Doug Jones

from Posts

 

14/7/16

 

“Cock crows, the morning – this world’s unknowable. Each

day, every animal/building, changes her appearance to a

convent + the sun won’t see them. For shame, poor cock –

they asked. Isn’t my face on a force anyway that regulates

my tail, doubles as a religious wall? In house – one of the

residential party, who that day to be viewed, said – it’s like

the gravity inside me is a habit to my soul”

 

20/7/16

 

“Who’s the rowdier – George Hampson, or the lepidoptera

he knew? From close folded Edwardian to unbuttoned fool,

got caught, nailed to the wrong narrative of history. Chap

out, drove to Holy city of his birth with the attitude of

attention, love toward everything in the grass. But his

thought became abstracted, settled, not adequately

descriptive to His moth. Guilt, said the insect. I can’t help

you”

 

31/7/16

 

“Yes Told the wife, one escapes a river by collapsing it,

fled, drain in a cell with no roof. An apparel, tremendous –

who groups, the eye – which contains soul extremity, with

 water. New clothes – in a course, in transparency. ?happier

– wettened against death. Endless transmutation of

garments into her sort articulation, heaven indented Flow.

Diffuse to our human – category in an upstream name”

 

3/8/16

 

“Coal works the river, into tributaries black engine of nature

where she sits at a table, with her phone, spent money on

that, the river – channelized industrial matter where

everyone is employed. Yellow hair grey brown green water

in a dense text she sent to the mine. He’ll not know friend –

re painted, is on her way, drizzled in a recovered charge.

Fine example of a worker who took their 2nd chance”

 

10/8/16

 

“Power Girl TM is conceived, is located between thinking +

writing at that moment, 1st inception of white light of her

superpowers – found matter of articulated, simple

phonemes; facial expression, body language, will to Good

– all made marks on the cult where being is too toothy,

dead fictions too slick. Tell me how I missed this, the right

amount of bounciness, in seeds. What happened to the

lost arts?”

 

17/8/16

 

“4 tires, stop phase of the cycle lights at this po’ boy’s

vague body. Mordant, many biting eyes on the face at the

red, sweat running down, an ache to peep from behind the

veil of his corporality. Immense intersection, calmed – with

everything he’s ever likely to say or do written on back of

such chance – Beau, sees the stem of the country in lights

– a spike on an exhaustive car – the sun. champ”

 

24/8/16

 

“My golden girl has eaten her meat + coughed it all back.

For under the walls this maid with her back, bout, poorly

collected some myrrh – defended it, badly, then sat in her

room. Her aroma is released to the papers, the suits –

such scents. They all went back to live in the dark green

trees - + left you along the side of road, playing an

interminable game. It’s time, Swaffham Polly – without sin,

or son”

 

31/8/16

 

“Lower ½ of a Lowestoft dog, scrutinise it, closely –

consider the efficacy of the words you have as its

evidence.. can it share the special, exempt perceptions of

the head, throat? No – it’s drawn on only, an execution by

many hands. So if the whole were found guilty, by law – of

some absence, or the like – who’s to say the

condemnation’s unjust? But think of the dog’s eyes –

they’re like a seed”

 

7/9/16

 

“Too clean room. china dog in it. Everything can be seen

from a long way. There’s many similar creatures

accommodated all round town, painted eyes filled with a

disconcerted conscientiousness about what it once meant

to be able to breathe. To wonder what it’ll mean, one day,

to freely rally everything most material about themselves.

To meet outside with some intimate figurine, a ghost”

Doug was born in Romford and initially studied English at Warwick, he then completed an MPhil on the poet Bill Griffiths. While doing his MPhil he fell in with Bob Cobbing’s Writers Forum group – which was a huge influence. After college, he worked as a nurse in east London for many years and then as a doctor in Norfolk. He is married with 2 children and is currently working as a GP in Yarmouth. He has published two poetry books with Veer. Work has also appeared in datableed, VLAK, Junction Box – as well as a few other places.

© 2018 Colin Herd and all the individual poets

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