Untouchable
On my recent trip
to Gujarat
I took
numerous
pretty photographs
of Modhera
Palitana
Dwarka
The White Desert
and other pretty places
but
the image
I can’t delete
from my heart
my hard drive
is of a ragged street child
at Vastrapur Lake
who stepped out
from the promenading crowd
raised
his left
index finger
into the stifling
late afternoon
air
and drew
a rectangle
to take
an imaginary selfie
with me
© Andy Conner
Food For Thought
‘A poem was never worth as much as a dinner’
Joseph Berchoux, poet, his works include ‘La Gastronomie’
as a poet
prudently healthy
in rickety, food bank Britain
(and is the rest of the
well stocked world
any different?)
I don’t have a guilty conscience
but I feel conscientiously guilty
if my words could really be eaten
I would write
ravenously
voraciously
if every verbal flourish
could nourish
those who are rumbling
for a bellyful more than culture
those picked clean
by vultures
and there’s the rub
the salt in the wound
grind it in deeply
(we absorb it all so deeply)
my fine company
of budget line activists
breadline raconteurs
(I’m not trying to cod you
my situation
is anywhere near the worst)
Heaney
harvester
of solid Irish staples
potatoes and milk
not the faintest scrape of famine
in his wholesome words
Hughes
cruelly organic
the leanest meat
visceral
dripping
no time for pretty packaging
Ferlinghetti
spaghetti lines
to the very end of the horizon
non-perishable
easily digestible
accessible to all
(and at his side
Ginsberg
plentiful enough
to keep the little ones from howling)
Caribbean Nichols
succulent
a feast of natural sugars
indulge
salivate
an extra serving of laureates
Armitage
carefully measured rations
home delivered with a joke
with compassion
citric Duffy
acid tongued fount of vitamin c
(for vit d
how about The Bard himself
a delightful punnet of summer
if ever there was one)
this menu isn’t only set in the west
arigato
Haiku
compact yet perfectly balanced
all you need
in a single mouthful
served with rice paper
exquisiteness
am I being too serious
too po-faced
dip into Ayres
scoffed at as candyfloss
who doesn’t need
an occasional sweet treat
just remember to brush your teeth
a bit too much to swallow
a dry throat croak
swig Dharker’s blessing
of H20
certified safe
for all to consume
or if so disposed
imbibe the spirits
of Thomas and Behan
two true drops of the hard stuff
if words could really be eaten
maybe it would be different
in France
where Michelin starred poets traipse away
to prosaic jobs
tales between their legs
mutts without bones
and will it leave a bad taste
if I fish for a miracle
wonder
if Plath might have
changed her mind
savoured
the unleavened verse
she was preparing
set it aside to rest
saved the oven for baking
© Andy Conner
Love In…
Today
in McDonalds
I saw…
A woman
with a face
like the sludge
on her boots
A man spitting
into a plastic cup
A man
chastise his son
with the C word
A woman
forgotten
by hope
A backside
that never savours home cooking
A pair
of cracked statues
A guy talking into his phone
as if
he were alone
A woman
forgotten
by everyone
Their kids all ate happy meals
© Andy Conner