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"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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Ten Minutes
A place of soft extremes.Gentle strum of guitar some days;Low conversationMuted coughsFlickering eyesFixed stares.One day the wild clang of a bellBrings all hands together in hope.Your name, called briskly,Summons you to the controlled zone for kind abuse of cells.Friendly staff ask the question nobody answers truthfully; a few seconds of small talk while you prepare.You climb aboard the hard…
Where be the Blackbird?
Where be the Blackbird?
I know where he be. Next door’s front garden, head cocked to one side, orange beak grasping an almost-ripe cherry from my tree. I look round at the tree: the slender branch, once perilously bowed under the weight of its fruit, is no longer burdened. He stares at me fiercely, doesn’t budge. The patio around him is littered with pits.
‘So you’re the villain who’s been eating all my cherries, eh?’,…
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Guest Post: 'Judith' by Eunice Yeats.
New Vernacularism online: Guest Post: 'Judith' by Eunice Yeats. Pls share and leave a comment on the blog, thanks!
Judith, he goes to me, don’t be gettin’ up on that stepladder for you’ll fall and crack your skull. That’s Victor, my husband. Victor was married before. First wife died in 1986 and Victor never left their house for two years after. He’s with me this long time, and he likes our road. He can easy walk to the club from here. You know, the social club, for the men?
I took a tumble off a kitchen…
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Thought for the day
A new Vernacularism, is now online. Very short! Please leave a comment on the blog and feel free to share, thanks!
Sometimes you just want somebody to make you a cup of tea.
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Guest Post: 'The Circus' by Harry Bradley
Guest Post: ‘The Circus’ by Harry Bradley
As I roved down by Carlisle Circus a fire was in my head, And I didn’t know if it was the drink I’d drunk or the week of tea instead, aye-oh, or the weak auld tea instead.
For the girls were pushin’ prams with kids and they were gurnin’ my self same tears, And those kids looked back with clever stares and I knew well what they said, aye-oh, I knew well what they said.
And I fell in to the City…
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A Christmas Wish .
And lo! The people awoke. And verily they said unto one another:
‘This … is not my lord.’
‘This prince has no dominion over me’.
‘Thou, puppet, art not queen of my heart’.
And thenceforth the people made their own joy and were content with the fruits of their labours. And no longer did they cast their eyes to far-off, magical places, but instead lived in peace with their neighbours. And there was…
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The Appointment
A new Vernacularism! Please give it a wee share and a like, and leave a comment.
Who the fuck is Jerome?
No idea. No matter how deep I scrabble around in the usually-fertile soil of my memory, there is nothing there. I don’t recall meeting anyone called Jerome. Ever. But there it is: a reminder on my phone calendar to meet him a week today in the King’s Head, of all places. I’m not much of a drinker, and I haven’t been in the King’s since I was a student: that’s at least…
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Waking
New poem online, feel free to share and please leave a comment on the blog, thanks!
That moment between sleep and the coming day,
when nothing else matters –
just being;
The unblemished intimacy of soft skin;
blissful union of mind and body.
Innocent as childer
we are
perfect.
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Guest post: 'sometimes', by Martin McKenna
New guest post online, 'sometimes' by Marty McKenna. Pls leave a comment on the blog and share
sometimes when the traffic weakens
you feel you could have the run of the city
in memorium. when there were
no capitalisations, only silent confetti
and these light needles
back through these shut blinds
seam all the day mine.
safe in this little cell, out a way
from dark tourisms smaller and smaller ghosts.
sometimes a greater fear rips an emptiness
where everyone runs so petty.
with spears…
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Guest Post: 'from a kitchen on ravenhill', by Martin McKenna.
New guest posts by Marty McKenna now online, please leave a comment on the blog and share!
as rain sloshed everything else,
you in my gut, again.
i try to think about outside,
again. buck chopping board smile,
the sag of my knives give
away the other side. spear through to
blot bottle of wine i’ll get,
get not; that beckett play
in coffee pot stop, that pound of
dripping wet, word made flesh
which mark these days. damp most
from the way you edit away
parts of my poems where…
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No Laughing Matter
New Vernacularism now online. Please leave a comment on the blog and share away!
Nobody knew where it came from, or how it spread so far, so quickly. It appeared on three continents in the course of one day; a mark on the calendar that became portentously known as Day 1. It was soon apparent that the outbreak was worse than anything that had ever been seen before. It was apocalyptic, almost as if a bamboo-style mass die-off of the human species had been triggered. In no time,…
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Guest Post: 'A Genius' by Colin Dardis.
New Friday night guest Vernacularism, 'A Genius' by Colin Dardis.
It is 2:30am when Graham spies me from across the road. Uh-oh. I said goodnight to Graham about an hour and a half ago so I could go and finish the night off in the gambling parlour, and now I needed an excuse. I decided quickly I had better take the head on this conversation, but fortunately, Graham seems too drunk to really care.
-Hey man, what’s happening, you still out?
-Yeah, it’s all good!…
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Today's Existentialist Rant
At long last, a new Vernacularism: 'Today's Existentialist Rant.'
Driving back up the road after dropping my daughter off at school, I notice a middle-aged woman wrangling a blue wheelie bin into position outside her back gate. She looks miserable, the corners of her mouth turned down into a substantial, world-hating grimace.
She lives in one of those detached, airy, red-brick houses that have extensive back gardens, and she’s wearing expensive clothes and…
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