P.A. LEVY – Three Poems

Posted: April 10, 2013 in Fiction, Poetry
Tags: , , , , , ,

Self Assembly Bookcase Heroes

teenage dads

holiday in afghanistan to forget

vampires and x-factor on hd

televisions back home

in nappyville

 

(diagnosis)

with acne and armour-plating they

go on dangerous missions

for clammy hands to tweek

with the skulduggery of clocks

 

(prognosis)

pressure pads of sweat

then the ghost sounds of dead pianos

as the lid closes

into a blistering silence

ringing in their ears

 

(consequences)

… the phone lines are now closed

over to cat deely

who this week tolls the bell for

teenage dads asleep

under union jacks

 

looking out of anti-glare glass

from a silver frame standing

to attention on the ikea

silly billy bookcase

that also came home

in bits

 

 

The Reincarnation of Broken Glass

you seem to think

my passion for throwing empty

beer bottles means i’m a yob

it’s a meditation

baby

one hand clapping

one beer bottle smashing

zen and the hooligan in unison

with a thousand pieces of glass

 

i also like smashing mirrors

89 to date

kamikaze transcendentalism

to fragment my own image

a very basic

cloning multiplication

yet on the down side

come my reincarnation

with 623 years of bad luck

i’ll be in karma deficit

end up as a snot virus on a petri dish

 

however i don’t consider throwing

beer bottles into

mirrors as idiosyncratic

entertainment or performance art

more like fulfilling a need

and you should be careful who you call

a hooligan

for i could be reincarnated

as the clap

and still be angry with you

 

 

Contagion

just a few lines to wish you better

as i was sorry to see you in hospital

again

but if yer gonna call yerself a poet

overdosing on seriousness

resulting in being up yerself

it seems highly likely

you’ve caught a dose of verse

 

the doctors looked impressive

rows of pens in their top pocket

a relaxed stethoscope loosely

draped around the neck to

set the white ensemble off a treat

and with full confidence in their own abilities

told me a sonnet about the need to

amputate

a simple procedure to perform

no anaesthetic just a nineteenth

 

century saw-bones blade

hey cheer up

the prognosis is good

you’ll be home in no time

happy days

no more rhyme just a get

 

well card from hallmark

i’ve bought you some grapes and a balloon

t.v. guide for the month of june

a book on space travel to the moon

i suppose what i’m trying to say is

 

get well soon

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