Write Lion Poetry: Issue 54

22 September 13 words: Aly Stoneman
Featuring Andrew 'MulletProofPoet' Graves, Rosie Garner, Lord Biro and the Broxtowe Mole
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Illustration: Steve Larder

BEAST
Andrew ‘MulletProofPoet’ Graves


Born out of the boredom
of the Viccy Centre void
a growling new creation
smiles and licks its claws
Crawling from the afterbirth
of Kyle’s lost generation
a Cloughie terrace cry
against the bullshit federation

A column inch promise
drunk with Special Brew plans
in a new age scored
by the Xylophone Man

A mag on a mission
stalks its slab square manor
a takeaway spattered
un-spangled banner
An Arthur Seaton snog,

Real ale smack to the lips,
a cat with combed mane,
guitar and snake-hips

A Shane Meadows framing
anti-dote to fame,
a jamming session fuck-you-all
animal in the rain

A back alley party,
fist fight on the street,
art-house philandering
lonely piece of meat

A love poem spat
to the wrecks in the city,
press pack for the drifters
derelicts and un-pretty

A slang prayer manifesto
slurred from every closed down pub,
a centerfold salute
to every struggling club

A fanzine for the feckless,
dreamers and possessed,
a roaring bastard child
in a battle to the death…

Rain
Rosie Garner


Round here the kids don't mind the rain,
don't try to put it off another day -
it's not as though they were expecting
impromptu river picnics
with hats.

They like the grit shooting up from puddles,
spray cans of mud for the sides of buses,
water spouts on down pipes
painting algae beards on walls.
The rain is one of them.

Flash flood in Basford;
bloke, halfway through his second pint,
sticks his head out the door of the Vernon Hotel,
sees the road gone, kids swimming at the crossings.

He goes back inside until his fifth
and finds the road's come back.
Just a high tide river dance across the tracks,
T-shirts draped on the automatic gates,
trousers looped around lamp posts.

Listen to the boy in class two,
muttering his incantation through the sweat of steam,
listen to them on the playgrounds,
hair streaming, half-blinded, half-drowned,
willing the sky to do its worst.

You'd think the kids round here
had made the rain.

Lord Biro

Dear Mrs Henshell,
hope you like the poem

New Business Venture opens up in Strelley Hall
by the underground poet, the Broxtowe Mole


I woz tunnelling under Strelley when I instantly froze
As the iconic high speed train flashed past mi nose.

It flattened mi missus
In double quick-time.

Moleskin rug up for sale, only £3.99

(as told to Dave Bishop, Candidate Bilborough By Election Elvis Loves Pets Party)

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