But They Loved Their Dear Old Mum

But They Loved Their Dear Old Mum

the old outlaws on the big screen

mile end odeon were nostalgically

handsome even their shadows

were larger than life 

but hollywood noir heroes

are thin on the ground down

the ratcliff highway and 

petticoat lane market

every girl worth a second glance

gets the hots for a bad’un it’s an

unwritten rule as is not being a grass to 

the boys in blue

she knows that to twirl a curl and bat 

a lash even for a mystery psychopath

dapper dressed in black is where it’s at 

then down the blind beggar

sipping a port and lemon with

the krays who wore suits from saville row

don’t you know

who were photographed by bailey

were must have guests for 

any hip and happening champagne party

had they not been incarcerated for

another decade or two

there would have been 

a book deal a spread in hello maybe 

even a slot on the telly

god bless our east end villains

salt of the earth

from the very streets jack the ripper 

done his best work

©  P.A.Levy  2012

first published by  Your One Phone Call  2015

                                           

.

Shop Girls

Shop girls
smoke cigarettes for lunch,
exhale gossip on who’s having it off and who’s up the duff,
and what to wear
(giving unrestricted access to all erogenous regions)

Shop girls
talk about fucking
and how they’re in their element gazing up at the stars;
kicking clouds
(have they got enough money left for the morning after pill?)
It serves as an antidote to worrying about varicose veins
or standing on their fallen arches.

Shop girls
chew gum, noisily
can look quite scary with a tightly pulled back ponytail,
and say things like:
“have a nice day” (or “I’ve had him he were shite.”)
“Please come again.”

Shop girls

like to let their hair down without worrying (about gonorrhoea
and chlamydia),
and you can always find them during happy hour
having fun; giggling.
Shop girls
are the salt of the earth
god bless each and everyone.

©2008 P.A.Levy

First published 2010 by Spoken War (magazine closed)

iSlut

i’ll give yer a call in the week

was the last thing he said as the door

closed and his footsteps

faded away into the early morning 

yeah right i’m gonna believe that

but i do every time and make excuses

thousands of excuses that his phone

must be broken or he has run out

of credits and i check my phone

make sure it’s still working

wonder if maybe he is working away

on one of his UN special missions

in some remote place

and can’t get a signal

what if he’s had an accident

and lost his memory or is in a coma 

or press ganged by pirates and forced

to sail the seven seas or even had his identity

stolen and now he doesn’t know 

who he is

then again

perhaps i’m just a slut 

© 2008

First published  The Gut 2009

Image from Cherry Glazerr video 'Wasted Nun'

                                        




The DNA of Carbon

The history of grass,

as churned over into putrid mud,

sets the whistling scythes to work

through freshly ploughed fields.

Crushing the wildness out of flowers 

birdsong lonesome blues

fades to silence.

Howitzer messengers, harbingers of dark yesterdays;

soundbite words from wisdoms, rarefied beads

of dazzling deceptions.  Play follow the leader.

Hypnotic.  Catatonic. Trance don’t dance

when you dance in straight lines. Let’s be beetles;

yeah yeah yeah, let’s be worms.  Compostable truth;

let’s do the squirm, take your partners for the country lust.

Return to sender via last post, they’re autumnally challenged

at half mast and will silently 

eventually

rot away. 

Amen.  

© 2006  P.A.Levy

First published by  A Cappella Zoo 2009