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Tuesday 6 May 2014

Paul Sands

the wrong climate

While the vacant edge might offend the sea
No appointment is necessary
For this mortician sleeping in
Muttered anguish
So many fingers will hold you down 
For only so long
After that you can but grunt in the sculptured forfeit
Of a jealous vessel
Remember though once the rescue is declared heavier 
Than clearly prudent
The hut on the shore will rise even
As the house falls
Enlist the sympathy of the mournful papers
If you wish
Though the slower bayonets will wreak havoc
Greater than those serial promises of denial 
Though leper suitor I may be the
Brevity of my advances was matched only by
Your breath


Rigid truths and squared guarantees
Texture this boy
His morseled fantasies 
The graceless torrent of impotent gods
Wary as the wasp on the chameleon's
Trapeze tongue
For even as the microscope remains
Boxed, in cotton, in woolen peace
Rags may still record
Fidelity's soiled tapestry
Once stung, the swollen speech
Of reason's soured and thickened song
Bastards the condensed apprenticeship
Fields a howling, childish drove where
Dreams so quickly cloud to sheep
I could so easily...shhhh 
You shall not impeach me for the rhymes
That I decline
Paul Sands was born in 1962 and raised close to the River Trent in Nottingham. Working from the age of 16 in the IT industry, between playing in noisy beat combos, for twenty-seven years he was downsized and outsourced in 2006. After dallying with photography he now lives and attempts to work in Lincolnshire.
He self published his first collection of poetry, Ego...Ergo (ISBN 9781471758676), in June 2012. The summer of 2013 saw him publish a second collection entitled Scratch (ISBN 9781291525168)

1 comment:

  1. love the lines "his morseled fantasies" & "Fidelity's soiled tapestry" - do you use a particular methodology?