Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pin rest; snug as a gun.

Under my window, a clean rasping sound
When the ***** sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging.  I look down

Till his straining **** among the flowerbeds
Bends low, comes up twenty years away
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
Where he was digging.

The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked,
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.

By God, the old man could handle a *****.
Just like his old man.

My grandfather cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner's bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper.  He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, going down and down
For the good turf.  Digging.

The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I've no ***** to follow men like them.

Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I'll dig with it.

What do you do at 3am when you're tired and bored and its raining?

Maybe this is punishment.
For eating those grapes before you paid for them in Sainsburys.
Or that time you forgot who Buzz Aldron was, or when you took pleasure at beating a five year old at Cluedo.
She started crying, and even then, you still
would not relinquish your title.
Maybe its for that time
You were accidentally racist  to the chinese guy taking your order.
Or when you forgot to buy your mum a birthday card, or when you made fun of your best friend for not being taller.
Or when you said, 'Maybe
selective breeding in humans,
Is not such a bad thing after all.'

Yes, Its definitely punishment for that.

But maybe its for all the litter you've dropped, inadvertently or on purpose.
Or for last week when you accidentally kicked the cat, or for stealing those library books,
For swearing at kids
and blaspheming at the dinner table,
Christ!
Maybe its for nicking your brothers chips, even when you're not really that hungry.
For halfhearted apologies handed out like office stationary, for scoffing at most modern art.
For not revising when you
Really, really should
...But telling your parents you are.

But even with all of this, isn't the punishment, just a little bit too harsh?

Well now you are sarcastic, and bitter and pessimistic at least 90% of the time.
And you do hide the fact that you quite like country music, and that you have a blanket with sleeves (and you genuinely use it) and that you're really rather patriotic at heart.
And you didn't say all that stuff when you should have.
And you said all that other stuff you didn't mean
And you spend far too much of your time
Invested in impressing the people you're never going to see again.

And you realize all of this... at three o'clock in the morning, alone but for the fading of the rain.

And you swear to yourself, with all the fervour of a tired insomniac. That tomorrow.
There. Will. Be. Change.
But in the cold, harsh light of nine o'clock the same day. Six hours after you fell asleep. You resign yourself to the fact that last nights punishments can all be absolved, by a nice warm cup of tea.
And despite what you say
at 3am when you're tired and bored,
listening to the sound of the rain.
You will always be a pessimistic idiot, with delusions of grandeur.
That watches too much American TV.

This hand which moves and rides some voice is not mine.
I have given it over to you, young boy.

This is what makes it fly so, traveling out,
tripping along in dance of shape and sound.

I acknowledge your presence in this fashion.

You tell me by messages,
beaming out the back of your head,
you are the very boy who has waited an eternity
at some upper railing.

You sit and peer through the spaces,
down the twisted stair.

Your hands, they grip the vertical rail.
Silent. Silent. Waiting you.

Let this right hand of mine be your secret voice.
Let this scrawl and scratch be your gravelly tongue—
ick-nicking, ga-chooing, click and stutter.

What language may I shape for our sake?
With you, may I follow, setting trail markers just so.

Will others come mistaking their ways for yours?

My hand is opening and opens wide.
I remember you. I am returning.
Let it be.

you cannot finish need.
it fiends in wretched globes of dwarf
swelling to tremendous  steam
a Bacchanal of vineyard borscht
a moonlit morsel of demolished dreams...
we serve at the pleasure of the absurd
gilding shadows with clay confetti
and the nictitating membranes of blue crocodiles.
and blank verse.

felling the Yggdrasil, by all means; you maraud the larder
in the night kitchen; nicking blackbird-pies and pinky-russet salamanders
[ the loose farthing ] and the hard liquor... all gone now
your potato sack, rakishly slung from the shoulders of an Atlas, entitled ' Promised Land; betrayed '.

a new map shrugging off old kings from dead valleys
revealing the hour of your worthless estate,
in-lieu of the boundaries of your lost holdings. unhappily -
you inherit the unripe peach
in a hound's mouth.
you slouch rough,  slowly
to your beast
of a couch:

there, to remain unholy and due South.

there, to remain unknowing
by all account.

