Fur Coat and No Knickers


I see you now you wanton harlot
On street corners beckoning lustered
rainwashed colour across your windowed eyes
half closed and glinting slyly in the sashes.
Shamelessly pouting for selfies in ornate arches
your well turned railings curve away
to darkly inviting cul de sacs and mews
where I could lately linger  
as white stars pass by silent in the twilight
Skirting the hallowed halls and vaults
Filled with plundered treasures
A Lovely bust framed in crumpled iron and brass.
There may be snow on your roofs
but the flame in your grates
still warms the cockles of my heart.
Mature as a rare vintage, sparkling and heady
you’re drunk on Saturday nights
but always daisy fresh by Monday,
ready to throw open your doors to
your faithful legions of furtive lovers.
To paint your nails and gloss your lips,
cinch your corsets and tress your hair,
It takes work to look this good.
It hasn’t just happened by chance
experienced hands attend your needs.
But I see through this glamour and sheen
past the lofty hordings and miles of scaffold,
beneath the lime spattered aeries and sandblasted colonnades
to the liver bird behind the painted smile.

Albions’ finest daughter’s
no spring chicken now It may be true,
maybe you’ve become
a little portly round the docks
from funnelling all the foreign fancies
when you were young and more accommodating
to the whims of merchants and the largesse of the seas
Maybe a little too keen on the old baccy
You’ve been smoking like a chimney for years,
sooting up your complexion, silting up the flow
making you cough and spit up in the river.
But you’re better now I see
amazing what a bit of slap and a
cheeky nip and tuck can do.
Blousy and brassy you strut these days
from estuary to inland
your crooked curving smile
beguiling me always.
For all the flash and neon,
Polished glass and burnished silver 
the face I see
that glorious rising visage
beyond
behind
before   is you
ageless and evergreen
and I know as we grow older together
that I will always want
to hold your urbane hand.

Popular posts from this blog

Sea of Crises

Image
No garden then that concrete year grey as Mare Crisum, sun dappled island of cement - stars my destination moon in the gutter. James Burke commentates As Eagle leaves the safety of a  kitchen orbit. Three days circle the yard silver plastic glinting, module making unexpected course corrections near Mother of all asteroids. Sheets battening in solar wind, tracking the washing line, over a landing site secured. Countdown to burn, finger and  thumb executing last minute correction as Armstrong flew dead stick with computer off. Hundred feet –  closing fast like cheese. Craters and dust. Easy now Almost Brace And The Eagle Has Landed Tranquility Base here. Magnificent desolation. Roll back on warm concrete Admiring the achievement tiny plastic LEM on harsh lunar surface Prepare for EVA as a shadow falls - One Giant Step as the final shirt is pegged out like a conquering flag, crushing m...
Read more

Still - The remembrance of lost time

Image
I was recently reminded of the creation of my final piece for my university dissertation. As it was a Creative Writing Masters Degree, I had opted to write a portfolio of 30 poems, but after many weeks of trial and error, I couldn't decide where to go with the project.  So, in order to get away from the pressure of not writing, I went  to visit a good car boot at York Racecourse, its one of the best venues I have ever seen, with a great mix of genuine sellers and antique dealers.  After picking up a few diecasts, a couple of old camera lenses and the odd book, I was wrapping up my perusal when I came upon a stall which was obviously from a house clearance. There was the usual array of boxes of ornaments, books, kitchen equipment and old shoes - but on the floor in a plastic washing basket were several boxes of old photographic camera slides. Initially, I thought the boxes would be useful, but on closer inspection, I found they were glass positives, hand fini...
Read more

Astrobleme

Image
Considering all, I wandered alone. As a boreal evening bloomed above,  I paused on frost crisp turf,  Breezes draining sound into the valley to fold into the treeline below through the wintered air. Panoplies of gems swarming above revealed a paredolian sight in a remote web of stars. Pulsing, glowing lightly , a star more vigorous than its fellows,                                                                  writhing against a ribbon of gas.  I apprehended a note Infrasonic, descending the scales to tickle my ear, keening softly . Tremulous with fear, fading ululations concerted with the pulsar parsecs distant, a grieving wail of ending. Dark saurians had ambled across sweating jungles here as its star stuff had evaporated. Millennia hence, after crossing vacuous ...
Read more