My Faverit Random Poem

Boston Bombing

What haunts you after an explosion

Is the eggshell nature of things,

The art forms and the dreams of madness:

The red pools, the Jackson Pollock zigzags

On grey paving slabs;

The houses sliced like cake; paper doorways;

The darkness, shock and night snapped shut

Like a pocket watch whose machinery

May be glimpsed like anemones

Waving –phosphorescent- on the darkened floors

Of barroom confessionals and consulting rooms

Whose bulbs overwinter in silent places:

Basements, lock-up garages, rucksacks and holdalls;

Or sometimes in those man-made wild places

Where no-one goes

Save the homeless and detectives, pathologists,

Under motorway ramps and railway arches.

These and subleased apartments, paid for in cash

Are sometimes states in waiting,

Like Lenin’s in Percy Street

With a policeman hiding in the grandfather clock

Who does not speak Russian;

These are the invisible other cities

Plotting against our kingdoms of the necessary nonsense,

The fables agreed upon

That stop all Romes collapsing beneath the weight

Of Sistine ceilings and marble angels, oil;

The Dr Dee levitation of shared assumptions and paper money

For –in truth-bombs show us everything we need to know:

That everything is just a house of cards

Save our need to eat and who we love.

Michael Brett 2013

poetry form


I love this poem because it makes you feel sad that the world could fall apart at any moment because of the heartlessness of humans and the greed we give to the world and how we fight each other turning the world into cause over and over again.


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