5 poems by Andrew Taylor

Best Served Ice Cold

Beyond the yard fields scrub
and electric fence

near a plane takes off
while one lands

this room is quietness

in the bag is a packet of paracetamol

the drink is refreshment
it contains natural flavourings

flavouring caffeine

along the ridge runs a long red train
slowly following an amber signal

while out there somewhere
there is a heart with my name
etched on to it


Endanger Fencin

A blinding division walk the Brecon Beacons
amongst pale horses at Easter

creatures caught in traps shot in the back
of the head a countryside of carnage

from the beginning hotels near Heathrow
twenty four hour rolling news

a chance to study war how I’d have liked you
to walk with me around cities at night

drinking whiskey and listening to shock
radio like a bad mistake I ponder

anonymous scream pilots descend
at half mile intervals in a seated night

I was unaware that you would wait for me
like the ghost ration of a slow light I isolate


Washing Day

Light rain brings with it the smell
of the earth though in the city it's mixed

with fumes this slow walk through
back streets past shuttered shops

and corners where memories lurk
attempt to wring some kind of response

Hope Street white steps lit heaven bound
red spilling neon from the Everyman

Leave to drive escape those furies that loiter
and want to drag me through the mill again

Be gone

Slashed light at 11.30 pm tells its own time
over bridges and out to sea I see Christmases

past waiting for a return



The bang of the bee

Tapping at 6.00 a.m. French windows
except I'm not in France

Clouds are low for June yesterday Marta
complained about the weather

The bee tries to gain access flies off in a huff
the tea is slightly milky

The flowers that Antoine bought are
lasting well I think it's the vase

High skirting boards low window frames
a quietness enhanced by foliage

If Rachel was here she'd talk to the bee
and I'd take her for ice cream afterwards

Instead the goldfinch appears bringing
a recognizable song


Please leave the Kitchen thank you

Refuge the glow of vending machine
red a century logo

Such familiarity

mobile telephones must be switched off
Before entering

Ignored

Slight hum of rat's piss

It looks like the Starship Enterprise

Surfers crash the wave
with paparazzi in bushes
a desire to be sought and found

Selling face value ticket to a wide
kohl eyed EMO at an intimate Killers
gig
before they went stellar

30/11/03 Warwick 26/5/05 Liverpool

"oh look it's a bra" Chorley accent
amidst the madness

If music be the food of love
I thank it for its help
the strings the swells

cold rooms
in Bootle the role it played

in warming
me

like Jonsi beavering away
on his laptop making music
through necessity


Andrew Taylor is a Liverpool poet and co-editor of erbacce and erbacce-press. His latest collection comes from The Knives Forks and Spoons Press. Poems have recently appeared in Calliope Nerve, The Camel Saloon, MUST and Durable Goods. He has a PhD in Poetry and Poetics.