Little Green Men.

The damp rose with the morning warmth

As little green men flash,

The neon sign that was made to destroy

Night and day,

And the red ones too

Halting fierce ambitions, to get to work

Preventing the momentum of the day,

When it’s only a 5th the way through.


For years before I had missed

Bustling church congregations, five minutes before the hour,

An old Italian truth-holder delivering to many,

Few really hear, he’s not Italian, Hungarian but

Lived there all his life and

A shimmering light whilst he honest hotel lady

Opens up, the place dusty again and the ever-tired

Prostitute shuts windows, pulls blinds, craves oblivion.


And it seems infinitely more can happen

In the heat of the morning, where

Falling leaves cement the groundwork for a while

And the place isn’t informed bout’ the

Infinite scorn of the news, for a while

And the sun rises, cash-tillers groan

Imposters impost, compost dries, giving rise to

Another day, a day of coke bottles in the wind.


Sep 20th 2013.

1 comment
  1. This is highly superior poetry. It deserves wider publication.

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