Thatcher at the Guildhall

your pupils are hollow
  (o)

between the eyebrows
 w contraction      

a marble nose job
lost in a nostril

 an ear hole
tucked under the coif

muffled by the perm
anent wave

down drawn lines
frame the lip

neck wrinkles
sign a cut

the severity

I think I am being watched

she is safe behind glass
 I am reflected
head height to her waist

bizarre innit?

men in white shirts
black tie and trousers

hello, how are you?
I’m number 6
you’re not a number,
you’re a free man

she is poised

— ready to dash —

a brow beat

against the case

her jacket is ruled in lines
buttoned up

three large
 large
but    tons

what is held back
what cannot be given

book curling
in hand

the law in my grasp

our Stationery Office
taken further away

con    tract   ed      out

White on
            White Paper




Capital attack

Paul K(elleher)
a tHeatre producer/ events organiser
    / unemployed man

arranged A babysitter
for his two year old son

bought a cricket bat/  Slazenger V600
    ((handle in Trousers
     head in cagoule))

ran at the                                           seven foot two
                                                         eyes of white
                                                         marble lady

                                                                                   pings
   
off

seized an iron stanChion/                                   
                eight foot scaffolding pole

                                  aimed for tHe          nose
                                                                                          de
                                                                                             cap
                                                                                                  it
                                                                                                    ate

it was capitation
that removed her
the poll tax
a numbering of heads

Ekleksographia #1

January  2009

Poems

Frances Presley

Frances Presley was born in Derbyshire, and grew up in Lincolnshire and Somerset.  She now lives and works in London.  Her recent books of poetry are Paravane: new and selected poems, 1996–2003 (Salt, 2004) - the title sequence is a response to 9/11/2001, and to the IRA bombsites in London; and Myne: new and selected poems and prose, 1976–2006, (Shearsman Books, 2006) with its innovative explorations of the landscape of Exmoor.  These include ‘Stone settings’, part of a collaboration with the poet Tilla Brading, which realigns archaeological texts and neolithic sites.  Presley has also co-translated the work of the Norwegian poet Hanne Bramness: Salt on the eye, (Shearsman Books, 2007).