Take me back to when top hats were like business suits
When the white moths had become black with filth
When the Thames was brown like the rotted teeth of beggars
And not just because of the mud
When the Irish and the Slavic were exotic
When London was Birmingham
When Birmingham was Liverpool
When Liverpool was a country village
When there were millions
And yet they were still so innocently oblivious
Take me to the city clothed in black
For there was always a funeral somewhere
London
The noisy factories
And crowded slums
The fear that the cold brings
The pain that disease brings
The real London
The honest London
The dark, deadly London of my nightmares
Every narrow, dimly-lit alleyway dripping with **** and blood
Full of criminals and drunks
Ominous dark brown bricks
The suffocating stink that follows you wherever you go
Cursing, begging
Lifting, cuffing, gaffing, looting, nicking, pinching, swiping, thieving, pilfering, pillaging
Hundreds of words for stealing
Where the poor are painfully poor
Where every woman that smiles at you is a *******
Corpses lying in the streets
Next to gas lamps
The only beacons of light
People packed into bedrooms like chickens
Sleeping on the string

Highly disturbing
But it's best not to interfere
For someone else will deal with it
Industry and decency will save us all

There is no trace of that now
Except the noble stone buildings
Commissioned by the corrupt

This is my fear and obsession

As the sun just begins to set, Eevee sits perched on a cliffside awaiting her lover Chimchar's return. She knows he can handle himself but she cant help but worry about him. Anxeity rattles her brain constantly so much that she can't sit still. She begins pacing back and forth across the cliff. Suddenly, a bright light flashes in the distance. Catching Eevee by surprise, she nearly stumbles off the cliff but regains her balance and quickly turns her head to see what caused such a bright flash. A pillar of flame had appeared in the distance not too far away along with lightning strikes. Immediately, Eevee knew that Chimchar was in grave danger. She hastily slid down the cliffside, weaving around rocks to avoid injuring herself. Rattatas and Caterpies noticed Eevee sliding into the forest and attempted to ambush and capture her but Eevees adrenaline increased her natural reaction time and she jumped over Caterpies string shot and the rattata got caught in the stringy mess. Landing nearly perfectly, Eevee made her way through the dark forest, letting her adrenaline drive her on her path to save her dear Chimchar. Meanwhile, Chimchar was in the thick of battle with an unexpected foe. The legendary bird Zapdos had heard of Chimchars quest and decided it needed to put an end to the puny monkey. Jumping from treetop to treetop, Chimchar was barely dodging Zapdos' lightning bolts while
simultaneously attacking it with his whip-like flames, nicking its wings and interrupting its flight. All of a sudden, Zapdos fired a Tri-bolt of blue lightning, blasting Chimchar off the rooftops. Chimchar landed ******* the charred forest floor, writhing in pain. Just as Zapdos was about to land what seemed to be like the finishing blow, Eevee bolted out of the forest and snatched her Chimchar out of the way of certain death. Chimchar - surprised - gave a quick hug to his dear Eevee before jumping into a cluster of trees and blasting itself into the sky, grappling Zapdos' tail. Zapdos flailed and tried to throw Chimchar off but it was unsuccessful because Chimchar had scorched its tail. Then - both plummettng towards the ground - Chimchar cloaked itself in white flames and grabbed a hold of Zapdos' body. Eevee dove behind a large tree just before the two foes crashed into the ground, creating a large explosion. Twigs and pebbles flew through the smoky air as Eevee jolted out from behind the tree towards her lover Chimchar only to see him lying on the ground next to the lifeless body of the so-called legendary bird Zapdos. Throwing herself down onto Chimchars body in distress and overwhelming sadness, she subtly noticed Chimchars arms wrap around her. Eevee stopped crying and hugged her dear Chimchar so tight he struggled to breathe momentarily. They both noticed Zapdos' wing begin to twitch so they both looked into eachothers eyes and decided it was time to go. So at the end of another successful day, in an almost picturesque moment, the two lovers Eevee and Chimchar walked with eachother into what remained of the sunset.

Our thoughts of time travel
burnt-up when Junior
sang The Blues.

Foreign creature.
***** voodoo muppet.

