Dave Birss Poems

I’ve never been to a poetry reading before
Are there candles and joss-sticks to garnish the floor?
Or would these combustible hazards, in fact,
Contravene a new European Fire Safety Act?
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I’m supposed to be a poet
But the words come so slow it
Just puts me to shame.
Should I give up this game
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I'm happysad
laughcrying from our
goodbye-ing
and farewell kisses
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When God made the pigeon
There was one extra bit
In his do-it-yourself
Build-a-pigeon kit
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Once, I used to dream of being free.
Of having the time to be me.
To bury my head in brilliant books
To try cooking food by celebrity cooks
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Like a paperback
With yellow pages
And a broken spine
Or a corkscrew
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Jocasta
tried to eat her pasta
fasta
than her brother who was the masta.
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empty
‘cos you’re so far away
full
when I hear your voice every day
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You’d probably prefer if I threw in a pound
To reward your performance
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The helmet for your motor bike
A big syringe with a scary spike
A bumper pack of sticky plasters
The revolting oil that comes from castors
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