In this void I question serenity
gazes are treated as lances,
even freckles are friendless
such is the self;
a bouquet of inward reverence.
Ashen is  this dayglow world
the past is pictured fairer
yet surely are we culpable
to be led so astray.

Children I have some news for you
"The Jews and Arabs are at war this Saturday"
Passing words for youngsters,
who were such small cogs in the wheel
not quite comprending the enormity.
Our world was too precise
we were being processed into an unflinching class regime
At thirteen it was a new school for the boarders,
and if you hadn't made Prefect then
the rub of  decesion had passed you by.

Do you still hope for your school days
when a smoke was just for laughs
and sweet heart  pledges were written in chalk
and picket fences kept the sheep
away from the cabbage patch the teachers carefully planted

And you know in your heart,
your secrets are your own.
Wrapped up in your own armor,
yet lost in confusion,
mitigated by chance.
And when you've given your all
true adage advice will ring.

Dancing faces in a crowd
but it had to be you
cuddling the light from dark
affording serenity
(chase a star catch a cloud)
We are everything positive
because we are in the making
Fulham Queenie
cast your shawl
winning her bid
for a Croydonite
no more uncertainties

I could be the lash
under your eyelid
taste your summer wine
sip from your song
Such an azure day
listen to your dahlias grow
meet you in the street
mid-cycle
in the passing of goodbye

Troubadors sing their hearts out
Surround me evermore.
Spirits caught in castled ruins.
Frangipani wait to hark.
Poppy dogs with sheepish eyes
lost in the dark.
Happy as Larry in Lincolnshire fayres.
Dragons Tooth flowering late.
Ordinariness dressed in leitmotifs,
starts to fade

like a novice June appears
with powder blue skies
and the longest day of the year
retains its light,
coupled with those balmy  early evenings.
Delphininuims and oriental poppies
sway jewel like in their dense hues,
while Lupins make their best display.
All at once this early summer gap
gives spring its last abundance.

Cameron is apologetic
having packed his bags,
he has opened a new museum
dedicated to Macmillians government.
Bring back national economic planning.
Every region is uniquely fired.
Hull again  a major fishing port
our Royal Navy guatds our fish stocks,
King Coal to fuel our power stations
Visas to come to the UK
it's a priviledge not free movenent.
Draw bridge's up
we remain an island
rather than an  economic zone

I didn't have anything against Rupert Bear
his colouring book beat pixels way before their time
Who wouldn't  later do their home work
when we could play our mix tapes -
The Motors and XTC
and in the middle period
if I  ever got stuck
depend on ones sisters to spruce a playground scruff

The wind ushers its own hymn
pitying your limbs turning numb
We exist only with express permission
of fate granting a fair chance
icicles et all.
The ravenous bear cave
isn't as hospitable
as we rendezvous the storm

The Sunny disposition  70s
A head so full of rocks
and assorted ideals
The Bridge of youth were cast

A Ball in the park
history in the making
Smoking tall No 6's in the dark
Bleaching Sun of 1976
coupled with Dutch Elm Disease

Yellow teach yourself Karate
Polaroid's for the wonderment
Austrian Safeway White Wine

Broad enough shoulders to
manage the change
Memories made to last

Do you think being poisoned
helps or hinders the arguement
I'm off to buy some Coffee
Think well before I Come back

i could be your lifeline
you could be my brook,
in times of trouble
we shouldn't overlook.

Dusk will wash away hope
as sometimes day labels lives journal
as the eloquence  of fools
but the nights emerald light
will chide the constant promise for resolution
permanently unfinished.

