Friday, 12 September 2014


The poem in this post came from the title which popped into my head last Saturday. The poem itself  took a little perseverance and I have to  thank the Secret Poets for their very helpful input. 

Here is draft number 64:

The Word for Wolf

It is the time to be given names.
The word for wolf has still to be spoken,
and for that, the as yet unnamed creature, is relieved.
In this moment it can be taken for what it is:
sleek; fleet of foot; strong of limb; wise of eye.
So far it has not been linked to acts of violence,
or to the degree of hunger a human might experience.
Fairy tales that hinge on physical descriptions have not been thought of.
There are no allusions to being dressed in the clothes of another.
All such metaphors wait to be uttered into existence.

This will change.
Look, lips shape the sound of the naming.

I didn't have any photographs of wolves to hand so you will have to make do with one of my cat. Not much resemblance I'm afraid.

I have been revising the poem I presented last week. Here is the latest version:

Grace and Danger
blues for the fisherman

Your private life is tragic,
but you've only got yourself to blame.
The drink and the drugs don't help,
save to amplify every bad thought.
Anyway, here you are,
the latest stop on a perpetual tour,
to advertise a record which isn't doing very much.

Then I walk up and in my innocence tell you
that on the back cover of a seven year old lp,
you and your wife look blessed.

What did I know?

You said nothing, your eyes told a story
I would decipher as I grew older.
She'd had enough of you, thrown you out, and
in your head you are writing the break up album.

Here, in Liverpool, someone is envying your life.

Again thanks to the Secret Poets and Juncture 25 for their feedback. very useful.

I am leaving you with a video by the Foreign Slippers.

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