Poetry

REPRENSATIVE

I hold the floor

though few here care

that paupers share

my bilious core,

my bilious core

that paupers share

though few here care

I hold the floor.

I hold the floor

as livewires think

of subjugation

my focused nation

my focused nation of subjugation

as livewires think

I hold the floor.

I hold the floor

can do no more

one knife wield plunge

my job is done.

My job is done

one knife wield plunge

can do no more

I hold the floor.

© Pat Mellow 2018 (published in Havik)

A Mouth Full of ‘Hood

A Colner called Nelson opened that day’s saunter –

a roving tour of Forever; Together, Again, Fallen –

past Farmfoods plastic and San Miguel past it

to Tansey, Shepherd and Deborah Kay,

Clark, Baxter, Diggins and Hartley.

Farran, Afzal, Gildea with Bhakti,

Bracewell, Whalley, a Kelly and Masih.

Omerod, Collis, Heap then Peel,

Clive the Koppite by Red Devil Chris Lees.

Atkinson ‘entered into his saviour’s car’ as did

Kenneth Garlick, Swarbrick, Nazar.

Dorothy May Worn: your stone so small;

the Headlams larger, austere, unadorned…

Phyllis – as Samana – has an ice-cream cone;

Clive his pool balls; Holland ‘the Scholar’, seeming at home.

But ABCB, ‘Elijah 4 Taylor‘ Tony!

That was then, a Leeds deserted

’cept for your pen and those swazzed stones and

my Mum upset at your V’d tear-up

over Yorkie scum and their fascist furore.

Perhaps collected Nelsoners might be a sign of peace.

Of Popoweitz and Aslam and Marian‘s Deidre

goggles grinning strangely ever more.

Moses with Munro, Tempest with Fanny.

All interred at Winewall, ‘God bless cock’ and Dr Malik,

Gus Am Bris La’… John Bazley.

Houghton, Nancarrow, Seel, Shutt and Gill,

Brunskill and Hassan, Waheed, Phelan –

the thurible of white sense

– must now bed down in na flaithis

with umani chaat Jannah.

Great Weavers

This communique solemnly informs all concerned
that the PCCP will not tolerate
the conspiratorial tone and undoubted
chicanery of the aggressors who
attempt to face us down.

All provocation is met
with scorn, merely fuelling
the fire within
our literate
bellies this time, and every time,
and is ultimately futile.

The Great Leader (praise
be to LM and LKJ) watches over
our nation to ensure the detritus and doggerel
will be swept away thereby
guaranteeing a glorious and bountified
syllabic future for us all.

Third Forty-five

Miles chases

p i ano . Follows

stead bass,
coupled with that

quick

short

cym bal

patter, p-i-n-n-ed. By fatter bangers

the

pow derd turn
my now backdrop
to these broke bars

of how to take two

tunes, say Hov, trance, down pitched, half-speed, merge get a third,
4 B!

Like combine… ……to throw

acrossstraight Murphy

John, Yoko.

[Break for the break]

But are there any more breaks for thee?

No more a writer than Futura arranged flowers, phrr! Soak in, in, in.

Instead a Ger- %$main germ

four-four

from Miles: his harvest comes then a note

tulip___________________________________________________________________-s gliss-
-endos twixt
black and white, a counter point.

REPRENSATIVE

A Mouth Full of ‘Hood

Great Weavers

Third Forty-five

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