A piano and a Wurlitzer were playing from a field next door.A gramophone record and a wireless from a meadow across the hall.A violin and an accordion from a stream 3rd floorand a xylophone and a chiming glass from an upstairs market stall. Typewriters tapped away, and words got scattered across sawdust moorsas sheep wandered …
Author Archives: aprettykettleofpoetry
App-pocalypse
Everyone puts in their password.Servants to the server. Expecting to be accepted.But there’s a spanner in the worksas their letters and symbols get rejected. Nobody understands why.Nobody gets anywhere.Some go mad and start to cry.All spend hours and hours in despair. Question upon question to do.Get one wrong and you start anew.Walls of technology crashing …
It all comes out in the end
You can bury it undergroundsink it underwatersend it out to space But When it sproutsor floats to the surfaceor comes down to earth It’s as plain as the nose on your face. You can burn it,set it on fire.Have it eaten by the sows,have it gone away forever. But When the ashes and the bonesget …
Fine Line
Treading the tight-rope with gusty guileAs far away as a horizontal milekeep everything balanced until it teeterslike snapping a ruler at 32 centimetres.
dedication dedicated just to you
Solitary Confinement
He cut himself off.Didn’t answer the phone.When the doorbell wentHe wasn’t at home. He simply switched offSat Anon.In a dark depressionKinda turning him on. A man going downFor a very long time.Not behind barsBut a put-on smile. No-one else knewOf his inner other.A bust of himself.His own Big Brother.
Medieval Castle
She felt down and out of it.Looking out from her look-out post.Everybody, everywhere:Some far-off fifteenth-century ghost. Guests would swear her eyes had moved.Her portrait face, hung on the wall.Behind the canvas, keeping stillOut of sight, she’d eavesdrop all. She wasn’t happy and she knew it.Happiness she’d never known.Not a soul had ever come closeAnd closeness, …
Film Set Extras/The New Normal
The streets are empty when a blink ago were full.The buses running with no passengers are just the ticket for wasting fuel.The beggars have nobody to beg toor have a two-metre vaudevillian wooden arm out if they do. The local drunk shouts out to walled-in deaf earsYou’ll die of the virus! I’ll die of alcoholism! …
Storm Brewing
Raindrop bodies cloud-gather ready to teem downfor a downpour on the battleground.The forces of good and evil and in-betweenare rolling up with mangled up metal ribcage spines.Black crow words uneasily perch on carbon paper cable lines.
The Plate Spinner
the plate spinner spins his platesbut he’s let things slipa little of latehis life in pieces at his feetthat magic touch that filled the seatsa helpless helping of butter fingers nowall washed-up he takes a bow what a shame what a pitythis inconsequential little ditty.
A Pretty Kettle of Poetry 