Poem In Which I Up The Ante

On mornings of summons for slandering glaciers
I hole-bolt my narrow margin of feint-lined symmetry,
one hip-flask fancier walloping it clean away. Those days
of gutsy innings, I might play Mah Jongg with mud wrestlers
or ride hotshod, a renegade gonzo packing punches into boxes,
agog at the croc as it pelotons past, fast horizontal question marks
of shave-legged hunchbacks blurring by regardless. That’s often when
I go up a gear, global-position a mangy beach raddled by gangsters,
mongeese grouped in corners, then, rummaging the pant drawer,
scrum sudden into a laden fleet of pick-up trucks, live louche,
perturbed by a unique surge and smitten with wretch-razzle,
garner deserved accolades, place a daisy in lackadaisical.
Afterwards, I’m a sugar fondu sat decoding vibrations,
marmalading the thick-cut moment, vituperatively.
Paul Stephenson


  1. audrey · October 14, 2013

    I loved this poem, the imagery is fantastic –

  2. anita · October 17, 2013

    Brilliant use of language, Paul, great poem!! Wretch-razzle dazzles. Anita x

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s