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    • In its defence
      I was asked today to write about a hat! Please click on the arrow button above to hear this poem   The good thing is that it travels well. It has little style only patterned stitch work marks its drab coarse surface. Khaki cover for a nascent bald patch, a guard against the mid-day sun. […]
    • Last Orders
      Writers always ‘mine’ their childhood, but the gleanings can be thin.      Please click on the arrow button above to hear this poem Every night at seven, he shed the family skin took off the shirt he had worn one day washed at the kitchen sink in his vest, the clean shirt  ironed and waiting. Not once […]
    • Voices in the Reeds
      The Blythburgh Estuary, such a wonderfully calm landscape, or is it?     PLEASE CLICK ON THE ARROW BUTTON ABOVE TO HEAR THIS POEM   The Blyth snakes down to the brine soothing our senses as it idly curls grazing  past  tall murmuring reeds, stirred to voice by a gentle breeze.   We mishear that […]
    • Spot the Hat
      This poem started in a session of poets writing together, with Michael Laskey and Dean Parkin. Dean produced a ‘Spot the Ball’ page from an old newspaper, and we all enjoyed marking our X.    We all missed!   PLEASE CLICK ON THE ARROW BUTTON ABOVE TO HEAR THIS POEM   Do you remember ‘Spot […]
    • A Sieve with no Mesh
      What madness is this, in old age — trying to rationalise your relationships as a child? PLEASE CLICK ON THE ARROW ABOVE TO HEAR THIS POEM   Skimmed  thoughts rise from lost time, flotsam — teasing incompleteness, fragments of fractured memories jigsaw pieces with no mapping image, random glimpses I sift for my father. Six […]
    • Black Friday
      Who considers this American import matches the idea of ‘Seasonal Goodwill’?   Black Friday, the official day to be suitably depressed by buyers and sellers greed. Not to be confused with The Black Death, but similar in effect.        
    • A Young Ornithologist’s Primer
      This poem was written after my wife Jean said that she would write a children’s book called ‘That Bastard Bird’   PLEASE CLICK ON THE ARROW BUTTON ABOVE TO HEAR THIS READ.   See the big bird. The big bird’s name is Percy. Percy has big feet. Percy’s big feet scratch in the garden. See […]
    • Simple Joy (for Jacqui Jones interactive artwork at The Undercroft)
      This poem is itself an interactive response.  Jacqui liked the reference to ‘simple joy’ in my poem Migration Counterpoint and decided that concept would be the subject matter of the interactive installation she was to display in The Undercroft in Norwich, for the 2015 Norwich Fringe Festival.  When she told me that I wrote and […]
    • Cycles of the Light
      National Poetry day’s theme this year was Light, and Suffolk Poetry Society invited me to join some of the other members to read poetry and celebrate the day in Aldeburgh.  We took turns to read on the circular staircase of The South Lookout on Aldeburgh beach in perfect weather, warm sun with the light shining off […]
    • Migration Counterpoint
      Sandlines  ( www.breakingnewground.org.uk ) operated a series of writers workshops in The Brecks, to promote the rich variety of landscape, fauna and flora that can be found in this special landscape.  I took part in one, which was based in the BTO centre in Thetford, and led by Lois Williams and Melinda Appleby.    In spite of […]

Delayed reaction

Only in my 50’s did I learn how the goat had got its own back, and mine.

Thanks to a recent Kate Foley workshop on Taste and see for provoking this poem.


TO HEAR THIS POEM CLICK  ON THE TAB ABOVE

The all seeing eye

 

A plaintive bleat from a neighbour
“The billy goat’s got out!”
told him he would stink again
from tackling the rank lewdness
of the devious vile escaper.

They grappled in gardens
just him and the billy
jeered on by bystanders
beyond range of the stench.

Those broad bean eyes
mocked the jailer in silence
as his horns were clove hitched
for the slow parade home.

A sly kick from the lad
forced him back in the pen
but the last thrust was the goat’s
as his smell on the milk
meant the boy never drank it,
and that calcium absence
curdled  curve in his spine.

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