His spaniel’s moan,
a call to mud,
digging deep like
“woo-woo-woo”

Smacking the past in the chin,
he dipped a laden lead melon
in a barrel of black molasses.
A slow lowering,
tender sinew slackened.
Unclawed-
the orb traversed his finger tips
nicking his nails on the way earthward.
The black drink parts then
floods back where it once was,
coating the cold round load
as it sank down below
the Mason-Dixon line.

Junior gurgled in slow-mo
dipped his Gibson
and stirred the stew,
made the black brew dribble over
the barrel’s shoulders
and puddle in the thick sticky
corners and cracks of
the Juke’s oak planks.

He fished it out then
-bladaplowplow-
-WHAP!!-
split that melon in half,
no knife, they used the trap,
then Junior took his break
to take a nap
in Baton Rouge.

Perpetual Ecstasy laces up the paper weights waiting easily the sleeves slip down the easel ritual by ritual window by window, fear of the unknown beholding the eye of the throne a pupil's pupil is as only as black as the destitute ashes that the charcoal carpools with as carbon.

A loud boom and my room mates with the environment the wind shook the winds croon the chimney like old saints nicking my fingertips with paper cuts dribbling like second graders yet not knowing really how to absolve anything.

Forgive me for my perpetual agony the ridicule of a two thousand year old initiate willing to dare to the caring rusted usuring raw ions fixated chariots blaring dub step as save the thief ****** but like the one who declares himself the backward ******* of the un-gold lawbringer. I am I am terrorist voted to be bring the third world warring down like a moment of courage steals life one fifth at a time.  An empty cup of Rest and relaxation sits as if an Eagle has landed upon the magic carpet beneath my now housed homeless feet, in defeat I stare grimaced at the plasma screen en-livid to the dessert sedition that lingers five hundred glucose lucid pancreas glowing green as bile, run like the Nile the white hawk head is now red.

Eat a lot of greens, the etiology of my disease is a well-borne cyclic machine. The Sun rose out this morning, my son rises like a glory. make babies the kids on the internet tell me today, last evening I didn't know If the twenty-sixth I needed to ask my manager in regards to my independence day behavior. Who knows why the egg cracks, the earth shakes, bowels quake, rainbows aren't strait, oceans consume no lightning, glass stands static at the edge of a liquid precipice...

My mouth grows less hungry every time i beg for poison, every trait i make justifies the lake that satiates it. poised to know no wonder, I lunge and mumble will i ever run outta thoughts to grumble? Or when my quills ink lacks luster the shine of mine metal will surely face the direction of my father. I here that its nice this time of year in the south, the Bronx zoo contains many types of creatures wishing to fend for themselves like an accident we harbor them from the elements they are designed to withstand despite the treason of nature they instill the greater curiosity of of our wits end freeing our passion to travel as nomads and allowing our children to just go down the block and right around the corner to feel the energy of the most fallen predators that ever roamed a far off land.

Like a pen in a century that knows no hand, like the apartment complex i science as my cortex my inhibitions fire like phone calls into my cerebellum, but how are the wires are connected. I **** in and out like limbs upon a Madrona, my internet protocol still sings my old phone number: Rest, Sabbath, human; Human, oh-so-serious, undefined, root. Yet the area code stays the same but the pages keep turning to a knew pain, as the numbers change so do the bills, as the money reigns so does the thrills, as the dew settles down so does the chills, as the root, monad, rest; oh-so-serious, rest, undefined, human sits determining a knew limbic to limbo to as he envisions a **** limo un-abbreviated appearing in his driveway one more time. I am just the house i live in, or am I a beast of happiness?

The thrill of it

nicking a Twix
from the corner shop,

a lunchbreak one day
in the mid-nineties

looking inconspicuous
between the chocolate

and packs
of smoky bacon crisps.

Sam pilfered
a Snickers, a Wispa,

we dashed outside,
ran back to school,

couldn’t believe it,
looking at our stolen goodies,

not a splash of guilt
alive in our minds.

