Sandy Player Poems

It tastes sweet,
A syrupy figure of strawberry juice
Spiralling like a typhoon in the glass,
Tastes sweet as I kiss the rim
...

Why do I ask where to go
When caught like the wolf
Who licks an eskimo's sword?
...

I give my eyes to the stairs as I ascend,
They seem not to be steps, steps, steps, steps,
But one sheet of inclined metal
Willing me to misplace my left foot and slip.
...

My love is a red, red pool.
Sanguine infact.
Not a puddle, but a pool,
Something that you can immerse yourself in,
...

My faint white wardrobe
Opened with two scarlet handles,
The clothes are on the inside,
Cotton, some silk, housing legions of you.
...

They lead him on,
Black wool lamb up the brown-green stepped hill
To the crookèd tree that
Bends with broken body.
...

The Children make a change of clothing;
Tightening up red scarves
And displaying hats as if helmets.
Their grandparents stay inside as they gear up.
...

I seem to spend my life
Dangling the bath-plug over the hole;
Moving it up and down
Like I'm teasing a rotweiler.
...

Pressed up to a cold radiator,
The curtains drawn over the day
Brushing his back
And erasing the golden gloat,
...

They've put me back together again.
Staples and paper making up for skin,
Each perscription another dry and thin sheet.
...