Brooklands
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Western
Greaseproof tumbleweed skits across Castle Square. Clopping hooves in the pedestrianised area. The bins freeze, mid-vomit, dripping polystyrene and strawberry milkshake. Nutrition speckles the paving: unwanted slats of limp gherkin. The jockey rides in topless, his muscular, pitted chests thrown back with each five-fingered pull from a Marlboro red. Poppered trousers tucked into white socks. A matted horses rustled from Mayhill scrubland. The boy gunslings a bottle of Fairy Liquid, beaming lime in to the fountains burbling fringe. Things turn a bit sci-fi. An octopus froth swells from the depths. Glooping out in all directions. The jockey looks around to see if anybody has anything to say. We watch him, disapproving and jealous as he gallops home passed John Lewis.
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- 1284 reads
A Revelatory Ghazal
A ghazal is an ancient form where each stanza must be a self-contained 'idea'. In some versions the poet's name must feature in the final line. How cool. Here's an extract: I'm changing. The bible is an excellent book, full of intertextuality and foreshadowing.
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- 1635 reads
I will never grow old
For now, the ancients brave the park but soon, overnight, when the ice appears (puddles tightly capped by vindictive out-of-work glaziers) the park will be deserted except for me: I am young with these lungs and I hope you remember the war or something.
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- 1414 reads
Two Rubens' Paintings at the National Gallery
A seemingly high-brow but surprisingly base poem.
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- 1526 reads
What my friends are thinking
This sestina will make you think I am great.
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- 1606 reads