Veritas vincit  
Penniless Press... the inexhaustible voice

Gary Ming

Gary Ming is a Chinese/British poet, first published by Mudfog.


Wednesday’s child.

Exposed to every
wind driven drop,
no one likes working
in the rain;
even her

master of
gesture without

Wet enough to feel
colour wash from her flesh,
feel constriction in the rack
of her ribs, bone corset
crushing the heart.

A window drones down,
Radio 2 offers a world
she doesn’t know

how much?

The question tugs her spine
that little bit tighter,
moves in
that little bit tighter
crushing her heart
that little bit tighter.

In the Distance

Neon drowns moonlight, bars fill, noise clouds the sky;
while the bass throbs my air grows still, alone once more I lie.
Outside of this cold bedroom is the town she called home,
Eight hours plus five G.M.T; she moves further away.


Billboards scream consumer dreams
Buy these latest plasma screens!
Sex lives improved! Should you wear these jeans.

This procession continues, a “vor sprung” hearse
Like a cog, turning wheels of daily commerce.

White collars worship the VDU’s
As secretaries paint nails in vivid hues
Then scratch spineless backs in leafy mews.

This procession continues adagio
Life with the depth of a game show

Your prize in this race when used up and spent
Is a room with no view
From an oxygen tent
And a chance of a final show
As into the night you quietly go

Sitting comfortable?

Slumped on a chair, ignoring the
urgent press of a bel l, its call
mimics those; wishing silence was
golden, not silver wrapped brown

slo-mo laughter, in a room
of stained hands, burnt foil
dirty works; falls into the
shrunken void of eyes
mocking the Trainspotting
glamour. Retching

as the first meal in days
splashes your feet, the bile
rises as a childhood
sweetheart bought for a
tenner, scores, runs, shoots
then lays slumped on a chair
silence was golden,
not silver wrapped brown.



















©2006 Penniless Press