Wild Bill Balding Poems

hormonal soup
pulsing, congealing;
chrysalis carapace
throbbing, cracking;
...

God is a verb, not a noun:
'I am who I am,
I will be who I will be.'
...

My spirit paces like a captive bear,
set limits by a fence of tempered steel,
that with its shadows marks its deadening seal
on concrete ground that passes for my lair.
...

Why is it when I'm doing what dogs do,
what dogs are designed to do,
then I'm a Bad Dog?
...

I want you, but can I trust you?
The things you say excite me,
but I’ve heard them said before:
sweet words dry up too soon,
...

The fridge sits purring happily
in the corner of my kitchen,
well-behaved, domesticated,
house-trained even.
...

(On seeing Umberto Boccioni's 1911 painting 'States of Mind-The Farewells')

Couples kiss in khaki shadows,
cascading into carriages' cavernous mouths.
...

Prussian, powder, ultramarine,
cerulean and idanthrene,
manganese, monestial,
turquoise, navy, duck egg, royal,
...

Into the warm, inviting yellow
twists a brush loaded with blue.
Surprised, suspicious,
the shades swirl round each other,
...

Will wants to be a TV presenter,
Matthew a cricketer, Charlotte a nurse.
Nathan has his heart set on being a mechanic
- and Gareth wants to be a crayon.
...