I have too many memories of you.
I wish to God
if only I could just
let go of a few.

Only,
images recreate images
as memories distort
in time honored reluctance
I forget all that is taught.

Not the fundamentals
how to read or write
or speak
or eat
or toss
and turn at night

But the little things
that help to keep you sane
sadly lost to the quagmire
that is the brain.

And if asked
I will freely tell
though honesty
at what cost

Left with too many
memories of you
but too little light lost.

These ten
word poems
seem
all the rage
these
days

I scramble around a petrol token mug
purporting to be an ash tray stained in neglect
needling between ash and cigarette butts
looking for some spent tobacco to recycle
and breathe in the cancerous smoke of belonging.

"Just don't ever talk about me", he said.
"I am strong when you are feeble", he said.

The doctor twiddles his fountain pen
a parting gift from his late father
held with the poise of grace
and wielded like a lance
the pen can do many things for he and I
prescribe or chastise
the freedom with solitude
and the four white walls
of limiting restraint.

"Just don't ever talk about me", he said.
"We are symbiotic you and I", he said.

I wonder though is it:
Mutualistic
Commensalism
Parasitism or
Neutralism -
Who benefits who?

Do we bathe in each others glory
holding hands in the lost age of reason
comfort in the loneliness of winter
or just a dream of the endless
a figment of the imagination
and the passing of time
looking out of frosted windows.

"Just don't ever talk about me", he said.
"I lead you in the dark, I am your light", he said.

I sometimes step back into the gloom
He fills my capillaries
clogging up my arteries
with his dark and mischievous veins
calling out to faceless strangers
walking past in the haze
the ones the others do not see
just out of line of sight
mottled and disfigured and blurred.

"Have another drink on me", he said.

I am distracted by the minute
leading this shabby existence
and the opening of unpaid bills
and the carnage of last weeks washing
and the bottles of empty beer discarded
like a tramps ***** in the drying sun
monuments to a day before when we were younger
and wrestled in the long grass of salvation
and the long summer days of liberal libation.

"I am the one and only constant you will ever have", he said.

Without him I will be hollow
like a rotten tree trunk
gashed in initials of love letters
with a pen knife
saturated in the remains
of fortified wine bottles
and leaf litter molding
in the dying frost of spring.

"Just don't ever talk about me", he said.
Just don't ever talk about us, is what he meant.

you are a ray of light
in a world bathed in shadow
the double rainbow
of luminescent colour
as the moments of memory
fade into distant shallows.

you are the uncoiled mind
the evaporation of tears
the shades of opulent grey
and the world I leave behind.

still.
bent.
but not broken

the torments of youth
of love lost
and the quickening
of years
left to ponder
the unspoken.

Lady karma
shine your light on me
here I am
down here
way down here

robed in tattered clothes
bleeding hands
a broken nose
stumbling
stuttering
muttering
mumbling
shine your light on me

Lady karma
shine your light on me

Near to bursting
seam-less
ream-less
close to losing everything

my job
my friends
my mind as yet
radically
un-cleansed
just a step away
from the edge
balancing
on the precipice
of the wedge

lost in the darkest recess
the corridors of the mind
drunk on thorns
the horns of plenty
that you find
left empty
and bereft
I failed the test
lady karma
shine your light

Lady karma
shine your light on me

I was re-assessed
more likely
just depressed
than a danger
to any stranger
and the homelessness I faced
with quickening pace
seemed at the time
like ill gotten gain
and luckless fate
combined

and yet it faded gracefully
in the shadow cast
by the midday sun
it would have to wait
and I go back
to where
this all began

I felt your warmth
around me
wrap around me
shine your light on me
lady karma
shine your light
on me.

I have learned to wield the morning.
Rise in the razors light and her ambient glow
Champion of the spinal stretch
and the sensuous yield of the Muse below.

The past moments and the aches and the arches
left behind like the bramble bush of broken dreams
Now the chastity of yesterday's youth is laid to waste
and the dominance of her screams and thy pagan tastes.

My ***** stir for breakfast.
The Muse of the morning awakens
and sates the demons bathed in sin

Leaving but the residues
of her bitter sweet fruits upon my beard
to later grace the air
and the wafting breeze
that only other passing women
can sense,
and then rejoice within.

