The Word
it had leaked out of the pen
stood naked
attempting to cover-up it's shape
'it's your meaning I'm after
for a poem'
'but I'm not that sort of word'
having heard this
the unfinished one
rather disconsolate
just drifted away
'see what a difference you would have made '
we sat together
at the edge of creation
no fizz or sparkle in our lemonade
poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
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Cinema
a face hangs at a parted curtain
across a landing
rain drips from the knife-slits of red lips
he smears the pock-marked door
with the juice of bitter fruit
in the street outside
would any of it seep sliverlike
even if somehow
it could bypass the tumblers in the lock
from his mouth a cry
and how ankle-deep
it ranalong
the gutters of his grief
poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
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Antiquaire's Paris
at a sort of deconstruction site of the Golden Age
full-frontal for the passing-trade
a marble copy of a Greek
exposing all his majestique
on being sold to a dealer from Japan
crashed the glass and away he ran
finally booked for loitering
they overlooked his none last fling
he'd spoiled a nymph with rampant foreplay
in bas relief at the Musee D'Orsay
poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
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From-To
sun sets
night falls
the Angel ran a few steps as he touched down
next to the diesel-pumps
on the service-station forecourt
shook his
they would call them wings
just checking-in
he made a celestial call
please behave
we can't afford another fall
then zipped inside his quilted anorak
he hitched a lift
and unsurprisingly
set some deluded girl adrift
poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
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Old Town Cannes
seven garden-gnomes just resting
six priests at lunch digesting
five minutes past mid-day
four verres de vin rose
three table-umbrellas
two motor-cycle fellas
one bell and how it tolls
of wariness to errant souls
and there in the wall 's
a vacant niche
where pigeon-saints just out of reach
preen and gaze with ill-intent
would top my lunch with excrement
poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
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Morning mirror
came squeezed out of the toothpaste tube
and the shower-head unblinking
said
as though this was the norm
suppose
with an accent
of a much more superior hose
you'll expect
everything to be like any other day
and tears came
a solitary drip
then two
and a coagulation of old shampoo
leaned across in vain
and in the mirror
hints that life was
maybe just a game
poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
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Oberon
there was a bank
where the wild-thyme blew
not a hole in a wall
and a cash-point queue
and there was a breeze
and the murmur of bees
not the blast of exhausts
and the throb of c.cs.
and he'd likened his queen
to a fragrance of air
not a fella in drag
with rouge in his hair
so magique his lifestyle
it shimmers excess
he's got limitless credit
American Express
poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
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Early morning-Florence
the angel raised his head
sucked in rain
and framed in an archway unfurled his wings
shattered morning with his cries
and light from his eyes
burned deep into stone souls
wakened the dead
on walls
in tombs and wombs in catacombs
and the rooms of smart hotels
then hanging from an umbrella
came billowing down the street
a lady from Nebraska
laid Euros at his feet
poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
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Many are cold but few are frozen
fish-fingered
somehow
flinging back the lid
of the chest-freezer
there had emerged
the contents
meltdown
had commenced
immediately
it had scrawled
in blood
or raspberry-ripple ice-cream
on a wall
a tragic misquotation
from the New Testament
'The meat shall inherit the earth'
[...] Read more
poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
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How could you
graduate of a provincial Belly Dancing School
Belinda barefoot on the tiles
adjacent to her swimming-pool
evoked Salome
for the 'coffee-morning set'
and to polite applause
removed the seventh veil
how the polystyrene dromedaries paled
and the moon dipped low
behind the cardboard minarets
yet Turkish-delight was spoiled it seems
by what she did with the tambourine
poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
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