Saturday, April 1, 2017




These last few years I’ve read a lot
A lot of poetry that tries to be worthy
Rebellious and righteous but then
The poetic A-bomb dropped in the
Shape of a razor, a nasty thrilling work
That told me of old dead Darby Crash
And the ubiquitous Bukowski
All in one book and I knew it was real
As six weeks after it landed I was
Still working my way through it
Unable to read more than ten pages
At a time as his words moved me
Made me think and ultimately question
The validity of our contemporary
Poetry landscape

There are others who are good but none
Reach the standard of those words
Written under the title ‘Better than a Gun
In a Knife Fight’ which is wholly unfair
And a little wide of the mark as I think it
Is more appropriate to say if he walked into
A room filled with the establishment poets
It should have been called ‘Better than an A-bomb in
A schoolyard brawl’ as his words are so much more
Just real and honest and so very strong


It had been the longest of days
At the shit-tip called work
When she threw herself at me
Pleading forgiveness for sins she now regretted
And she knew right away the way to my heart
With the simple offer of a drink in a nearby bar

That all seems so long ago now
Yet in reality only six months have passed
That night she told me stories of peyote
And of losing her mind in Mexico City
It wowed me as so often the mad ones can
As they dance to the disco beat inside their head

Then things got heavy as she became part of my life
The one and only real friend I thought I had
As she dismantled any trust I had in my dearest of friends
A couple of months in and the bomb went off
And some how I knew it would never be the same again
But on we stumbled towards the end

Then one night I slipped up and unleashed her fury
She told me straight that this was the end
And it wasn’t because of what I had said
But simply because she hates too much and for that we can never be friends
If I see her now she could plead and beg but I’ll just tell her
In the easiest of ways fuck off you blew it good riddance until the end


Am I ready for love again?
Or am I just horny to fuck?
I kind of know but I finally found hopefully, maybe, probably one to find out with and maybe just maybe I’ll be proven wrong.
But then again maybe this one is another user as I search my pockets for change to buy yet another round
Wondering why she keeps telling me she likes me whilst she openly and passionately kisses her boyfriend


BRADFORD MIDDLETON: He was born in London in 1971 but eventually found himself in Brighton in 2007 and began writing.  Since then he has over 250 unique publications, including a novel from New Pulp Press and a couple of poetry chapbooks from Crisis Chronicles Press and Holy & Intoxicated Press.  His work is dotted all over the internet and in several magazines and journals.  He tweets occasionally @beatnikbraduk and is on facebook at bradfordmiddleton1.

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