I don’t like this sit.
It sits in strange ways.
Left cheek tingles, right cheeks numb
foots gone drowsy, other ones fast asleep
The stand brings a stumble, a drunken lurch
My feet rouse quickly, but not my ***.

They're gathering
Theses shadowed dwellers
from places that hurt the eye, to peer into

They twist and writhe in my throat,
stabbing their sharpness into my brain
merciless, unfeeling.

What banishes such indomitable spirits?
sleep? postpones their march

It’s not Settled
It’s not there
The heart isn’t a willing disciple.
Judas turning his head
Every which way but that way
comforting love is a strange Companion
Is it real if it isn’t painful?
Or wrong?
Probably. But I can’t see.
my prescription Expired last year
so who knows.

Those moments in life
That staccato heart beat
An anxious mind and the release of sleep
The tightness of a chest bound by woe
Picks up the phone one last time

It's a little quiet
One day it'll be an all grown up big quiet
But for now, it sneaks around in the brushes
Avoiding predators and spreading anxiety.
The birds hush as it passes,
The wind stops bothering the leaves,
The cats lie flat against the ground
and the dogs bare their teeth at empty spaces.
Then at the behest of some mysterious conductor
The world burst forth into life with renewed vigour,
The little quiet passes and successfully survives the day
Tomorrow It'll be a little bigger until

The questions don’t stop.
The incessant babbling of a panicked boss
The bone churning boredom of paint drying with the sympathetic tears that accompany a slowly dying animal.
I need a drink, rather several, rather all!
Maybe, for bonus points, we can throw in a crippling drug addiction that could, maybe, allow for a grasp on the slick walls of the pit. But we both know it won’t.

I need to escape, to get away from this horrid existence. But I don’t dare. Yellow bellied sluggard.
Thank god for cowardice, or I’d be the main course at the feast of the maggot king.

An empire, built on Extreme empathy.
Welcomes in the parasite of its own demise
Feeds the anarchy with the cornerstones of its ethics.
Tears down it’s moral walls so as not to offend it’s destruction
Lies with blank smiling eyes, eviscerated in the street.
Good thing, good thing we were so woke.

Who welcomed you into dreams
Of church fairs and rugby games?
Who asked you to sit there
At the table like we were still friends?
Who asked you to toast with us
to the future and couples and tequila shots?
Who? I’ll cut them out too

It’s suffocating.
I used to read you through rose tinted sunnies.
Now all I see are black and white scratchings
It’s you for sure, my heart can tell
But your colour is gone.
Yawn.

Its been a while since we sat and talked,
My friends of faceless fame.
Its been a while since I lost my friend,
My treasured brat, little one.
I found a path that killed the pain,
A path not walked for reasons.
I spent two weeks on its twisted curves,
And a fortune in green backed dollars.
The world sparkled for a while,
Crystalline lights and marble castles.
But now its over and my process done,
Back onto gravel work strewn passes.
Lets not wait so long my friend,
To talk of loved ones lost to life.
Lets spend more time with each others words,
Where we can cry and laugh and love.

It’s a strange muse, this murderous blue.
So many drawn to her splendor
So many drawn to their death

The bird songs ring out harmonious
Their calls for some wanton *******,
The best type.
Reciprocated across the landscape
Which is not the right word
There’s more sea here than land.
an orange hangs low in the lonely sky
Perfectly ripe,
Dripping wet with honeyed shades of gold,
Coating palm trees and my knees.
Also my cigarette box and my coffee mug. A slow swell pitching and yawing,  
a side to side appreciated only by those trying to sleep.
A breeze lazier than I licks my cheeks and fondles my thighs.
It’s time, to go.

The blue and white woven thread
Sits comfortably close
tasseled ends exotic
clinging seductively
Falling too easily.
Who needs pants?

I have a set of words,
I don’t know how to say.
They’ve been lost and jumbled,
Scattered to the tides, stolen by ginger mermaids
I have to catch them, before the elements.
Should even one of those fragile blades
Wash upon your shore.
Then the wall would be thickest,
A Medieval palisade.

I got lost in a slew of plans.
Let's go here, let's do that.
You can come too, wait you can't.
Ok fine, i'm sure it'll be ok

It wasn't

It is, I tell you, I promise.
It sits on my right, open and barely touched.
Pure condensation glittering on the outside
Chemical intoxication squatting on the in.

Charmingly Silver and a splash of red
the colour of an impulsive clown.
"Diet" it says, Im not on one.
"Coke" it says, Im not on that either.

why are you even here?

Today I'm filled with muted optimism
Something not often seen skulking around my peripheral.
Some retail therapy and a ***** free day.

I write you blinded, literally, consumerism blaring,
shining RED in my eye. My new shoes and sparkly
chemical incentives sitting comfortably on my feet
and in the back of my skull respectively

you know? Just above my nape.

The weekend is over.
That person has left, incised from delicate parts
where hurt feels more justified than starving children and
diseased refugees, "oh so woe is me" avoided.

