Second Shot

The little coffee shop bell, tingles down my spine.

Door hinges disagree with one another,

Squawking like angry crows.

The bored barista thinks about his audition,

When will they be handing me a macchiato, he wonders.

A mustached accent with an idiot attached says nothing. Loudly.

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Opening Night

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(This poem was written for The Listeners Project where the brief is to respond to a space that is about be demolished or changed. The Adel Rootstein Mannequin Factory at dusk was the creepy setting for my piece. It had been opened 57 years previous.

Here is the link to video: https://vimeo.com/197206852)

The rusty hands of time stop,
As he enters the room.
Quin the man – the malaprop
In his party’s throbbing womb.
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Unfinished Business

Unfinished Business

The ice winks in the glass
Warm thoughts freckle my shoulders
My mind melts into my veins
Eyes shutter close
As nostalgia has a lock-in
Painted smiles chuckle around the bar
Filled with familiar faces of people I have never met
Bottles, who spirit is judged on emptiness
Line up, in front of an oily mirror
One is charged and taken for further investigation
In it’s place, a reflection of you
Glimmering under a paper moon Continue reading

Bar- See- Loner

(NB. This was written for my friends and is about the first weekend I spent in Barcelona away from them. Anything capitalised is a name or a nickname of a friend.)

Here goes this ode, I hope more than reviewing,
First Friday in Barca and this Teapot is brewing,
And although I am missing my favorite Mug
This electric city is the socket for my plug.

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The guilty quilt

They were looking for something to do,
But opted for something to say,
Gossip was a communal patchwork quilt,
Handed round with glee and added to.
Temporary designers embellished.
They had no art direction.
it mattered not how it looked,
But whether you’d heard of it.
The stitches of separation
Weaved exaggeration with nonchalance
In-spite, in-spite, in spite.