Cross cultural chatter
with Jeremiah ****
and Jack D
and Gary Moore blues
in the earworm;

Good company
comes in all shapes and sizes.

Reprises memories
of forgotten friends
we lost in yesterday's haze;

Such is life
in the gentle ageing
of these days.

Bring me the amber nectar
and the dissonance of reason
awash in the Jazz and Blues
and the warmth
of a welcome handshake;

All friends start life as strangers
ambling lips for all seasons
and the hues of lost souls.

That found each other wandering
in the frozen cascades
leading to the hot coals
of belonging.

I saw it coming

And

then it was right there;
in touching distance.

The

could've been
would've been
should've been

But

she faded
like a photograph
left to curl in the sun

The moment passed...

and then
she was gone

I do not know your tongue
Nor have the time to learn it now.

I will test the depths of
your vindictive vicious vessel.

In the dark places
That hide in the hearts of such men
and the sliding doors of lust
and the vengeance that scars
upon thy face.

You will be forgotten
Like a distant memory
that leaves a bitter taste
and a pungent trail
leading to your lonely doom
in the haunted chasms of your mind
and frozen heart of any room
you enter.

How I mourned for you
The dry tears evaporate
and the delicate flower
that could have so easily bloomed
replaced by prickly thorns
now wrapped in the futures
of your twisted gloom.

Fingers quenching absent form
Let us share drink and bond wounded pride

Gorge on the liquid gold and this elixir of life
Embrace your brother and revel in its warmth

Lips pursed for libation
and all which was sworn lest now it not hide

In the shadows of forgiven moments
left to wilt in the summers embers

Like an iceberg melting
in the passing of the dying sun.

Feel breath upon thy milky neck
as he gives thee the gifts of life

Thrusting forth upon such shapely form
the rise of your golden **** and the
glide of your swollen *******.

In awe of such feline majesty
and the magnificence of such deviance

Lay hand on nubile skin with deft and swift precision while the other holds the reins of a flowing mane
Gracing the arched spine of pleasure.

Tilted head stretched and exposed form catching the dancing shadows of eternal midnight

She calls his name as if his name was but a string of unreserved expletives

He growls letting the beast within ride out the demons in the deep

and the now forgotten chastity as if innocence were taken but in truth offered like a gift to her gods.

And he takes thy gift gladly
And in return
Give
Give
Give
again
and again
and again

with no refrain or moments peace
awash in pagan sweat and revel in thy cobalt aquas as his close in the rise of final exaltation.

Two hearts beat as one,
heaving breath encased in bone and heated skin
imbibed in the juices of forever
And the pleasure of
pagan and archaic sin.

Do not raise voice in manner un befit of your standing,
Do not spit fire from forked tongue as if you could fly,
Lest your wings melt in the dying sun of tomorrow
And hurtle back to Earth in your aimless panderings

Left for dead amid the ashes of your own making and the dreams of yesterday,
Crushed by solid forms and rabid tears
Blinded by the toxic venom of years
and self centered sense of being

I see you
For what you truly are now
and bestow a promise of giving
and all that you weep for
Lost now to the muted shafted glow
of your shape shifting pleasures
and nonsensical ramblings

I shall see you in the afterlife
You best be ready
The Viking never forgets

On the flip side
of the bright side
of the ocean
you will find me

behind the rock pool
beside the standing stones
is where my footprints
used to be

amidst the water vapour
and tiny salted pebbles
is where my breath lies
and resides in waiting

waiting
waiting
waiting

For you.

On the dark side
on the lip of the crescent
of the moon
you will find me

behind star HD 107821
in the constellation of Crux
is where my dreams
originated from

crushed by enormous forces
and caressed by toxic gases
is where my heart lies
and resides in waiting

waiting
waiting
waiting

For you.

There is no place that memory will not follow,
no feast now to sate thy appetite
no long embrace to give voice to feeling.

What remains is lifeless and hollow
the scant skeletons of desire.

The demons left to wander
reeling in the crimson night
lost in thy aimless gaze.

Do not pity me my friend
time is not on your side,
I shall endeavour to recall your face,
fight the fires of hazy change.

Left nothing but forgotten dreams
and the darkening of lost days.

In the pale of your shadows
In the absence of your light
reckless words left unspoken
lead fingertips to undress
under the crescent moon
and the awakenings of night.