Although I burnt my tounge on a latte
I'm back again at the cafe.
Its Friday and though the clienttile is large
they are of one hue
your upper sixth formers.,
with adenoidal soundbites.
Should I despair for their world.
I be tidy in the ground
sleeping under some well chosen bergamots.
I recall being young
it seems so deliriously long ago
but that was before the World  went flat

Playing daisy chains with another's mind
No quarter given
They find their own solace
and refute to look over the sun
finding weird  patterns
to ply with in the dogeared winter farrow

Earnest is not a surname.
It's a deep rooted feeling
that's vein like
in its underscore.
How many times can it grap you
triffle with your cares;
berate you for thinking sorry,
often for a circumstance not of your own making.
Earnest can't stop one worrying
it prides itself on efficient woe

Sunday has broken the rain
when dressed in canary yellow.
Over the embankment the once bending train
took you away
but with rebirth we can sway again
together counting the flame
spelling your name

Listen to the fallen,
gusts of wind
every one of them.
Once bright buttons
who hid their fear.
Now listen to the burgle
blowing the carrion call.
A dance with death
caught them unawares.
Rows and Rows of poppies
bloom alongside the scared land
this sulphur stretch
a magician once  dreamed of.

Like a lost colour
a  dream  remains unexplained.
Promises set from beguile
point  towards  windswept  winter lands
I try to  half  forget the sadness,
along  lovers lanes
where thatched roofs remember
moonlight  togetherness

An emergent crimson light
settles after the rain.
The ******* bended  knees
kissed the morning dew,
and bid her classmates goodbye
The elm leaves flurried, from the eastern wind.

The Nuns in their dark sanctuary
closed their hearts to the aegis of  youth
and the art of forgiveness.

The pale girl averted her gaze,
from her music teacher,
walked to the duck pond instead
where the reeds grow.

At night Georg pangs blue whisper
for the lonely boy's return ,
with a red cloak worn to sunset.
Crimson for the harlots shadow,
and narcassis for the loss of innocence.

Darling sweetheart
I can only say I love you
in a  French letter.
The ginger cat will purr
on a cold winters night, alone I
walk home in the snow.

Darling Sweetheart
I feel lost in your refrain.
My language  is in a welter
as I arise from my slumber.
What words can I conjour?
Your freckled like thighs,
with long shoulders back,
spoke a  term apart
to sink as low to say.
Bon  Soir.

Monday's feeling exemplified
the collection is on Wednesday,
specifically black bins
to usher away all that  feels  like  dirt.
Yesterday's  postcards of  Paris
and torn landing cards.
You've  stopped  dreaming of escapades
no azure skies,
just  improbable  matchsticks
keeping  the  eyelids  open
soaking  up  the  winter  in London

the simple things
are backdated to yourself
like vain glass  
you rareify your blaze

I ran into the business of collecting
My Desk loaded with vinyl
I enjoy the chase
the research
the lasering out of details
The procedures that can be imagined
The anticipation of delivery

In the meantime the chimes
dance beneath our eyes,
as to share our last realisation;
kindness doesnt rain down in
the places we knew.
How we had to prise gratitude
from the heartless,
those general unfeeling
who should have been eternally distanced

The siren isn't just a warning,
as its white Icicles fall to the ground.
My conscience has a clarity
We swim to the brink of the river,
where I fear the swirls of an whirlpool,
holding myself up from drowning,
breathing and fastening the wordlessness
of  heavenwards

judge not the winner
respect whomever advises you
find a salvo to overshot your neighbours Leylandii,
spill not an undeserved droplet of  blood.

She stole daffodils
from park benches
and cemeteries
She told herself she was no
Monster
but a light-fingered missus,
just after a glimpse of the next world.
Besides turning to serenity
she lied to herself
cherishing her conscientiousness

They tried to crush me with boulders
until they built a misshapen temple
to mark my tears,
they tried to chase me with words
until I lexiongrapher
had the last word.

A listless night draws in,
as you remember that boy
who only existed to break your heart.
The flutter of  bluebirds' wings  sounds endlessly;
until the salt tears dry,
leading you to the dunes
in an endless search
to find that someone special again.

