Clive Culverhouse Poems

you wore the flickering room
like a robe, its shadows fitting
to your skin like mist
we were the wolf
...

a friend of your friend
whose friend let slip to me
of a man whose desire
is to become a ghost
...

poetry has rarely needed me

but every now and then I try
and get its attention
...

you always had a way with words
like Amsterdam
whose running rhymes
of bicycles and harpsichords
...

I'm a flower tickler
with a flower tickler's thumb
like my dog before me
although he's more of a philanthropist
...

Jack
a flash of green
play your jaw harp
along with me
...

my long grey trunk
and thick greying skin
is finally
wearing thin
...

dude, by eastern tide
bang your drum
skin sound
like carcasses in the rain
...

along,
a wrong and lonesome man
at pace,
his place, through days, at least
...

A tree grows tall
grows strong
braves all
the good
...