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New poems by Christopher Barnes.


A Good Execution?


The turnkey hoists the humdrum

To excessive points of vigilance. Pure white socks

Tremble with milliampers –

He quits dilemma’s horns

For almost fathomless dilly-dallying.


You’re not unique, a somebody

Blindfolded in dark.

At the extreme’s terminal fix,

Perched, tightened in this guilt-cell shaker –

Hang on for stone-dead volts to flash.



a line, (a blue one)


Amy Winehouse


You’re one of the co-dependant divas

Who sorrow-seek in HMV racks

Thumb-twiddling to be played again.


Fluffs, expleting at the crowd,

Underneath sneers

You bail out to the wings.


Nose-diving, impulsive ambivalent,

Hawking at ticket buyers,

Throat cutting mood flaps

At Island Studio.


Blood-doused, bumped

By Camden flashlight.

Stilettoless in bra, denims.


It’s the doormat

Soft-spots you overall.

No tornadoed fettle

To be televised.



a line, (a blue one)


Rula Lenska


Hey Countess

You stump up your bloodline

For the sick

Blue as a Vistula lunar tide.


Buddhism, Botox? Self-importance

Unclotting – no sirree;

Hair flames go to wishy-washy ash

Overwhelmed by an Alberto VO5 hose.


Does that deep-sunk burr

Loom when you sky-rove

A balloon?


And will Chelsea stargazing swirl

As it it’s ’68 for Biba-Nova?



a line, (a blue one)


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