In memory of your passing
In the kudos of your heart
abstinence of time left to falter
the clutches of desire
and the tears of regret
that sees two loves apart.

In the starlight of your beauty
In the creativity of your life
In another world
and the sliding of doors to here
I can but imagine possibility
without the ruination of reality
and the fear of unbridled strife.

Sensual breath of air;
a mortal coil for all seasons and
peach blossoms in spring.

Viking leaves footprints on
golden lawns trimmed in orchids
underneath the ****** cherry tree.

Star gazing at midnight
moon reflects stolen kisses;
her fingertips undress me.

Let loose your spirit
free to glide the crested waves
longing for deep sleep.

Breathe in your shadows
remember time before when
we were solo bound.

Lost in translation
but never in forgotten moments;
I still hear her sound.

The waves lap ashore
carried by an icy Northern breeze;
embrace loss and all that is yet to come.

I will not forget
nor let slip this broken heart
that carries your name.

Symbols etched in granite
timeless in the solitude
of unrequited love lost.

Farewell my ripe peach -
the fruit of your ***** to savour;
exhale the remnants of time.

the sad thing is
when I've written this poem
there is a chance
it will become a eulogy:

the passing
of sliding doors
from which
there is no return

only tinted windows
reflecting memories

and My Love

left wandering
somewhere in the gloom
waiting
to be found again

Your parents are....

The Most Awesome
people you have ever
actually ever known
right now
In your world

on the Earth
as we know it -

Parents hung on,
made do,
but hung on

Kept up hope,
The living
The one-time
They out lived

1000s of years of evolution,

war
and
resolution

The lineage
of
The Earth

if they're still going;
Why aren't you?

Breed or be Bred
Automatons
Animations

the forgotten spark

You are
what
You are

Just...

don't forget
where you came from

I can see the future
The incidental future;

The splash of a coffee cup

The over oxygenated pint
foaming at the mouth

The random nose bleed
in prestigious company

The black coffin
carried by six sturdy men

the grave stone says
'Here lies The Beard'

Sometimes dreams
Can speak the future

if we care to listen

The American said: let's drink the words.
She was so right.

A loquacious gin & tonic
An acerbic Darwinian daiquiri on ice
A French martini disrupted not stirred
A mojito muddled in abstinence
A Belfast bomber & brimstone
Love on the Rocks with perpetual dissent
*** on the Beach with a dash of chilli & lime
***** scorpion splashed in ironic ascension
Dark *** stifled by the sting of a disturbance
Love scented petals infused with tequila worms
Salubrious shots of Sambuca
Absinthe toasted in lunacy flakes

This is my bar.
Choose your poison wisely

Words create wonderful moments
and destroy the things we cherish

Words create unions in adversity
and describe the things we relish

Words define actions made in jest
and crush the spirit of possibility

Words are a brutal stab to the chest
and the drowning of its immensity

The step back into the gloom
via the perpetual rejection

and the windows
with no rooms

The tick tock
of the wall clock

Counting down
to an immutable sound

The seconds of Life
weigh heavy
on the lips
of words

In the white noise

echoes
the sound of freedoms;
sectioned
to the flights
of fancy

the bustle
the flapping
the aqua eyes

distant birds
silhouetted

Laid to ruin;

amid
the fading memory
of a beautiful
sunrise

If the Scots
get independence
will we get better ****?

I'd vote for that.

Maybe the 'silent majority' are like ...

hospitals, schools, fish,
whisky, natural energy
blah blah

The good folk in Scotland
have been drip-fed the
worst **** in history:

coated in chemicals
bath rinsed
molasses
spare car tyre
plastic
flotsam

***
seriously

No wonder -
Bammed (right up)
Givin it
Havin it
Lovin it
is why
bands & DJs
Love to Play:
'up for it'

'Hey MoJo's
share some of
that MTV love'

anything that's called
Council Hash
and accepted as the norm
reeks of class politics;

ah they won't mind
the **** end o that
they're the Scots

The Scottish Government
should embrace
a new Scotland
and the people in it

We want lots of things:
one of which is
better ****.

Crime will drop:
- sniffing car tyres for a hit
- sales of Buckfast
will fund the entire
South East of England.

Scotland could lead the world
in upcycling as
Rizla fails to meet demand.

