February 8, 2011

I want to be a bear:

a dense white house of a polar bear –
hunkered down on an icy lake,
with my back
like a carpet coated snowed on roof
and my head
like a
massive
furry
winnebago

I want to think of fish
and seals
and where to find
the thinnest panes of ice.

I want to think of sun
and snow
and possibly
The Northern Lights.

I want to be a bear
that does not think

of face cream

that does not think
about the severn signs
of cosmetic ageing

A polar bear
with a large black nose
like a bowl of tar
and no difficulty
with enlarged paws

A polar bear
with a black rubber skin
and a weight problem –
that is not
a weight problem:

heavier than a four by four and
capable of crushing cars.
I want to weigh 1000 pounds
and be eleven feet tall
I want my fur to stink
of blood and sweat
and musk and the north
and for it to be thick
and long and coarse
and for Immac –
to be irrelevant.

I want massive jowls
and yellow claws
and a thick layer
of subcutaneous blubber

I want to be a bear.
A ginormous van of a polar bear.
I don’t want to buy face cream.
I want to have webbed feet.

February 7, 2011

I want to be a bear:

a dense white house of a polar bear –
hunkered down on an icy lake,
with my back
like a carpet coated snowed on roof

I want to think of fish
and seals
and where to find
the thinnest panes
of ice.

I want to think of sun
and snow
and Inuits
and eskimos

I want to be a Bear
that does not care
about the 7 signs of
cosmetic aging

a polar bear
with a large black nose
like a bowl of tar
and no aversion
to the notion of
enlarged paws

I want to be a Polar Bear
with a black rubber skin
and a weight problem –
that is not
a weight problem;

heavier than a four by four and
capable of crushing cars.

I want to weigh 1000 pounds
and be eleven feet tall

I want my fur to stink
of blood and sweat
and musk and the north

and for it to be thick
and long and coarse
and for Immac
to be irrelevant.

I want to be a bear
that does not care
for panda eyes
pandas are racoons
they have no family ties

I don’t want to be a dog
and dry hump the sofa
I don’t want to be a goldfish
a total no hoper
I don’t want to be a gofer
a horse, a cat or a bird

I want to be a bear:

a great white van of a polar bear.

I don’t want to buy face cream.

I don’t want to read Cosmo.

I want to have webbed feet.

Heralds

February 4, 2011

All I can remember
wild geese
a flock of them their
voice’s spiraling
one calling to another and
white feathers
filling up the creases of a denim jacket
the lap of a woman
the sigh of a bird
filling up a glass
listen
they were one thing
a chutzpah of children
grown in a family
sounds stupid but
one became a car and
sped around a corner
one became a lamp
a pile of glass
a pile of sand
you’ve got to understand
rain drummed against the walls
crowds beneath the boards
shadows rang across my hands
believe me when I tell you
one collapsed into scales
barked like the dark
furniture evaporated
you’ve got to know
a bird dreamt it was a man
they lent together
I was there
something happened
everyone saw it
everyone
heard

All Stars Piece

February 1, 2011

I needed to write a very specific new piece for the ‘All Stars’ show, at Lakeside Arts Centre tomorrow. I’ve just written it. I may or may not have learnt it by the evening!

My lover kissed me
amongst the midnight dunes
and constellations clothed us
like a see-through dress
My lover kissed me
his face turned to silver
we saw Mars glitter red
My lover kissed me
beneath a tilting moon
we gazed at stars like lovers do
My lover kissed me.
A star beat against my chest.