Help

Here am I
struggling
to jump
this stream,
and over there
is the Humber bridge.


The Surface

Last night, this river froze over,
and on its surface
are beer bottles, cans,
paper cups and plastic bags,
as if all waiting
for it to melt,
which, of course,
it will.


Fear

My son runs down the stairs,
there’s a spider in the bathroom, kill it.

After some time, I find one.
Is this it? It’s tiny.

Don’t show it me. I’m scared.
Why? He keeps his distance.

Cos it could disappear at any moment,
but still be there.


Checks

I’d never have bought
one of these shirts
with their bold checks.

And when people said
how nice I looked
in one of them,
I'd reply it was a present
from my mum.

(My mum,
who I’d been closest to
until nine and her affair.)

Now, there are no more
to unwrap,
and I can be myself
all the time,
though they
were always
the favourite part of me.


curves

love’s this old
iron fence,
some curves
rusted fully through -

lines, like when
a sketch,
now completed
by what
they suggest


my poems

often
seem to me
like
that new tv
my tv
is trying to convince
me to buy

with its sound and resolution
trapped inside
the inferior
sound and resolution
of mine

Tristan Moss
 
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Tristan Moss would be pleased to hear them.