Category: Poetry

May 16th Commuter

thetomwattsLeave a comment

I’m staring at a Black watch,
A heavyset onyx rain drop,
Squeezing the veins of a forearm
Riddled with blue worms. Pulsing,
convulsing as the blood pumps under
A knuckle bump.
Slim fit t-shirt the dark grey of a
Burnt out coal lump. Embers remember a
Shadow waking up then slipping off
So Stick it on with soap if it gloats, or
Stick to sewing with thread if in bed and it’s dead.

A tummy rumble,
Squawking brakes
Compete against the train’s grumble.

Ochre shoes sit among the gum and the grime,
A pair of glass slippers preserved in hotdog brine
From which dangles the hypodermic needle
Of a shoelace’s head, the plastic tip is
Feeble and cracked on its deathbed.
Spilling fibers frothy as the mouth of the Tiber
White as the grin smeared across Tony the Tiger.
And he could be much slier
When disguising the dire
Sweat stains that make a
Black shirt turn blacker
Than a burnt egg frittata,
Or the Old El Paso beans in Wahaca,
So Roll on your deo
Cos you’re pungent and
Sweetly sweat lacquered.

May 13th Commuter

thetomwattsLeave a comment

Black leather, black jacket, black tee
Adidas stripes, one two three
Stonewash skinny jeans
Sprayed on denim graffiti.
She got a horse shoe nose ring,
Lucky piece of cheap bling
Hanging over the door to her soul,
An open shut case
A tightly pursed mouth hole,
Telling me the whole tale
One that’s stale as bread
Crisper than the pony tail
Pulling back her head
Now nodding along
To something that she read.
Now standing up
Minding where she tread.
Now walking off
Watch the oil slick spread.

May 8th Commuter

thetomwattsLeave a comment

Courtier curls, raven black,
Flap around a thick stump of neck
Home of hot air, sweet breeze uplifting,
Treading on words like sand sinking under a
Caramel complexion stained by tea,
Mapped onto heavy set features.
A proud eagle beak nose soars above the shadow of a beard far below,
Imperiously jutting, slicing through air, cutting,
Broken by a ripple of lips, fat as fish breaking the surface
To glug the inhale exhale of fresh air,
Sharp hair, twilight skin softened by the
Sparkle of a vanish white tee, prisitine, bare.
He grasps a plastic mac in his lap
Budding like a flower made of bin bags
Sodden with sky sap
Drizzling over arm hair sharp as gorse
The sort that tangles and wrangles the
Cloudy sheep whose cotton clads the skin beneath.

May 6th Commuter

thetomwattsLeave a comment

I’ve started writing little ditties about the people who sit opposite me on my commute home. They’ll mostly appear under the ‘Commuter Poetry’ link  in the top menu.

Cheque shirt, check mate;
Empty eyed matey checking his phone
Double-thumbed like no-one’s home.
Rimless glasses half full of glare
Half sagging bags beneath the saucer stare.
Hair as grey as a soft ash fall,
Ebbing over forehead creases,
One, two, three, four
Resting gently on eyebrows
That sit heavy as bracken on a forest floor.
One on top of the other like undeliverable mail,
Or the pinstripe of geological strata,
Years etched into yellowed skin,
Slack like yesterday’s paper, faded glyphs
Hidden amongst the kaleidoscopic noir of
This mornings stubble.
Hanky handed from palm into pocket
Need to save that for later,
As over the shoulder, pop goes the blazer.