I have a poem in Three Drops from a Cauldron

I'm very excited to have a poem Lulled in this months' Three Drops from a Cauldron

https://threedropspoetry.co.uk/2017/08/23/three-drops-from-a-cauldron-issue-18-august-2017/

Wordmongering

Wordmongering

Perhaps Potus No45 is overcompensating for his impotence, which he projects as importance

saying his arsenal is more powerful and far stronger than ever before. It’s very powerful.

And to ensure that the world believes him, he threatens Kim Jong Un with fire and fury,

while Fox and friends prefer to comment on his domestic feuds with nuclear wordplay:

Senators learn the hard way about the fallout from turning on Trump

We watch the war of words escalate.

Incendiary rhetoric at a rate

of 140 characters per shot

U.S. Pacific Command assures us that

#USAF B-1B Lancer #Bombs on Guam

stand ready to fulfil USFK’s #FlightTonight Mission

-          If called upon to do so.

@realDonaldTrump tweets that military solutions are now fully in place

locked and loaded. The Armada may or may not be steaming

to the Peninsula, very powerful, a very powerful presence,

a very prudent deterrent. There’s going to be big big trouble.

Secretly we’re not sure if he knows his arsenal from his covfefe

and we joke, nervously, about child-proof locks on his satchel,

the President’s ubiquitous football.

We ponder whether his pants are on fire due to strategic lies

or idiot blunder.  

We wonder if he could he trash talk us into war

or is this an irrational fear?

As a precaution leaflets given to

the residents of Guam warn

Do not to look at the flash or the fireball –

 it can blind you!

He’s blasé. He says:

‘Hopefully it’ll all work out.

Lots of good things can happen.’

Well, I suspect he’s been talking to Mrs May

about plans to visit the UK

because blundering Boris said he’d love to emulate

the tweeting style of his American mate

and while North Koreans test nuclear bombs

 we only threatened to show him our bums.

© Spangle McQueen 12 August 2017

Dan and Pan

I’m blotto

Boiled as an owl

Half-shot

Half-screwed

Lit up like the Commonwealth

And loaded to the muzzle

I’m pie-eyed and over the bay

You say my valve is barely open

That I’m a dirty yellow shade

But I’ll have you know neat whiskey was poured over

This lobster

And I’m ablaze with a blue flame, my friend.

Three Drops from a Cauldron

My poem For Liz about the lovely Liz Ferrets has been published in the Three Drops from a Cauldron Imbolc 2017 edition

http://www.lulu.com/shop/kate-garrett/three-drops-from-a-cauldron-imbolc-2017/paperback/product-23047330.html

Maybe the Ex-Queen ...for Melly

Maybe the Ex-Queen

In my dream I was packing for Anjuna

clothes selected for your funeral

tightly pressed in your old suitcase

and I ripped a page from a book

with a special poem, but I didn’t look

and now I’m awake I’m at a loss

as to what it was

 – perhaps Fleur Adcock?

 I know you knew if I was well enough

I’d have come while you were alive

I’d have tended to your needs

and you to mine

and we’d have fought

as we always did

trigger happy tarts

targeting each other’s hearts

in a transactional analytical field day kind of way

but now we were in our fifties

we had a nifty plan

to meet on the beach

(in Goa or Brighton)

and try out some gentler manoeuvres

One two three four

I declare a thumb war

Fuck!

I didn’t think you’d come astride a terrestrial body,

your hair crackling, your eyes like comet-sparks*

the Full Moon in Taurus

as close as she’s ever been

to Earth in our lifetime,

but I’d never doubted that you’d win.

No, I never doubted that you’d win.

* Fleur Adcock’s The Ex-Queen among the Astronomers

For Melanie Swallow who gave me the title and last line

Candyball Crushers

once upon a moon

my candy crush and me

were gorgeous

the fiercest peroxide hellraisers

riding the waltzers while rushing our tits off

spinning like sugar in a candyfloss maker

but not pink and fluffy

we’re hardcore for life

tough disco biscuits, spangled and fun

looking for guys with sweet balls of gum

Untitled but it's National Poetry Day - theme Messages

Glitches in my knitting

stitches dropped by

lapsed concentration as

I sip my tea

wipe milk from baby’s sleepy face

listen to a train in the distance rolling on to Londontown

where I worked until this illness laid me down.

I stare at the tea stains

on the Peter Pan pattern

like Mrs Darling examining

a left behind shadow.

Unfortunately Mrs D

was a tidy sort of woman

not like me and I suspect

not like you, who owned

this pattern before me.

We might lose stitches and spill our tea

but we’d never pull

a child-size shadow in from the window

for fear it looked like dirty washing

and roll it up and put it in the

drawer.

Out of sight.

Out of mind.