Poetry from Marc Carver




My mother always put on a posh voice when she answered the phone

unless it was his sister

Your sister is on the phone she would say.

His face would light up

like at no other time

and he would run out to the phone.

Grab the phone and put his hand straight down his pants.

Big smile on his face

He never put his hand down his pants when he talked to anybody else.

Guess he really loved his sister.



The young Polish girl on the beach told the same story to the young man she had just told to the polish girl

the only difference being that she told her in Polish.

All I heard was the pepperoni and the salami but it was enough.

The clouds have rolled in from the sea now

and I get up to go.

Just as well I have no desire to hear that story again

In English

or Polish

Pepperoni and Salami



I am just a man

not an honest man

not a particularly good man

I drink

I fornicate

I do very little

but every day I have a hope

that I can change

I can become that butterfly

I can bring something

so great to the world

that everybody will accept it

so you see that is why I write

and that is why I can never become a Christian

as much as I want to believe that

that guy died on the cross to save the world from sin

to give everybody the chance to start again

as each new day starts I believe I really can be different

but know most days will end in the same ultimate fashion

so it is a circle

one that cannot be broken

not for a man

or a god











there it is

it is everywhere

but nobody looks too much

me I look

and sometimes I see

and I can feel it too.

The birds sing in Cantonese

a certain woman has a certain sweetness

the swirling white helicopters that

come from the lollipop flowers

sweep the garden

and all seems right with the world

just for a little bit

but it is






I wonder what people see

when they look into my eyes




an idiot

A possible murderer

They try to escape

but I hold them in for as long as I can

I don’t know why

perhaps it is  so I know I am alive.




I went into the coffee shop

the guy took my order

and asked my name.

I looked at his name tag

it was Luke

Between us we have half the gospels I told him

He told me the coffee would be at the end.

No religious conversations today







I sat in the café

nursing one of those drunk twice in one day hangovers

watching all the people talking about who knows what

watching clouds roll by as I run one lip against the other.

As I left

I wondered why I shaved my beard off

then I remembered

free will is not all it is cracked up to be.






I walk past two young women

sat on the floor

one looks at me and says

He is not a very nice man.

I say me

I am lovely.

She doesn’t reply

but I think she may know me better

than I know myself



I had to die so I could be reborn

that part of me is dead forever now.

He will never come back

can’t say I liked him much

filled with self doubt and pity

searching for excuses and settling for an easy life.

No I’m glad to be shot of him

now I can truly be who I want to be.

Hang on

who is that knocking on the door