

© Graham Sherwood 07/2016

The Power and the Glorious

(the seamless movement of governmental responsibility).

Thus it shifts, unseen,
a gentle breathing out
warm words leave on a draught
a hum no more than that.

From man to woman
no sign given or expected, just
cold passion and bitter handshakes,
it is expected, nought else will do.

Fine intentions arrive muscles tensed,
disappointment mops its perspiring brow,
those nearest think hardest, to dance
and hotch closer to the fire.

Furrowed eyes around the world look on,
dice are tossed, cards are lain
influence masquerades as grains of sand
to spill through pocket holes.

The deck is scrubbed,
the rudder firm.

© Graham Sherwood 07/2016

Frown

(A quick observation from a TV programme).

eyes etched with regret

overpainted, suspicious

work face of the whore


© Graham Sherwood 07/ 2016

Scar

(written after listening to a WW1 survivor recorded in 1980).

Of course we were bloody afraid
squatting for what seemed like hours,
and hours, the worst bit
waiting on a bloody policeman’s whistle
to squeal out our advance,
one last thought of home
mum, dad, Doris and Bill
and there it is!
at last, we’re Up!
I hope it’s quick, whichever way it goes
and doesn’t hurt too much.
Our young captain called us heroes
but he was the first to go down
like a sack of spuds,
tripped me over, cut my lip
on his shattered helmet
poor bugger.
Don’t listen to them
if they tell you we ran,
we trudged, slowly,
stumbling through a bastard scream
waiting to be caught
by the buzz and ping
and the searing pain.
I’m ashamed to say I was lucky,
my knee’s fucked but  I got back
unlike Frank and Harry and Shiner!
All I brought home was a memory,
of that Captain’s helmet
and the scar on my mouth.
I see his face not mine
every day
when I shave.

© Graham Sherwood 07/2016

Plebiscite

(The devious job of currying favour).

These are clever, clever men

and we must choose, between

those who pour a cat’s saucer

of coddled threats

dressed up as promises

that we might naively lap

or others, who

offer fellatio with a shark,

slithering between our lips

leprous barbed poison

to sting our lips,

harpoons that reel us in,

to riddle our guts

through a colander of lies.

© Graham Sherwood 06/2016

Curtain Call

Once delivered
like unexpected gifts
it's easy to read your lies, they,
transparent as your vanity
ripple like shallow puddles,
a cynical fathomless mirage
as you cry profusely.

So I melt, alarmingly
butter not ice,
ready and too willing to mop tears,
massage your fragile ego
with searching finger-sized platitudes
and pledge allegiance
for just one more day.

© Graham Sherwood 06/2016

Guardian

(An observation on youth and beauty and the need to protect it).

Guiltily I watch you

peeling off your clothes

like a chrysalis,

pale bone china skin

newly curved and shaped,

taut as if shading itself

from this ruined world,

so I swear to protect you

to guide your words

and keep watch on the pathways

where you tread,

I’ll take the arrows

bullets even

all for the reward

of bathing your alabaster skin

with these old eyes

© Graham Sherwood 06/2016