Andrew Franks
Poems of weeks gone by...
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Eton Mess - A Recipe
Take one overblown sense of self-importance and add in a deep-seated loathing for anyone other than the ruling class.
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Mix in the following:
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Lashings of Racism
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2 tbsp Contempt
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4oz Butter
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3 dozen raw Bigots (preferably Home Counties)
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1 Watermelon
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An annoying inability to listen to any other voice then their own
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Half a bottle of vanity
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Some freshly sliced unpalatable views
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8 buckets of Sugar
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Sprinkle with a bizarre vision of 19th century Britain as some kind of magnificent Utopia
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All of which should then be placed clumsily on the base of a decidedly unhealthy attitude towards women.
Then simply add the ability to lie until quite red, white & blue in the face.
Allow to stand for 5 years occasionally stirring until well and truly stuffed.
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17th July 2019
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Newsflash... St Valentine's Press Conference scheduled for Midday.​
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That time of year
creaking with rust.
Tears torn from
the pages of history
strewn over
channel smash'd pebbles at
Seaford Head.
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St Valentine
greying at the temples
but ok for his age.
Shipping forecast
echoing in the warm glow
of a distant morning.
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He finishes his toast
and scans the words
before him.
Same story as last year
same as the year before
- it's the same
all the way back, he admitted...
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'Always have, always will'
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He knows that the only upside is ...
She'll never read them!
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14th February 2019
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I bring sad news from the Old Country
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Dismantled.
Touchdown Heathrow,
disentangle mangled flight mind
Those of you who are sitting
on the left-hand side of the plane
will get a good view of the city
going up in smoke
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Those of you who are sitting
on the right-hand side of the plane
will see nothing but real estate
opportunities
Express train from tarmac to smoke black… We are expecting a good service
on all other lines
We apologise that we shall not be stopping at Liberty Central
Unity Parkway
Freedom
I bring sad news from the Old Country
I bring mad news from the Old Country
I bring bitterness from the Old Country
I bring torment from the Old Country
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Feel free to lie
The faith we place in truth, the value we attach to honesty or the promise of integrity...
Traded like football cards, bought and sold like bubble gum and spat out on the street...
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meanwhile the coffee shop counterfeits praise change, hail the shake up and delight in the latest atrocity...
If anyone asks 'are things really as bad as all that?'
Feel free to lie!​
(after the US midterms November 2018)
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Listening to Histoire de Melody Nelson the day after the night
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And he takes his anger out on
the bass line
​
he pummels the day before with
the bass line
​
he finds sanctuary in the depths of
the bass line
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for without it
he is now... nothing
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Karoshi
(for Matsui Takahashi et al.)
Another two hours
and then
a break, some respite
a walk around
my desk
​
another long hour
and then
the trip to the cooler
a whole cup
of water
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another silent day
for them
my apartment, a sleep
the deepest sleep
I'm done.
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Out of season
The tied down sunbrellas stand guard
smudge tired cocktail glasses
still hover around the edge of the mosquito pool
the exhaustion painted onto every sun charred face
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The bar is running low
the nearest town is 15 miles away
there are only two dry packets of cigarettes left to last the whole month
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Hotels occupy every space from
the Old Kent Road to Mayfair
There are no more questions
left to answer
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'cept one
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Where did everyone go?
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Highlights lowlights - Part XIII
The sun settled in
to the autumn morning
as the sea breeze sidled up street down street
side street
all sort of nor-easterly
pulling faces and pulling hair.
Meanwhile...
We've got nothing to worry about
we've got nothing to do
no promises to keep
no commitments to honour
only elections to rig
camps to dismantle
AK-47's to sell
drugs to distribute
taxes to dodge
legacies to (su)stain
and beautiful days to ignore.
