Tuesday, October 7, 2014

The Grand ~ Steven Waling


bust      we have the truth            gull sentinels
on every lamppost            we keep it in a bag

everyone needs to be touched            donkeys
with card readers on Blackpool                     by

morning                        grey sky settles blue            keep
calm and have a milkshake            walks

the inevitable hills            whenever you
walk through the door     a reservoir drowns

creamy stone and stream thru            the dead
arranged on comfortable sofas    village hall

the middle of life                    the message
is simple            I came upon a dark

why go on a cruise   just to play bingo
signs    CLEAN & TIDY              horse blankets

half my e-mails              ask me to sign petitions
worthy causes            a speciality            sometimes

I’m a sore thumb            wherever I go
and a somnolent line            of mobility scooters

CASH MACHINE INSIDE out            lettered rock
bedded down for the night            on ancient cabaret

some of my finest works


faded glamour edge of the cliff             he says
arrives from a feeling of profound            tumulus

whetting the appetite                        weather
does not come into it    eating sandwiches skeleton

of a man in his sixties   on the path      more
like it    a thermos of tea               strong and big

his worldly goods his             sadness of a moment
dagger his gravegoods his            passing

remarks                        global warming and the air
voice emergent with song            fresh orange juice

from the musicals            I’m always touched
hotel opened 1867 and was            by your presence

light      iron age                  steps everywhere
in our eyes obscurities                    holding hands

down to the sea                        on the walk or following
behind              twist            look up at the

cornices            well I suppose            herring gulls
lodged on their ledges            inventing something

that doesn’t exist     frontage shabby genteel
as the sea takes a bite                   climb the steps the

rules of abstraction


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