We shouldn't have gone skiing together, the snow was far from ready.
The passengers leapt from the derailing train, terrified of sludgy wet slopes.

This time around I won't let them come so close. Stiff arm, no more than three. No more poems for you, or freedom for me.

This old fashioned simpers in my hand
Sweet and sharp, Bitter and Blight
it calms my everything
to a point
where I cannot
Deal

The Silhouetted buildings peak
through the clouds, obscured
across the river, a city shivers
on a cold New York morning.

I know you
I burn in the flame from the glint in your eye
I sense the power in an insecure smile
I feel the danger in sarcastic defense

I see you
Desperate search in a forest so dense
Fighting the current, feet bloodied and red
You flex and bow, delicate perch, fragile limb

I taste you
From knees to shoulders In feline repose
A punch in the face from the twist of a nose
My blood hints of freedom, drips off my lips.

I feel you
It’s an electric vibration, synaptic attention
An ambiance, subtle change in light
Conflagration grows while sparrows take flight.

Ripples riddle the mirror,
Below, faint shapes shift
Elegant forms float here and there,
Little legs thunder, leaving a gentle wake
in lieu of turmoil.

The air is thick, the sun falling,
Already lost behind billowing storm clouds
Etched chaotically on the horizon.
Invisible but for the ubiquitous light.

It is the dragonflies time,
A darting zip and an effortless flutter.
From surfacing **** to towering Reed,
Searching for something we can only pretend to know.

Determined housewives, faces set,
Arms pumping and hips swaying
Their Anatidean waddle so fitting
Their quacks, a wall of stereo.

A lone rusted sign warns of gators,
but of signs, there is that one alone.
No rogue bubbles or beady eyes,
no ticking of swallowed clocks,
no suspicious splashes.
nothing.

My battery is now as low as the sun,
and my pen is as empty.
A not so subtle poke in the ribs
from a universe in protest of the
bad poetry being inked.

c'est la vie
or as we say in English
**** it

I sat beneath the tree of me
its sheltering boughs spread wide.
Catching the afternoon sunlight on
hoary green leaves.

I sat beneath the tree of me
it's twisted, gnarled trunk stood strong,
Scarred by initials crossed out.
It's gooey sap ebbing and flowing to
the erratic beat of my own heart

I sat beneath the tree of me
thirty two rings, some thick, more lean.
A centre core, a maypole of happiness and
not

I sat beneath the tree of me
cradled by roots dug deep.
wispy wind wiggling my hair
comfort in all of me

I sit beneath my ageing tree
on a blanket far too large.
"You're welcome" I'd say to passersby
to sit with me a while.

Sitting, baking, smoking, faking
Smiles, glances, eyebrows, advances
Cigarettes, ****, flying, skied
Leaving, time, behind, I'm
Sweat, sweet, dalliance, discreet
Screamed, moaned, words, intoned

Sleep

You killed the child in me.
A brutal ****** it was,
no mercy for his gentle soul.
His wide eyed wonder gone.

He was doused in gasoline,
and swiftly set alight
turned from happy kid,
to raging inferno, lit the night

His ashes did not have time to cool
before a stirring in their midst.
A cynical angry man did rise,
Not a phoenix borne of myth.

For now it hurts, just to smile
there's no mirth in my eye.
My laughter lines are obsolete
Just extensions of my frown.

Spoilt little *****
Demanding this and demanding that.
Take advantage of a situation.
Make the unexpected the norm.
Care the alms, care the hand,
for arms and hands are what you'll lose.
Benevolence and generosity
are treated as weaknesses, flawed characters being nice.
Smiles are kind, faces glowing, eyes, testing.
Be clear of your intent of kindness.
Once off, no expectations.
I'm ******* angry at this horse ****!

Theres a girl I know
That walks the shore
her hair, stranded gold.
Her eyes are emeralds
drenched in sunlight.
Her nose of noble mould

She's clumsy but she's grace
She doesn't like her heels
She can take her bra off with shirt in place
She gives me magical feels

Her smile is pure adrenaline
Her legs are silken cloth
The junction drives my mind insane
Her, blazing fire. Me, awestruck moth

I thought I'd loved, in my past
In fact, I knew I had
I've cradled my blood soaked heart
In hands of molten sand

But looking at my fruity girl
Drives all that bunk away
She makes me smile and dance and twirl
She makes me happy, Everyday.

I bought a perfect pineapple
It screamed of being sweet.
It’s burnt orange blush,
It pale green spiked leaves.
To try and preserve such beauty,
Would bear sour fruit.
To fight for its posterity when it will not fight too.

So I lopped off it’s head
Carefully removed its fruit and
Casually discarded its core
And satisfied my craving
Done before you begin. Safe.

I heard a man once say.
“A good soldier can go from having a cup of tea to mind bending violence in the blink of an eye”
As action movie cool as this sounds
I found it weirdly troubling.