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Monday Morning Modern
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Head down
Lambretta grip
Persol shielding
night-stung eyes
casino aspirations
still sway
inside the empty
ballroom of your heart
Rickenbackers flailing midair
as the feedback howls
through your chilled soul
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"It shouldn't have ended here
I reckon we had another
three albums and a farewell tour
of the states left in us..."
VOX AC30 smashed onstage
as her feedback howls
through your chilled soul
Schizopoet (snippet)
I was trying to write a poem about the inevitable demise
but I kept coming back to you
I was trying to find a rhyme for displacement
but I kept coming back to you
I was skimming stones off the waves in my head
but I kept coming back to you
I was looking out at the perpetual procession
but I kept coming back to you
I meant to sort the bamboo out
but I kept coming back to you
I tried to write another dystopian horror script
but I kept coming back to you
I meant to set up that political party I’ve been harping on about
but I kept coming back to you
I kept coming back to you
Melting
​
It happens slowly
like ice melting in Whisky…
God was in a bar
He was drunk
He was angry
He was resentful
He had no purpose in life
He had enough money
for 2 months rent
or a road trip
“What are you doing with your life?”
The barman punted the question out into the ether,
waiting for God to pick up the thread.
No answer was forthcoming.
Echoes of a lost city
They used to kiss each other goodnight here, they used to hold their loved ones close and their lovers closer still...
Trams rattling down nocturnal tracks, waves stretching out over silver sand,
marble statues lying neutered amidst the rusting roadsigns and empty parking lots.
The brass plaque from the war memorial slumped against the derelict library wall.
They used to kiss each other goodnight here, they used to hold their loved ones close and their lovers closer still...
7/4/2015
Mission Ravilious
Night reconnaissance over vellum,
morning missions rise over woodcut,
typeset ambush in neat Sussex lanes,
camouflaged print raid
caught in lighthouse glare,
as watercolour clouds
drench a downland lair.
...From Beddingham to Reykjavík
forever a man on a mission.
23/03/2015
Carnival
Fairground phantoms
clattering around
the empty recreation ground
lost yells of the blue stratos generation
backing the accapella cry of a Cinzano fuelled torch singer
"I know you are in there
I can see your silhouette
I saw you switch the light off
I heard you turn the music down..."
A crystal night indeed
when the carnival
came to town.
09/03/2015
Lemon Juice, Disque Bleu
Lemon juice dripped
from wet hair
blanching in the midi sun
turn back
turned olive black
near parched Godot tree
manure blot landscape
dead meat scent
mixed with dry hay
opened this bottle
drunk that drink
sat on those steps
prayed to the other god
long days baked in harsh light
the fields yellow with summer
Disque Bleu smoke drifted
through breast focus eyeline
Peugeot exhaust settles on the
first crisp morning beer
and your eyes
charcoal black
glisten
with tears...
26/2/2015
Splintering
The first meteor shower
came at lunchtime
That was the most
unexpected thing
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It should have come
after the golden shield
had been usurped
by the glimmer of night
but no, there they were
splintering as they fell
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black tears
on grey streets
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16/02/2015
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Burned Wine
And then it came to me
I had my very own brand epiphany
everyone is having them
and well,
now I’ve had mine.
I’m an after-dinner poet
aged in a wooden cask
caramel coloured
burned wine.
Therefore
you beautiful artists
paint me large.
Yes you
you wonderful performers
write me tall
for
I am brAndy
9/2/2015
Ex-Prime Minister Monday Morning Job Seeker
Sunday night sick to the pit
of your churning stomach.
Unable to eat or sleep,
wondering when you'll get the call.
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Can't bring yourself to go to bed,
can't bear the thought of staying awake.
Wishing it would all be over...
Not long now Tony
Not long now
2/1/2015
In days like his
(for David Andrade - Founder of the Melbourne Anarchists Club)
In days like his…
One can’t help but feel
that in amongst
the pipe smoke,
the chin stroke,
the gin soak
that what he really wanted to say was…
Up against the wall Motherfuckers,
this is a stick up!
25/1/2015