Thursday, 26 May 2022

Two poems - May 2022

11th May 2022

after John James


to love the same records drinking 

the shade of dress

life is wearing


it’s almost like this deliberate

vagueness, dreamlike in the detail

the fantasy when form breaks down


Rain across the valley blurs the air from my Hollingdean window


down the sparrows, cruel rain

settled: the language of contract.

Provided the rain stops 


may I meet you in the hotel with 

yellow borders, green shutters, lay

down at leisure, piss each other off.






25th May 2022

Death Note


after C├ęsar Vallejo, William Rowe, Sean Bonney 

& NH Prichard




i. 


‘the corpse, ay! went on’ working


reanimation

refusal


out of the body


the soul got up


The Combatant. The Man. The Corpse. 


‘what they have in common 

 is zero’. No names. The multiplication

 describes the dead: ‘All the inhabitants 

 of the earth’,


what they have in common


ii.


Circular cutting device


chainlink. Mutual blur


there’s something there


walking by the certain graves stone


angel two children running ahead


vanish into silence


across the valley 


the signs the mind a high pitched noise. 


iii. 


At the window the valley is cut


so much more so much


they cannot sleep

and who would

‘there is no outside’, ‘the voice

 in the poem is not your friend’


the sound of children playing people

forcibly removed from the earth out

of this world we cannot fall


‘I want to be / pickled like

 they picked enemies / alive / in the Wars  of the Roses’.


Sparrow hope and bound to despair 

love by the angel grieving.


iv.


‘The wrestlyng of this world axith a fall Heer is noon hoom 

 heer is but wildirnesse.’

and

and

and

‘though bowed the to hoom passed’

passage

     passage




Wednesday, 24 November 2021

You Rose Flowers (after St. Hildegard von Bingen)



in your enchanted

bloodened sweat

lifted from the head

& heart plotted

from terminus


is not appointed 

from the head


beatified friend, 

harp-blood

of our found 

& fondest

consonance 

wound’s winnow...


is not  appointed

from the head







Tuesday, 16 November 2021

Filling up / Particular Rooms

 Not posted here in a while. Hello. Hi to all you folks who comment on my blog posts. I hope your love spells and potions are bringing you wealth and gigantic genitals. You filthy lot. 

I've been writing something which is currently not shareable - mainly because it is huge and unwieldy in quite a new way. I've been going to one particular room with a large black book and writing with a very tiny nib. Here are some unreadable notebook pages. 

I'm also making prints of some of the ink / typewriter / watercolour pieces I've posted on this blog before. Drop me an email (verityspott(at)gmail.com) if you are interested in getting one. They are fifteen quid a pop which is the low end of what art friends suggested and at the higher end of what I think is just a bit more than okay. Happy to do reductions if that's too pricey, or deals for sets. 




Wednesday, 6 October 2021

Celebrity Solstice

When Sun had closed his eye,

heave, my precious, heave away!

to the drift. O, Who are you? 

A Ghost? O, hooks away so

Who is that in the water? O, heave a-No. No. No. 


O, bow to the horizon 

steal away, steal away,

then you are O, 

my yacht (IMO: 8913320) 

haul away!

(Position Received: 2021-10-05 21:46 UTC)

and I am general cargo drift away, ah, (IMO

9229178) heave my darlings, heave away!

(Position Received: 2021-10-05 21:19 UTC)

o, will they name us new o, away! 

aye we row! in six old rights we go

from every trace

of the old 


o, strip away, anew, strip away strip away!

a purging of the decks

and a glass upon my bow

to the four wind gods an O! Away we go!





Thursday, 16 September 2021

Late Night Poem - (near the end of Summer, 15.09.2021)


that your children meet the day

in the new world banned music


even the timber, still, and as ready

I was for you to die, my darling dog, 


that they go to the schools who are

they now, chutes of love & violent,


totally, (we know. but are made to watch

again & again what dying away


is) it okay to pull the screen?
I can’t bear to see;  even friendship


that I’ve failed so much too, remembers

the day snaps it is failed to weep stuck it


goes on: Into the night, Toll,  but it is still

past paralysis, of cell. Quiet, care


shifts knowing there is some

real work left.     It is so vital,


after the self that works in the night

still flat, as all;    were scrambled to the helm.