A cackle of hens
A parliament of baboons
They giggle and guffaw
Ladylike buffoons

The alcohol flows
The snow falls deep
The dads watch through squinted eye
The Bahamas vibe, new age sheep

They waltz to their yachts
New dresses flowing
Their saunter falters
Their confidence still growing

The skies were grey
The rain fell fat
Her smile was wide
Sheets, covered that.

To get lost on a shelf.
A journey, couch potato tourist,
Book upon book, fantastical and fact
An expergefactor for the literary senses.

A sofa that swallows you whole
with an old fashioned friend,
stirring bourbon thoughts and
swirling orange twists

A wall of books,
novels and tomes.
Hemingway nestled next to Palahniuk.
Generational angst and
Alphabetical Chaos!

Establishing hierarchical roles
Nicaean council for food stuffs
The meal that breaks ones fast
A culinary czar
His Rasputin, not another repast
His downfall not so obvious
A cuisine coup d’état,
Caffeinated beverages.
‘Twas coffee that stormed the breakfast Bastille

I was sat so still
A bird landed on my foot
Whose fright was bigger?

Spring time morning sun
Warming my back,
I got lost in the pages of hello poetry
A gargoyle perched on a step
Unmoving, hesitantly... statuesque

A northern mockingbird took rest on my foot
A moments respite from beating wing
And gravity defying flight
My poor heart jumped at his sudden touch
And my foot ****** up and away
Those unexpected scratchings
My coffee cup flying

The mockingbird was no better
All grace and glide destroyed
Frantic scrabble of feathered pinions
Escape from this simulacrum come to life.

Now, From his new purchase he examines me
Suspicious eyes, blaming.
An oddity such as me. And I him.

Needless to say, we both barely survived the encounter.

Conspiracy nuts
Say lizards rule the whole world
I'm going with no

They whirl and swirl and dive
But do they?
The no see ‘ems, You can’t see ‘em
but you can feel them there
Cavorting and frolicking, invisible in the air
A dinner time dance, gluttonous splurge
You’ll know all about their evening soirée
When you discover the main course is
… You.

The fight, dear one.
Is not in the day
surrounded by faces
You’ll forget anyway.

The fight, my dude
Is in the stillness of night
When your thoughts run free
No distractions in sight

The fight, my friend
Is not at your work
To ****** the eunuchs
Sway the unswayable Turk.

The fight, little one
Is inside your mind
With thoughts of not good enough
Dispel them, be kind.

The fight, old girl
Is not in your home
Where your husband is wallowing
In chairs of black styrofoam

The fight, my sister
Is for the light in you
It’s always burned so bright
Stop worrying, let it shine through!

Get on up
It's spring time in the city
Count your eggs

“I do not weep, do you”
I almost did today.
Hearing a voice I hadn’t in a while

I have four

One wrapped in guilt and shame
Though it should not be.
It’s a free voice now, one that speaks with delight
Where there once was pain.

One that is shrouded in the depths
Buried and hopefully never to be heard again
A voice that changed mine
For better or worse I do not know

One that is logic and tempered steel
A firm and conscientious whisper
Where fire and chaos fight to control
My eager and reckless heart

One that is beauty and love.
It makes me burst and fills me
To the point of tears for
Not having heard it in months

These are my angels and demons.
My queens and tyrants.
My sins and sanctuaries

A shiny loose tooth
Is something people can lose
Vice Versa? NO!

I haven't penned a thing
I've been as busy as hell
The sun is rising

My story of us
Of a clock blonde ticking
Counting the sheep until apocalypse
A simple verse would not suffice
Nor would a complexity borne of years.

A deluge of elocution,
Remembrance drowned.
The fickle combination of
Llamas and lambs grazing
In my backyard alongside other
Metaphors.

The llamas wear glasses sometimes

Anguished intellectuals
Locked up in bedrooms
Chained to porches.
Their advice is good
Their words wise and thoughtful
Themselves, ****** up.

Ink stained tomes littering desks.
Nail bitten fingers clinging to pens.
Red veined eyes squinting at parchment
Words given life. But to follow ones own advice?

Rare is the joyous bespectacled llama
Bestowing wisdom onto the sheep
Watching them frolicking on the lawn
Trying to find rhythm in gangly legs
Urgently, awkwardly alone.

Tacos, pulled pork and quesadillas
Garish and gaudy being the clarion call
for the food truck battalion
An armoury of captivating aromas
Savoury propaganda mastered.
The war is won.

This I write to you
From the deepest sea
Where the gentle swell
rolls the boat softly

For it is here I am left
To contemplate my life
And the choices I’ve made
That extol my strife

I made them then
What’s done is done
They’re mine to own
Each and every one.

But I am the product of
These decisions of mine
And I’d do them again
Time after time

And so, this I write to you
From the deepest sea
Where the gentle swell
rolls the boat softly

And all I can say is I’m sorry.
To me.