Poetry: Selections From Bradford Middleton

…And See No One At All

 

This Tuesday evening I sit pondering pictures

Of the outside world.

That place out there beyond my four walls

And that oddity, our houses’ front door. I sit

Here gazing upon life without people

At photos of isolated idylls, away from

Those who just take and those others

Those damn fakes and finally all those

Who throw it around like some big-time

Oil Sheik.  

 

I’m sick of the lot of them and just

Crave some space away from this

Madness which grips this town now with more

Of a frenzy than I can ever remember

Before.  I sit here gazing at houses on

Loch’s in the north of Scotland and dream

Of having a neighbour whose at least 

Fifteen miles away and the peace it’ll

Bring.

 

But with all that peace and quiet I guess

I’ll need to liven it up.  Full-rig PA 

Blasting Ramones at confused

Shetland ponies should get me started

And a nice bar will help speed things along

But the ultimate glory will come

When I open my door and see no one at all.

 

 

 

Faber And Faber And Poets Like Me

 

A request dropped in on social media and

It left me a little perplexed as I read through

The profile and discovered a quite stunning

Middle-aged woman who, god forbid, worked

For one of them, the enemy, the dreaded Faber

And Faber and she asked how am I doing

Whilst making it known she clearly remembered

Me as my somewhat unusual name means its

Easy for any old nutter to track me down at the

Click of a few keys.  

 

I ain't replied yet because, well ya know, she

Works for the enemy and how can I say to

Her, well I'm a writer; poems and stories are 

What I do, a novel published but you'd have

No idea as it ain't any of that literary fancy-dan

Kinda nonsense that your bosses would love

So much, my words are about madness and sex,

The lives of derelicts and people just like me

 

But then again maybe I should respond and

Just like Bonnie and Clyde we can ride on in

And burn their offices to the ground bringing

The underground front and centre, at last 

Returning poetry and stories to the masses as

At last we make it fun again.

 

 

 

Those Daze Lost To The Bottle 

 

As I sit here on this,

Just another Friday night,

I remember those days,

Those nights,

Hell those weeks, 

Those months,

Those years lost

To the bottle & 

I can only think this,

Yes this, is so much

Better than it was back then.

 

Now when I want a drink

I merely stand and walk to my

Kitchen sideboard and grab

Whatever is available &

That, well that, will most

Certainly do as life moves

On past all the shit pubs

That had somehow come to

Rule this life & as I leave those

Daze behind I know I’ll

Never return to those lost times.

 

 

 

 

 

Bradford Middleton lives in Brighton on England’s south coast. Recent poems have featured in The Good Press’ The Paper, Back Room Poetry ‘Rebel’ anthology, Horror Sleaze Trash, Dreich, Mad Swirl and, of course, right here at A Thin Slice of Anxiety. His most recent chapbook ‘The Whiskey Stings Good Tonight’ was published March ‘23 by the mighty fine Alien Buddha Press.