A London Vampire

I've written a story consisting of 26 poems about a London vampire. I recited the full poem for the first time at the Servant Jazz Quarters, Dalston, as part of a Nutshell magazine fund-raiser. 2 of the poems feature in Magma 58. I recited these and one other from the collection at the Magma 58 launch, which took place at the London Review of Books Bookshop. Simon Armitage also read at the event from his forthcoming translation of the late 14th Century Middle English poem Pearl.

Trouble, Cat Stevens cover

Iambic pentameter

Poem in iambic pentameter. I wrote this years ago.

The Loveless

We travel fast who know not love nor life,
Grow stronger now that autumn fires are near,
Dark nights conceal us as we walk the town,
Sip cocktails in some gloomy basement bar,
And deathly pale suck pleasure from the air.

You may have seen us roaming in the Strand,
Across the platform standing for a train,
We smoke despite the metro's warning signs,
Laugh coldly when the rats come out to play,
And vanish underground when daylight comes.

There are no midnight stars that burn as hard,
Our shortened lives are wild with senseless deeds,
The double weight we carry drags us down,
We travellers in the night who know not love,
We travellers in the night who know not life.

Doctor Doom

Doom. Live on YouTube. Gucci-suited,
telling the fans they’re what matters
again. You’re done, the hotel’s sent up
the wrong ice & you level the building.
It’s jut beautiful, you share with Time,
what pain & misunderstandings teach us.

Everyone wants a piece of you. They love
your Latverian trill, they love the iron mask.
You get DOOM inked on your knuckles.
From one angle it looks like DOOR.
A photo goes viral - KNOB on your other hand.
Doctor Knob! A small boy yells & yells.  

You torched him in self-defence you find
yourself briefing a global press conference.

A black week. Blank about status updates
you charge a flunky to post for you
then fret he’ll make basic spelling gaffes.
Half the responses are phone numbers.
The rest want to know if you’re bulletproof.
You’re not bulletproof. You’ve had some work done

& afraid to go out rattle round the empty castle
on rollerblades. You’re a prisoner of fame.
You hate the fans. All the time you burn
to confess you’re not a qualified doctor.

Busking on the South Bank #2

Got responses from both Simon Hughes' office, and Peter John, saying they'd look into my query about Southwark's busking policy. Encouraged by this, I returned to the South Bank on Sunday 12th August for another session. This time, I was stopped by two plainclothes guys with Southwark badges in their wallets. They made a note of my address, and said they were happy for me to recite my poetry, but that it was illegal for me to sell any copies of my poetry pamphlet. So much for private enterprise. Which department do these men work for? Why is it necessary for them to patrol the South Bank in addition to the police, who are heavily present, and the armies of stewards? At what expense to the public finances are they maintained? What is the public mandate for preventing performance artists selling their work on the streets?

Busking on the South Bank

On Sunday 29th July I was asked by two police officers to stop poetry-busking on the South Bank (opposite Tate Modern) on the grounds that 'Southwark doesn't allow busking'. The police suggested I move to Lambeth where busking is apparently not unlawful. Such a regulation seems arbitrary and illiberal. On what grounds can busking be not allowed, if it is not disturbing the peace, or inciting to hatred? How can it be allowed in one borough but not another? What is the legal framework which the council has employed to support this regulation? I have written to Southwark council, and also to Peter John (leader of Southwark Council), and to the MP for Bermondsey and Old Southwark, Simon Hughes, requesting an explanation of this policy.

Tales of Paradise City

I've created a new tumblr for my sci-fi poems: http://talesofparadisecity.tumblr.com