You Give Me

your apple cores
your leftover cold egg
your empty Pom-Bear packets
your mispronounced words
your vomiting bugs
your soil bugs
your soiling my pants bugs
your fingertips pointing at new
your whispers
your explosions
your
everything 

Carl Burkitt 2025

In control

My son brought a TV control on to this tram. 
He’s pressing play as we leave each station 
and pause when we stop at the next. 
When he presses rewind I think back to a time 
when I forgot to look at public transport 
like mechanical animals 
designed to help us explore their wild 
or treat the opportunity to a window seat 
with the excitement of being born.
I’m wearing a green hat and green shoes
because two years ago I said I liked
the green lights on our Christmas tree
and now my son tells everyone its my favourite colour.
He’s just pressed fast forward
and he’s eating mint choc chip ice cream
standing on the grass by my gravestone.
 
Carl Burkitt 2025

Poo on the playground 

There’s a poo on the playground.
The kids are guessing
whether it’s cat, dog, or human.
A lot of them want to touch it.
A few of them wonder
if it’s from the bottom of a monster
or one of their teachers.
The monsters deny it.
The teachers put cones around it.
A mum runs a pram wheel through it. 

Carl Burkitt 2025

But I can see

There’s a new wooden toilet seat
in the pub’s men’s room and I’m realising
I am starting to notice things again.
Like, how Two Halves Pete is called Two Halves Pete
because he always order to half pints of ale
or how the hat rack in the corner of the room is
made from old coat hangers
or how the barman has a tattoo that I want.
The say antidepressants can flatten you out
and that was the reason I put of Sertraline
for more years than was safe for me.
But I can see the beauty in tarmac again,
the way it looks like a belt
I will wear to a special occasion one day
celebrating my adult son,
or the tongue of a giraffe – our favourite animal.

Carl Burkitt 2025

A home I imagined watching TV

I climb inside your heart and find
George Clarke shouting, “An amazing space!”
Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen is in the corner explaining
there is just no way he can improve the decor.
So I sit on the soft, L-shaped sofa and listen
to Charlie Dimmock and Tommy Walsh sharing
poems about the water feature of your ventricles.
Carol Smillie has never smiled so much.
Alan Titchmarsh has never has so little to do.
Handy Andy has gone out for a pint
and Nick Knowles is working
on a new song called ‘SOS Answered’.

Carl Burkitt 2025

Writing a poem is easy

Writing a poem is easy. All you need to do is pick up a mountain, turn it upside down and eat it like an ice cream cone. Writing a poem is easy. All you need to is comb your hair with a hedgehog every morning, brush your teeth with an acorn, have breakfast with the King of England. Writing a poem is easy. All you need to do is kiss the sun, remember the name of every raindrop you meet, swim through outer-space. Writing a poem is easy. All you need to do is take your brain out and give it a wash, grow lightening in your fingers, swap your eyes for kaleidoscopes.

Carl Burkitt 2025