With blepharitis she try  not  rub her eye
but already she's  preoccupied
with the state of things
her once quiet  road is a  cut through.
The  bus  is getting  more crowded with school children.
It doesn't feel such a  lucky town
it sold  itself with a 15  mins journey to the centre of London
and still  local authorities  distributes their loons
in leafy lanes.
I heard they hang around at night
their dreams  remiss
like  dragging  up the sensitivity

I noticed a streak of meaness
Was it culpable by its design?
Was that that made the moon so stubborn?
I needed to blink out of the night
To succumb to the daylight
Precisely as in a dream
Talking in your  dread
Through the cast windows of your mind

Pale daughters
don't follow their father's orders
or wash behind their ears
laved in white light
they sport a smile when  necessary
compelled by an accidental mischief
detentions of exclusion
rendered in the shade
They wouldn't go dancing on the almost air

Temder promises just wait.
The evergreens will bring a walk
and your head will be turned
with the occasioned ushering.
Why see this as false confidence
I only wanted to cast your doubts
and harden your heels
for the passing stroll

Sometimes I feel like a dusty Chevy
Cotton murmuring days
got us in this mess
We had our sojourn
but these days are gone
The morning bruises normal service,
drains the magic
that should be splendid

Carleigh is thinking of you,
she wishes happy birthday
and hopes the weather isn't drear.
She's the girl with the right answers
who lives alone with Topsie her cat
and has an orchard of Apple trees.
She likes the personal touch
with fragrant letters she send to you,
and bicycle rides in the early spring.
But never pigeonhole her,
her smile has so much abundance.

Miguel you have brushed winter.
Leaving me no fire wood,
having hidden the matches
to light the dinning room.
The velvet cushions  we used to idle  time away,
hidden in the attic
with dusty regret unrequited.
The emptiness filled by spider's webs
a scoundrel in the making

The randomness of rain
as it splashes on worn shoes and frayed  collars.
Wet in Lewisham the streets awash
with promises of  heartache.
A wind without a name,
commences a distant roar of thunder.
The Police siren follows a path
beating down to the Silent Whisperer
a man with no grace
to a steet arcade
outlasting redevelopment
His fists clenched
as to show his anger to the world beyond.

Im hearing a siphon of a song
My love has gone away
The spindlewood has run dry
The seasons is awry
Tis the time of merriment
said the jester to the knave

I don't feel better or worse
as I watch you seated
journey bound,
wondering what sort of person you are:
twirling fingers on the mobile
yet waywardly enriched by your eyes.
I shall remember,
looking for human qualities
red hair and black mascara
and high cheek bones to marvel at
in broad daylight.

There's nothing I wouldn't do for you
admire your sheen
and your amber coat
that chases the rainbow
I gladly interpret your meow
as a passion for food.
And your purr like a kitten
to the end of the day.
Man and cat can go far
Life seems rosy with you as a companion

Rain coming for a long time
Changes coming down too soon
I used to run like cobbled stones
Can't seem to carry down the hill
the overlapping branches remain undisturbed

Used to think of Ferris wheels
All neon rides come down,
luminous signposts
Freedoms come a long way down
I need to talk to someone

I went through the snow and ice,
with sleatting rain,
to become the class of 96.
Without a woman in sight
we were rats in a sinking ship,
made worse by our task master
taking 50% value.

I am dinning with collectors.
The table is marble white.
In the past scholars wiled away their time here.
Yet I have no money
only my clothes and  soul.
Why am I pushed through the door  marked religion ?
Are they ungalant seekers too!
There is a 30 year war in progress
Do the priests want by brass belt
to make a musket?
Must I fight the good fight?

There's a little bit of hope
for everyone,
an enabling.
Like a record that keeps playing,
a snowball chance in a dream

In the Rain and Sun,
there's a late Autumn dash.
There's a pigeon of a smile,
breaking through cracked lips

There's a sigh of consternation,
well being like petrified wine,
that keeps us moving
Can you hear me now?

a man cries 365 days a year
for want of his daily touch of peach
But im a prickerly pear
breed to be immune from male guilt
but if youre nice im soft inside

I am a whisper that relays on twine,
a promise
cackling in a stream of gossip

I am your worst dream a harpie,
a reverie that has long played
in some forgotten bordello labelled shame?