Tony Noon Poems

The cities are cooling;
debuilding themselves
as the year ripens.
...

We are post social here.

The music has lost but
the barman isn't worried.
...

This grey morning smells
of oranges and wet paper.

Bigging up the dawn chorus
...

Not knowing, is the way to touch a star.
Small and half empty you can believe
that across the field and up the hill
you could hold that white light
...

I see the sunny days.
The sober managers of building societies,
banks, maybe. Button bright
in their certain trajectories
...

Wanting to escape is important, of course.


Surprising how many overlook this point.
...

He was playing a Joplin Rag.
Playing the first few bars
over and over.
As if he couldn't move on.
...

As usual it begins with death.

Cops tearing around quiet corners
in hot pursuit of themselves.
...

By the time you read this I will be miles away.
Not miles. That doesn't do justice.
I will be an immensity away. Let me explain.
...

Rake them. Riddle sticks
through cooling embers.
Beds and books burnt
to blackened crisps.
...