POEM: Drum Fire


my restless fingers comb the surface

of this animal’s tight skin-

these fingers crack, these fingers flex-

sparks fly from my fingertips…


summoning the sullen beast’s power

into my heart, I can feel the ache

of its final mournful cry-

gentle bulk swaying,

great udders shaking,

final breath expelled in an anguished sigh


the fire builds up inside me,

the smoke fills my lungs,

deep oxygen breaths

catch the flickering flames

and lick them into life-

as living fiery words

that fall from my mouth


this rhythm that I build

is the rhythm of its heartbeat

but my heart is beating

to a different drum-

I close my eyes and dream


close my eyes and dream

close my eyes and dream

close my eyes and dream

of the fire to come….



you tore me into



I hung, on a broken stick

in rags and tatters,

a teeth-chattering scarecrow

on a rusty hook


my eyes torn holes

in a stiff black curtain flapping

pointlessly in space





pecked-at by thin black crows

seconds before the crash came

you pushed me out. Now,

as I pull the ripcord,

I prepare myself to float

down into the ripe

and ready butterflies


more poems at http://www.chrisgregory.org/poems/poems.htm

Any comments greatly appreciated at chris@chrisgregory.org


POEM: Hero

his eyes, full and enraged

like two moons. The smoke

from the corner of his mouth

slick like Bogart, cool like Bacall

the trilby turned down, the

moustache and the leer, the

raised eyebrow, the flash

of the teeth in monochrome

endlessly rerun, he is a patchwork

of black and white dots, a form

twisted out of turn by time,

distorted slyly by space

framed by the outlines of the screen,

jammed in his room, finger twitching,

he shrinks to the point of nothingness

and disappears, still cool, unfazed


POEM: Gypsy Blood





You must have gypsy blood-

The way you sing that song

And toss back your hair-

The way your body swirls

To the pounding throb

Of the gypsy drums

And the violin…

You catch the fiddler’s eye

In the candle’s gleam

As you take three steps back

Into shadowland-

As the voices call you back

To your gypsy home,

Your eyes burn the dark

With a wild flame,

And you grit your teeth

On a thorny rose

As the coal-black night

Throws a cloak of stars

Around your shaking limbs…

You take another step

Into my line of sight

And laughing, snarling, defiant

You step out into the light-

You must have gypsy blood,

The way you sing that song

To the open road and the open sky,

The way that candle flame

Catches a secret corner

Of your roving eye-

And I wait, watching

My transported image

Burning within-

I wait, mesmerised

For our dance to begin…



POEM: Great White Whale 5) The Whiteness Of The Whale


Ahab’s leg was ripped away,

His manhood ruptured by the rage

Of an elemental force of nature,



Snow-blinded by an icy shadow

That slowly terrorised the sky

An all embracing whiteness fell

Upon his eyes


The light of God departed

And Ahab stood alone,

The sun dropped into the ocean

Like a stone


Day and night, he never rested.

Fixated on his goal,

The whiteness had eaten deep

Into his soul


For years he roamed the oceans

Under countless unfurled sails

Until finally he stood face to face

With the whale


Soaring up high above the storm

Tossed waves, his nemesis

Confronted him with the darkest

Secret kiss


The voice that roars inside us

Can never be killed or tamed

Or captured or constricted

By a name




andy and marilyn were made

for each other:

he dressed her,

bedecked her

in her funeral flowers-

he was a weed,

she was a doll,

in his hands

the imprint

of her smile,


from the mona lisa-

across her mouth

a smudged, blood-red gash



he loved her,

he wanted her,

so he fed her

into his factory,

and off the reproduction line

she came,

still smiling,

that same fixed transparent smile

that same fixed transparent smile

that same fixed transparent smile…


andy cried

as the images multiplied-

somewhere in the process

his love for her had died.




The bodies lie


In democratic rows

As the switches

Are thrown

One by one

And the blood flows

A million silent mouse clicks

Making an aggregate,

A figure to weigh in calculation.

