Archives for posts with tag: planets

I read an article about camel milk recently. It said that the milk has many health benefits for people, but that it’s difficult to pasteurise and import. It got me thinking about camels, and then I wrote this poem.

One in a taxi, one in a car

My beloved camels were missing. “What we have here Madam,” said the junior police officer, “is a case of your livestock being removed from your property for the purposes of personal gain.” His face was stricken, like someone who’d just been bitten by an orphan tiger they’d raised from a cub. “I’m afraid to say,” he continued, “that an unscrupulous person has stolen your camels and intends to transfer them to another equally unscrupulous person for a substantial number of material goods.” He flipped his notepad shut. “Or, they intend to carton the dromedaries nutrient rich milk, so beneficial in fats and immunoglobulins, and exchange it for cold, hard cash.”

A plain-clothed inspector came shuffling over. “Hold your horses lads,” he said. “Get forensics down here. They’ll pick up traces of gold and anointing oils as sure as night follows day.” He looked across the sand to the road. “I assume nothing of value has been taken from inside the house, but that your ordnance survey maps have been disturbed?” It was true, my ordnance survey maps had been left ruffled and displaced. “Madam,” said the inspector, “I have to tell you that your camels have been selected for a higher purpose. They are aiding their human friends on a journey into the infinite unknown.”

That night, I took a steam bath and sat on the bench near the olive trees. I lived alone, as I had done my whole adult life, having been unable to connect with a significant other. All engagements had ended with the same complaint, that while my perfumed body embraced all things earthly, my devotion appeared to lie elsewhere. I watched the glow of Venus spin slowly towards the east and remained seated as, out of the loss and mental exhaustion of the day, there came a figure who knelt down beside me. As he cupped my feet in his hands a few damp molecules, some precious storm samples, dripped out.

and Ronnie O’Sullivan walking out on Stephen Hendry.


Red black rocket

I’ve had enough of this game.
And this waistcoat.

I’d like to play in a space suit.

Imagine that,
shooting balls like they were planets
bouncing against the sides of the universe.

At Narcotics Anonymous we discuss responding to anger and frustration,
by isolating pain until you can say,
“This is where it hurts,
in my left side,
it is a dull pain,
not a sharp pain.”
But really, we know we’ve no more hope of finding the answer
than those robot probes that lose their footing
and spin their tails on Mars.

What people don’t understand
is that winning doesn’t help

and that being ambidextrous isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
That time I had to prove to a line of offended officials
that I’m as good with my left hand
as I am with my right
was humiliating for everyone.

Most days my brain just prints in red and black.

But if I’m lucky, I might dream about shots of buttery drinks
that I lick off my lips
until all the women in the front row want to kiss me.

When I apologise,
which I do a lot,
I always mean it.

And when I put a towel over my head
it’s to go to the damp, blue, end of the line
where I can’t hear myself think.
My chair on Pluto.

I’ve really had it with this waistcoat.

For some time now, I’ve wanted to jump out of a rocket.
A cue ball dropping through the green baize galaxy.

 

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