Rav Casley Gera

The first day of autumn, on a boulevard cafe (alright, a pub) opposite the British Museum, cider and Guinness flowing… what better time to get a bit creative? Write a line, pass it on. I’ll let you work out who contributed what to which, but your authors were: Nathaniel McMahon, Russell Parton, Huston Gilmore, Duncan McKellar and myself. Oh, and a slightly mad Eastern European woman called Amanda.
*
Weather-beaten
Salt-cracked
Lips
The chiming of bells
Resonate(s)
As I softly provoke you
My sister that fancy hooker
HER STILLETTOS
THEY CAN NEVER
DELIVER
*
the pavement
reflects the lights
neon mingling slowly with tarmac
I’m a Pavement
Walk on me
Talk on me
So long
My dog was a well
rounded chap. He
knew his balls from
his tripe.
CAN I GET UP WITHOUT
A PERSCRIPTION
CAN I GET UP
life and death
day and light
and the pleasures
of an autumn’s
night
if I could bleach
The sky
I’d never die
*
One man strokes
The hair of another
Whilst I pluck my nose
From a distance.
Concealing myself
In the cover
Of a cave (Plato’s)
Fuck philosophy.
What is love but chemicals
in the bloodstream?
Ive intvented chemical
assigned names
Love alludes me
I Feel trapped by you
When you’re dirty
I had song
But that’s no more
so long
SO GO AWAY,
WASH,
MAYBE WE’LL
WIN.
*
A cracked mirror
cracked by Karl
(Marx, that is)
LOOKING FOR THE
CUT N DRY
Paste it on the walls
and lay a wish.
A cockerel lay an eggy
Clipped beak
Don’t speak
I could kill you with a blow
not that you would eve know
*
Cheese!
That’s what ya think I am.
But tomorrow I’ll shine
And then you’ll be mine
ha ha!
And the dogs are getting hungrier
And the lines fatter
but let them eat what’s left
whats left is gone
And in time will be forgotten.
But a moment with it.
And, silently, one Sunday,
you will think of me
and you, and us,
and hate yourself.
This is sixth-form
poetry.