The Cloud Spikks English Poems

The Hanging Gardens of Babylon 48 skin tags the surgeon was pleased to excise Like the Hanging Gardens of Babylon cut down to size Like the burls on a tree trunk, the tree's response to stress, Or the conkers on horse chestnuts wearing their Autumn dress Seborrheic keratoses and liver spots, unwanted gifts of age And deep etched wrinkles, come with Time's turned page The Hanging Gardens of Babylon were pruned on a regular basis, Ladies, the same should be done to necks and faces Listening to the night Listening to the night I hear the soft whoo-whoo of the owl Soft as the pad of a fox's paws on snow So mellow, it thrums in my inner ear It resonates on my night soul Like a tap on a stretched drumskin Gentle, gentle, barely touching the surface My wild self, rusty with disuse, Tingles, rises to my skin Like the stirring of invisible wings It's Wednesday. It's Wednesday. Two drowned sisters float into the news It's Wednesday. Students have blocked our parking space It's Wednesday. It's not like breakfast at Tiffany's It's Wednesday. I think John Clare would have liked Wednesdays It's Wednesday. A solitary robin sang on our rowan tree It's Wednesday. Snowdrops bloom in our garden It's Wednesday. Cruise ships berth in the city's new deep harbour It's Wednesday. A low plane shines like a falling star It's Wednesday. I long for the scent of lilac and honeysuckle It's Wednesday. My ears hold the echoes of bee-speak It's Wednesday. Its children are full of woe It's Wednesday. A burglar cried crocodile tears. The judge said No cigar It's Wednesday. Tanks roll across the world It's Wednesday. Adverts gate crash news film of wars The Liberty Bodice The liberty bodice had rubber buttons Fashioned to preserve warmth Worn over the vest To retain the modesty of nipples On the prepubescent girl A juvenile form of corset Without the whalebone stays My granny wore. Mother said stomaches must be contained They need to be supported Like plants in a greenhouse She said that the big C was on the way, Change was a mystery yet to arrive And that big girls didn't sit on daddy's knee And no more hugs, like I was a pariah At school, handstands were banned Because boys would see our knickers And only bad girls flash their navy undies There was no sex education in the fifties I believed that dandruff was human seeds I wriggled away from boys With flakes of skin on their shoulders Mother said women held the thin red line Because boys couldn't help themselves, poor dears So when one spring day I bled I knew I was dying, that my insides were broken Surprised that the sun stayed up in the sky That girls around played skipping on the grass