Tag Archives: Sean Lavery

Time Tunnel

or the end of British Summertime.

Mojo the navigator,
turns onto an unfamiliar road.
Got my man-boy workin.
Says the puppet master,
breathing-in a shot of rarified air.
Only lovers of pure CO2
will be left alive by the end of the month.
That glorious day when nothing happens.
Just the clocks keep on ticking an hour behind.


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Marching through thin air.
I become old.
Unswervingly fragile.

Hovering outside,
on the perimiter,
sit the ghosts of real people.

Narrow tendrils of pain.
That sting again, again and again.


The Whirligig

Imagine taking a pill,
to make everything all right.
Fixing those things
that can’t be fixed anymore.
How come it’s all been undone.
The silk thread running
through the tapestry,
is through unravelling.
Grotesque is now normal.
A whirligig has wiped away calm.
Imagine just one day of peace.


It Goes

The beneficiaries have taken over.
Please don’t be alarmed.
There’s nothing to concern you
and all those secondary souls.
Masters of the bottom feed.
Freedom: that amazingly
twisted word.
Expensive to those who have none.
Cheap – a thing to be bought.
Watch as it disappears.
Down, down, down, it goes.


Goodnight

A fractured chord.
A fissure of time.
A remembrance.
Sleeping softly,
in a snug room.


Ginny

Happy Birthday.
You dont look
a day older
than when we first met,
on that Wood Green step.
Many happy returns !


At the Pineapple

A warm Kentish Town Wednesday.
Undertakers Drinking outside.
In shirtsleeves and open collars.
Having a pint after a long day.
La Vie en rose by Grace Jones is playing.
Breadsticks on a white tablecloth.
One of the men in black, takes a bite.
Now I realise it’s the wakes end.
Crumbs fleck the conservatory tables.
Mourners have consumed all the food.
Ready to go they pack their smart clothes.
Before the new crowd arrive.
My Jamaican Guy serenades an empty table.
Quickly taken by a teenage broncin buck.
Peace breaks when a troop 
of workmen arrive.
In Jackson Pollock paint
-flecked sweats.
Incongruously they sit next 
to two old gentlemen.
Renegades from a distant age.
Who swiftly manoeuvre to a quieter spot.
Later we go too, as day drinking drifts into night.