Clive Culverhouse Poems

steering blatant revelries, ghouls engaged to death
chomping down streetlight openings in bitter stone
bow walled yew tree drifters, steps of many feet in
shallow parade to pew, the kneel cushion's betrayal
...

blues and greens, gently trickle out of the day
night's henchmen, shadows gather on corners
demise looms in leaking squalor, exsanguinate
remorseless swelling of silhouettes, cardboard
...

it's teeth
some jaw around
my head, biting
baiting an air beast
...

woodland wild conceals the sasquatch
wire-fur man, to hunters, a scarce watch
runaround trails remains the sassy catch
if only, if only... but bigfoot strides quick
...

solemnly breathless in behemoth miasma
effect starts playing havoc with my asthma
dropped in a world of despair, me as well
carrying dark in darkness - more is more
...

old map
old man…
there was a time
when roads, paths
...

a yearning of alabaster guilt given birth
from this mouth of words mesmerising
like rings of Saturn, behold encroached
by your retort, cutting if not comic, life
...

metallic skimming
through rippling playground's advent
dive, this bullet, dive
why electric matadors
...

and all pointed agog, eyes, the city in the sky
this towering colossus held up by ecru clouds
ensemble reaching disbelief itself... jacketed
in jolted hearts staring from below, that hum
...

we stood
were well

you pushed
...