23/1/19
“One encounters great beauty. Immunoglobulin M for
your specific needs alone, saviour of the consumer,
unruly work. Foundling of immune response, the devil’s
war for immortality. In that We can’t stop. Life demands,
consciousless – the natural throw of a human shape, the
bazaar, republics of thought and form Coned, harsh
leads, of a TB join, join. Unbodied vanguard of our
fantasies”
30/1/19
“Hon, you wore an antigen, transgression – Hun, at the
party you went to – at home – you had in bed, recept in
light, of weeks. Then up + down some stairs – endless,
repeated, station form of pay. Water plastic a barking
dog. What’s his immunity, faith? – teeth are bad, skin is
bad + no one in this little room is good. West o daddies
oilman mates, enormous quantities gone. Antibody
command”
6/2/19
“Blind incantation – this the staple, 3- pork, bean tin,
canned beans, then Bushes – beans, in a Chapel.
Contemplated by the homeless, + others – trees, woods
– the farmed agricultural beasts of all belief, their eyes.
Black, colour for summer, long summer of protected
cans, people + all their watched faces wander on their
impenetrable prayer. An electric light. Cans passion, on
which I rest my eyes”
13/2/19
“But you said murder’s part of the essential world, a
function harmony that plays when there’s no music.
Where anything in shelves is in stages of being loaded
into guns + wastes – dream creatures – that appear like
us – haunted by their need for death. Some reintegrated
form imagined – but of the animal, or his Christ? All
iterations – complex song of the supermarket workers –
of my ancestors’ trial”
20/2/19
“You’re yr own punishment + you’re not clean – in yr flat
all day all night, in darkness. You got handtowels, big
packs, unopened to shower yr face. She punched you in
the face. And now you don’t get out. But you keep her
handtowels. Limitless material, yes – our matched
corporality of a flawless, acholic skinfold – to sleep. But
you never had a wash here, with a paper garden in the
flat”
27/2/19
“Dog party in hell, their comic faces, outside time, woof
to be snagged like me, in all forms of the cake. Failure –
some the creatures down to be dogs, when born, got
switched. No-one could understand it, their contact in
the corporeality of roles, that necessary relevance, went
wrong. Were no longer intense companions to daily
revels rather mechanical tools’ make-up – a gun or a
tank – permanent convergence”
6/3/19
“Car park in water, God battling against his water –
fasted, for the whole time it took to get my Micra in –
couldn’t see the organisation of the wheels, or the
wetness of the engine as it parked. Did my boot ?fill with
brown water, pours off my medical gear, gushed out. ON
of our stationary vehicle fill. The fish, the shark. In
devotion not working cars, put side by side – a pagan
match for good or bad”
13/3/19
“Look busy, it’s the old gods, ‘o form’ as many kingsnake
on a shelf – or put round the garden as you dig it out
some more. Observation stable, + you can pick it up,
prayer snake – eat other snake, zenned. Garden hero
you also use as a 0, bound up with construct 1’s, who
ship themselves in off my sky white gas. Look down on
us, please, shelves of food snake – yr plant/new plant,
dissociation alm”
21/3/19
“Tiger bin, I perceive yr problems to be such; reprod +
still the child fell out, twists, clasps at a branch that
shook west, plastic – to a mother’s feet. Return of the
long dead boy – ingested harvest for a tiger’s brain that
the outer bin fenced. This life, action – a true function of
sex – bin gets older, the body more like its trash.
Represent me Tiger. Diminunate the life, filler, glassy
eyed stare of new born”
Doug Jones grew up in Romford, Essex. He studied English at Warwick University before starting nurse training at the beginning of the 1990s. After qualifying, he worked on a medical ward in East End of London for around 15 years. He wrote an MPhil on the poet Bill Griffiths, while attending the Writers Forum workshop, initially run by Bob Cobbing. He then trained to be a medical doctor at UEA.
He has published bluegreygreen (Writer’s Forum, 2002), Posts (Veer, 2012), London and Norfolk poems (Veer, 2016), Posts 3 (Veer, 2018). Work has also appeared in Molly Bloom, datableed, Vlak, the Chicago Review, Junction Box, & the UEA #NewWriting website.
He is married with two daughters and currently works as a doctor at a large Great Yarmouth GP practice. The area is deprived and Doug is clinical lead for the drugs and alcohol team as well the homeless outreach team. He is very proud of his work as a doctor generally, but of his part in these teams in particular.