Words wither in the air
  as silence slithers between us.
The waves wash over where we sat
  as rigid rocks cut water raw.
A seagulls silhouette splayed across the sky
  carries a creature so soon to be crushed.
A hermit hiding in his home
  pops up out of his puddle,
fleeing back when a feather flutters down  
  nearly nicking his new shell.
The day grows dark and dim
  as rain runs down the rustling leaves.
Light house lights litter the night
  showing sheltered shadows.
A bush bows to the blustering breeze,
  as the smell of the salty sea settles.
While choppy waters churn violently
  when wind whips around us.
Droplets tip toeing across the tide
  visibly vibrant than vanishing.
The boats buckle under the beatings
  as docks drown diving under desolate waters.
We walk away wincing,    
  at the last glance at the grey grizzly night.

In the ageless place where wings greeted the realms of the sky.
A single  rose did blossom, its thorns of clarity transparently
Unseen, to hide the deed that would be beauties hidden snare.

Fallen a single item of purity fell upon this petalled beauty and
From white It was consumed, until it flamed black Till ash
Nourished the rose and petals turned starless black.

She happened on this rose of no thorn, nicking her index it bled
But a drop, and what wasn't was now shown a thorn of red,
As if blood had filled its edges, and with that one knick a petal
Of black did open, no longer closed the door now open.

As upon an exposed moment this petal permeates the purity
Of Innocence, inviting those enticed to obscurity of beauty
hidden is the pollen that infiltrates the air seeding its Influence
upon others self. As all are drawn to the rose that drinks.

Each thorn did consume, all met innocence and each petal now
Turned from purity to onyx of corruption. Where the shades of
White confronted with desires of a thought never felt.

Ever petal had opened, spawned the beast that had slept, but
Now woken as pollen of darkness inhaled by light. Those perfect
features now jagged upon silk torn, blood was not spilt on thorns
But on the white cobbled streets, screams of insanity reeked.

A single rose blossoming beauty of flawed conscience's had
Given birth to unclean emotions, thoughts that took control.
All were nearly tainted only a few were still pure of heart, this
Place of fallen feathers into the clouded thoughts.

There was a rose that blossomed in Calluna, its beauty seduced
Those of purity of heart and seeded a petal that was like a razor
Jagged, upon a soul cutting it apart. With tainted beauty till only the
shards of edges sharp breathed upon a heart. now all was black
Where once there was only shades of white that have fallen apart.

I Love You.
I still do.

I remember the feeling of love

like a blanket.

Wrapped warm round my heart,

shielding it from the

frigid cold of anxiety,

keeping me sane from the

wallows of depression.
Waking up to you,

sun caressing your face.

When your eyes fluttered open

they shimmered gold

the prize of kings

yet in reach

of my trepid hands,

confident in the glow of your love.
As my towers crumbled down,

castles torn by the

catapults of panic.

Swinging strong,

crashing into my masks,

cracking walls of my heart,

you could not save me.

I never needed a hero.

Just a healing song,

wrapping wounds

after war torn battlefields

lilies growing hope in the wreckage.
Yet your heartstring clung to mine,

crimson as my blood.

Tugged to tightly,

struggling to hold me

as you held yourself.

Shadows nicking your heals,

as they crawled up my body to reach yours.

Some sacrifices are not worth making.

Some people must be left to the aftermath.

Some hearts cannot be salvaged from shadow.

You couldn’t bare the weight of me forever.

So you let go,

You saved yourself.
For that,

I am thankful.

I could never stand to see you drown

in my ocean.

Not when you are still attempting to
tread through yours.
But your lighthouse,

still a sight for my eyes.

I believe in the light,

I love your light,

I struggle to the surface of

the pitching waves.

Crashing on my face,

salt sticking to red flash eyes,

strangling my throat.

I crawl to the top just to

catch a glimpse of you.
Wishing for the days

where you would

sail out on your lifeboat

and hold me in the storm.

Just making sure i could still swim.

Just to see if I was okay.

To answer your question.


It is still hard to breathe underwater.
I swim through waves

steadfast, as they churn

mockingly. They can see my weakness.

But I love you,

that is enough.

I will keep paddling,

listening to my heart,

the beat of my hands and feet.

Slashing through the violet tides,

I will reach shore.

You will never have to sacrifice yourself

again.

I will reach the shore.

