ROMANCE

for H B–W

The problem was math. There was one
and another one. There were a dozen
red carnations, but the math
was six candles plus a rose petal bath
and italian food. Two drank champagne

with fifteen oysters in a station bar.
Work out the cost of brief encounters.
If Jack loves Jenny and the obtuse
angle is ninety-seven degrees,
what is the chance of disaster?

Love is the answer. If Heather loves
Chris, then sixteen hands of gloves
and a couple of rings, eighteen doves
and a kiss, or vows are enough.



This poem was created on commission. Commission your own poem here:
http://www.justgiving.com/Gavin-Hudson1

FRUIT LIFE

for J M–G

I was an ugli fruit. I was a miracle berry.
I was a banana. I became a watermelon.
If the gooseberries are bitching, I become
a grape, a satsuma or an orange, a pear.

When my mother asks why, I reply plum
and kumquat. A punnet of strawberries,
blackberries bursting from thorns.
These are my fruit lies, my pineapples

on the window sill, shouldered by Lemon
Zest Morning Fresh and scouring pads.
I am a mango, a kiwi, a papaya, tomatoes
and you will not juice me until I am ripe. 



This poem was commissioned for charity. You too can commission here
http://www.justgiving.com/Gavin-Hudson1

HAPPY ENDING

for AG

The prince and princess were married,
or not married, or married but only by
common-law, and the frog was involved.

They were married by the turkey who lived
on the hill with a ring on his nose at noon,
or midnight. There were stars, or sunshine,

or rainclouds, a hurricane of weather systems
applauding the marriage. They were blanketed
in snow, or swirled in dandelion seeds,

or eidered in down. The frog turned into
a handsome priest when they kissed his frock,
and the dish sloped off with the laughing dog.




This poem was commissioned for charity. You too can commission here http://www.justgiving.com/Gavin-Hudson1

PHOTOS OF MOLLY ROSE JONES

for SJ

My boss posts photos
of Molly Rose Jones
in a rocker or on a mat

My boss posts photos
of Molly Rose Jones
in a striped onesy and hat

In a rocker or on a mat
Molly Rose Jones
in a striped onesy and hat
Molly Rose Jones

My boss posts photos
of Molly Rose Jones
She smiles she is amazed

My boss posts photos
of Molly Rose Jones
surprised eyebrows raised

She smiles she is amazed
Molly Rose Jones
surprised eyebrows raised
Molly Rose Jones

My boss posts photos
of Molly Rose Jones
in his hands in his lap

My boss posts photos
of Molly Rose Jones
see her laugh and clap

In his hands in his lap
Molly Rose Jones
see her laugh and clap
Molly Rose Jones

See her laugh and clap
in his hands in his lap
Molly Rose Jones
Molly Rose Jones

MEAT JOY

for JM–G

Leopold Bloom ate with relish the inner organs of beasts and fowls
— James Joyce

The gizzards of chickens
are suckled with frenzied
slurps and the bones
are marrowed by tongues
that probe the insides
for gelatinous globs of fat.

Teeth that bit femurs
and ribs and tibias
are gnawing on ulnas
and clavicles, stripping
the flesh from the scraps
to be tossed to the pigs.

Chewing on claws
for the knuckle-meat,
an ecstasy of gristle
and skin that sticks
in teeth like gum
and spills down chins.

AUTOMATIC LOCK IN

for JB

Ten. You are trying to figure out if
you can spell the word crystal with nine
interchangeable tiles without stepping
on the floor. Eight bells need to be rung
to release the crystal. Can you see it?
Can you get it? No! Seven bolts need to be
shot through a portcullis at six moving shields.
Come out! Five strangers are shouting
through sackcloth flaps. Cut the green
wire and get out. Come out! Only four
lives are allowed. Do not drive the car
into the mines or electric fences. Three
crystals and Jonti, a com systems
administrator from Dulwich, is sat in a cell
in Industrial Zone. Time to move on.
Follow me: To the Crystal Dome! 
Two silver. Whistle. Come out. One gold.

MUSCLE

for AM

These are the smoked streaky back bacon men,
flesh pressed against oily cellophane skin,

sausages cooked to burst. Extra lean meat,
joints of beef, sweat on a low oven's heat,

tendons tightening then softening tender
under the striplights. Sheep hearts and liver,

all of the offal that fills out the back
and thighs. Cured, hung for months in a smoke-stack

or salted on hooks in a meat cellar.
Some say the swelling is saline, water

injected under the rinds, ninety-six
percent nothing but oatmeal and sawdust.