Today it is down

Against pork rinds and frozen steaks


The price of the blood,

Is fixed on invisible scales,

It has been weighed

And measured, fitted tightly

Into sealed sterilised capsules,

Flown across the world in no time


Now the tubes are hooked up

To thousands

Of life support machines.



It will be pumping,

Gushing like thick black

Spurting oil

Into our homes, the corpuscles

Merging and mixing,

Circulating into a billion

New homes


Its worth

Precisely calculated;

Its energy

Fuelling our hearts


MORE POEMS AT http://www.chrisgregory.org/poems/ 

I’d be interested in anyone’s responses to this or anything else on this blog.

Email me and let me know.




Ol’ Glory is a-flyin’ now

In that breeze that never ceases,

My heart it fairly bursts with pride

As the heavenly wind increases


The stars and stripes are way up high,

Over Macdonalds and The 7-11,

Things have really gotten goin’

Since we invaded heaven


Long ago it all got written down

In the book of revelations,

It was the Lord himself who allowed

We was the chosen nation


Well, we could-a mobilised the marine corps,

But we’d had enough sittin’ and waitin’

We just wheeled them beauties outa them silos..

Yep, we nuked that bastard Satan


In his divine wisdom, his holiness and grace,

The Lord he said we done his work so well,

He gave us the mineral rights and contracts

For the exclusive exploitation of hell


But then, goddammit. he tried to stop us

Gettin’ in on his territory,

He didn’t want no commercialisation,

Leastways, that was his story…


Well, we begged, we pleaded him

To let in our corporations,

We even tried to get a resolution

At the United Nations


Now, we never wanted to cause no fuss,

Or start no unholy ruction,

But we just had to point out that his thunderbolts

Were weapons of mass destruction


We also had do tell him that though he ruled

By a process of divine selection,

When our marines had taken over

He’d have to stand for election..


Anyways, the work was done

In a couple of weeks we’d freed his nation,

With our precision-guided missiles

We’d kick-started heaven’s liberation


Well, as you might well expect

We met just a little resistance,

So if you see any of them renegade archangels

We’d be happy for your assistance.


Ol’ Glory is a-flyin’ now,

On this proud and wondrous day,

The Lord himself is tied up and bound

Behind the wire at Guantanamo Bay


MORE POEMS AT http://www.chrisgregory.org/poems/ 






POEM: GREAT WHITE WHALE 2) Even The Doctors Cried


Even the doctors cried, they said.

Even the doctors, their emotions

Cauterised by having to deal

With endless

Lines of  hopeless cases,

Even the doctors,

With their dead eyes

And blank expressions,

Kalashnikovs slung over their shoulders,

To stop the gangs of hungry looters

Coming to the hospital to steal

The food from the dying patients,

Even the doctors cried, they said

Because he was so beautiful.


The boy lay on a filthy towel

His arms blown off, his eyes

Vast pools of bewildered

Fear and nameless wonder,

All his loved ones reduced

To collateral dust, his universe

Collapsed, sucked back

Into a big bang

Of dying stars in reverse.

Even the doctors cried, they said

Because he was so beautiful


All the boy could see

Was a blur of flashing cameras.

Each syndicated photo flashed around a world

In awe of him

Because he was so beautiful


The commentators crowded round him

Bidding for first preference on his soul,

Because he was so beautiful


Even the doctors cried, they said.

His face, radiant

His eyes, focused

On a land

So far away, glimpsing

A picture that cannot be taken

A soul

That cannot be stolen,


In the glare of the unforgiving

Camera eye.


All he could see were the bright

Faces of angels,

Waiting in paradise for him,

Waiting to deliver him

From this waking dream.

So he could live for ever

With his father and his brother

And his beautiful mother

Dancing in the never ending

Light of Allah’s eyes..


Even the doctors cried, they said.

Because he was so beautiful.


MORE POEMS AT http://www.chrisgregory.org/poems/