Richard Pierce

Richard Pierce – author, poet, painter

Life, Poetry


When she unlocks the cellar door for
The first time in a decade, the
Familiar scent of the damp takes her
Even further back, to her first time.
She switches on the light, skips down
The stairs. The stubborn blood stains
Are still there, the final remnants of
The last man who bled out in this
Room. She checks all her tools, and
Goes to find her latest conquests,
All trussed up at the top of the stairs.

R 09/09/2023 14:33

The wasp stings are two weeks old
Now, the ankle still discoloured and
Swollen, the scab crusty and black,
And the otch under the skin stubborn,
A reminder of ferocious nature, always
Attacking when instinct warns of danger.
No strategy in the war on thoughtless
Humanity. Earthquakes, wildfires,
Floods, wasps, plagues. There’s no need
To anger the gods when we anger nature
Into doing their work.

R 09/09/2023 14:27

And another thing – got my vinyl copy of This New Noise by Public Service Broadcasting. If you’ve never listened to this, you must – and to their entire back catalogue. This is music as a true work of art; and it serves to remind us of what a wonderful cultural institution the BBC was before the Tories got their hands on it. And it’s not too late to save it. You know how.

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