Ian Keenan Poems

I don't dislike them,
The tombstones round
The church,
Of Woolscombe, and Tebbit,
...

Asked to talk of you
I find little to say.
Not that you are perfect,
Grumbling as you do
...

Winter turns leaves swish
Like corn flakes kicked around,
Frosted paths moistened by the snow.
Straight stark trees,
...

The bell breaks sleep;
Her body stirs
To send away goodnight,
And breaks my day.
...

In this month of flighty
Fluttering swallows above
Houses,
Of lugubrious jets
...

KFC was tempting,
but my gallbladder complained
so I settled for Garfunkle’s
and an omelette.
...

You, who have seen the
White and redness
Of that hour,
Who set the circle
...

In front of the telly,
Laptop open on Facebook as usual,
Ollie shouts his agreement with the book's
Manifesto.
...

Mixed with leaves and woody detritus
The path leads, as ever,
Through the memories and yells of
Kids.
...

Bed early this evening,
Saturday,
Wife at a sick friend’s,
Kids in London.
...