Pattern Recognition

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Location: Here Of Course

I like to talk. And write poetry. I paint a little too.

Sunday, November 27, 2005

Rye Road Sunday Morning

Returning in party mood at 4 am, I see lights
in three of the ninety windows. A blue
hand-cart's parked on the snow. Door buzzes
and our paper boy comes out.

'You're early,' I say-- he shrugs:
'Sundays I do extra rounds. Weekend's ruined
anyway. Might as well make money.'

I walk up the stairs he just rushed down, find
mine tossed on the landing. Peace Prize money
invested in weapons, a man admits to killing
his wife. Weekend's ruined anyway, he said,
and the headlines don't help.

Tuesday, November 01, 2005

Rye Road: Testing, Testing... (The Fountain Pen Poem)

Rye Road: Testing, Testing

Black cartridges in hardly used
fountain pen - new spiral
notebook - a quiet block
of flats, dark & rainy Sunday
night, books laid aside
and computer turned off. CNN
done with deaths in India
& Iraq, ringing tone switched
off on cellphone & pineapple
rings eaten from the can --
testing, testing: is more
needed tonight? Will the swish
of nib on lined paper
fill this Sunday up
to the brim? Certainly
the Schneider cartridges work
well in a Pelikano pen
-- testing, testing. A drop
of rain slams against the window,
the mattress creaks in Flat 1313
& the ink flows and fills
the page exactly. The lift
hums on the landing, moves upwards.