Richard Whiting Poems

A daylight-spanning
squabble-fest for food.
Apples upturned and hollowed,
slightly tipsy, wobbling
...

(For Ian Curtis)

for now, the high bidder
I sit, looking out under grey skies
...

You don’t need to know
how I ended up in the mire.
That’s another poem.
What I can tell you
...

And so
on the third day of April
they angle in
low over Landguard Point
...

I wish that I enjoyed life
as much as you.
Welcome in,
you thrill-seeking
...

He stood at my door
with clipboard and oversized rosette.

Ah, he said, Mr Whitting
...

On May 19th 1942, a recording was made in a Surrey garden, of a nightingale in song. Shortly into the recording, a squadron of 191 Lancaster and Wellington Bombers flew overhead. Undaunted, both the sound-recordist and bird carried on to produce a beautiful, yet chilling sound-poem which was later broadcast by the B.B.C.

Eleven of the aircraft flying overhead, did not return.
...

Lennon stands in the queue:
It must be around Christmas 1980,
but one can only guess how long
these things take;
...

Spring. I gather fruit
born on the warm wind
of its opening salvo;
Pine-cones crackle
...

A gentle chyme;
a woman mixes water-colours
for a sunset sketch
her table of bottles
...