I will reach for you.

that man is a underhanded thief
a thief he is
nicking off with stuff
that wasn't his
when I catch up with him
he'll get a piece of my mind
which wont be of a nice kind
he thought he'd get away
with touting my stuff as his own
but he must realize
that my stuff is mine and mine alone
he'll get a reprimand from me
for skiving off with stuff that belongs to me

Once again I feel like I’m not enough
Once again I feel the pillars of my identity being shaken like trees
Will their roots hold them firm and steady in the soil?
Or will they topple with a crash onto the unforgiving ground,
Leaving my carefully built structures to crumble into ruins?

Thoughts swirl around in my head like blades,
Their sharp edges dangerously close to nicking vital arteries that keep me alive.
But somehow I always survive.
Meanwhile, the world continues spinning,
Oblivious.

I try to ****** the blades out of the air as quickly as possible,
But each one rises again as soon as my back is turned,
An army of undead soldiers hell-bent on consuming my mind.
Still, I remind myself that this apocalypse will not be the end of me.

Though natural and unnatural disasters may shake my cities,
Through fires, floods, and famines,
I will continue.

When my foundations are all that is left standing,
I will build up from the bedrock until I can see new horizons from my tallest tower.
I may watch the blood-red sun set on yesterday,
But I will see it rise again far above these ashes.

funny how a simple act of eating raspberries (as opposed to blowing them!) can bring back some profound childhood memories! memories which involved nearly burning the house down whilst the rest of my family slept! fair enough, i was only 6-7 years old, and there was no malicious intent to wipe out the other 6. but it all happened because of an opened tin of raspberries i'd espied whilst peaking into the fridge, they were the sole possession of my father. i woke up at about 6am next morning thinking of nothing else, so i crept downstairs, quiet as a mouse, and into the kitchen, thinking surely he wouldn't miss one or two? they were nectar from the gods! i couldn't control myself..i disposed of the empty tin in the bin. i started to explore the kitchen cupboards, and i noticed the one under the sink was full off newspapers for the fire, i also saw a box of safety matches (ironic really, considering the consequences!) so i thought i'd play a game of blow the fire out. i struck a match, and it lit up like a sparkler, and put the flame to the paper, quickly blowing it out, feeling clever, i lit another match, this time allowing the flaming newspaper to get bigger. unfortunately, i huffed, and i puffed (not disimilar to a big bad wolf!) this time no luck. i ran upstairs terrified, knowing that i was in deep poo poo, but ran into my elder brothers room, shaking saying "the house is on fire!" he grunted at me, so i repeated it, he grunted again, then it must of sunk in, as he sat bolt upright, ran into my parents room, and everyone got out of the house. fire engines, ambulances, and the police turned up, plus all the neighbours were there. luckily only the kitchen was burn't out! a big scary policeman was now asking questions, which led him to me, and in floods of tears, i confessed i'd been playing with matches (wondering if i would be sent to prison, or hanged, if not by the police, by my parents, but all i got was a severe telling off. my actual crime of nicking raspberries remained undiscovered. and on the plus side, my mother had had a real problem with ants trying to get into the kitchen, the fire at least had stopped that. moral of the tale is, pinch raspberries, but don't play with fire! is that a moral? well who knows, but the irony is, i was so scared i blew a few, should of put a match to them instead...! 😏🦋🔥

What light doth yonder window break?
It panes me; to stay and wait
Madness, Madness. Cold and Cruel
Leaving us all Jesters and Fools.

Insanity and Vanity
Our tools of trade.
Do you see what lovely little scars they make?

Perplexing and Vexing
A scattered picture makes.
For who can tell what is real, and what is fake.

Splattered and Slathered
The Mind unveils
Leaving all the ponder it's tales.
Who can tell truth from lie?
Who decides whether they live or die?
Judge, Jury, and Executioner alike
Have all seemingly gone on strike.

The Mind, a kaleidoscope of lies
Nicking and Picking
Fixating and Hating
Obsessing and Testing
Creating and Saving
Destroying, Deploying

Stop.

What Truth is lying within a lie?
That so encaptures and invests our Mind?
What is the difference between truth, fib, and lie?
Perhaps Songbird, Raven, and Vulture will suffice.

Lost in the night's arms
Only the chill of the winter
        reminds me
Vividly of memories
         Nicking at my heart
Eventually it will stop
           Right?