Our days would be so radically different;

auto flexi time
carbon neutral

trams with comfy seats
systematically
mathematically
go faster
than walking:
a mode of choice

I'd vote for that

...

I lied.
I didn't need filters.
I wanted a pint.

We swapped;
meanings
emotions
connections
and
words

Sliding Doors:
the what-could-have-been
replaced with the here-and-now

inter
connectivity
singularity
similarity
solution
ist
idealist
ic
pes­simist
ic
realist
ic
evolution
ary
ist
ic

In part
In truth

I wanted a pint;
there, I said it
plain and simple

Enter
the Other

Could've
Should've

being around strangers
I found my calm

You know
what I mean

just dose up
on more Amitriptyline
keep the Other at bay

just say,
i'm not home tonight

Thanks
for

You know

Being
You

the oil of the high grade pollen
coated in sticky honey-like crystals
old school wrap and a vaporizer
instills calm where there had been chaos
oh how the mighty have fallen

offers to go places
live music in an alleyway bar
cocktails till dawn
a rave under a motorway
the Sub Club for legendary libation
and mingle with familiar hazy faces

and yet,
he warms to the four walls of home
the symmetrical wooden rail border
the OCD driven picture placement
the videos in genre specific
alphabetical order

outside the city streets throng
stag-hen crews in costume
tourists off the beaten path
seeking the Water of Life
students drinking the bank of mum and dad dry
mid-week workers letting of class A steam
that for some is clearly too strong

the hordes
of bar ******
pimping their Versace
and Primark combo
any Glasgow bar
where looks could ****

bar telepathy
means he no longer
even has to speak
just have the fiber
to clear the bill

This he calls home.

What is about some people
insisting I want to engage
with whatever they are watching
singing along to
listening to

Example:

recently, on a long haul train
travelling from A to Z
in the rudimentary rammy
to find the unreserved seats
enter the 20-something
alluring guitar laden
leather and tattoo clad female
tumbling onto the next table to me
unpacking as if she was moving in

munchable fruit laptop
gleaming white
in clear conflict with
the dreads and the beads
pumped in patchouli oil
drenched in love and peace
armed with a dvd
that would shortly crush the spirits
of every soul in Coach D:
the Quiet Coach

enter screaming chipmunks
hysteric children
and songs to sing along to
which she did with obsessive precision

insisting that Coach D
should in some way be
enlightened
entertained
entranced
and ultimately impressed

such was her overbearing desire
to love thyself above all things
give the peace sign when appropriate
and otherwise don't give 2 F's
for anyone else, regardless of situation.

consumer behaviours were erratic at best
if the Jedi senses
were anything to go by

if i'd had a handheld vibe particle device
I could have created a pathological combustion
and an accelerated Coach D A-Bomb

heads turned
feet shuffled
zips unzipped and re-zipped
open hands holding Kindles
immersed in philanthropic discourse
turned to clenching fists
the sound of bent drink cans
rusted cogs in motion
deep breathing

even level 1 Tetris
became too much
for the bald fellow to my left
who accepted failure
and opted to purchase
a large brown bag of beer
from the bar

GOOD CALL

libation and the pagan ideals;
imbibe thyself to dull the senses

I concur
and,
in exchange for our classic colonial restraint
on behalf of Coach D
I wish upon you the following:

1. You will never again
drink a decent coffee from any vendor anywhere in the world, ever.

2. Your laptop will
turn off during any movie you sing along to, silent or otherwise.

3. Your guitar
strings snap during a performance in front of people you don't know who paid to get in.

4. Your Tattoo artist
has an epic fail and tattoo's a defamatory remark rather then your lovers name.

5. Your leather trousers
shrink wrap and make the sound of bursting bubble wrap every time you move.

6. Your comfortable shoes
attract bits of grit like a magnet, regardless what you are wearing.

7. Your waft of perfume
is likened to compressed 7 year old blue cheese that has sat in the sun for weeks.

8. Your location
at any time has a global no shoot-and-miss policy for all birds without exception.
(even the ones that don't fly)

9. Your singing
is so electric that every time you sing in public your hair stands on end
and cutlery sticks to your nose.

10. Your beer is always warm.
11. Your wine corked.
12. Your water salty.

13. That this poem goes viral on the internet
expressing one man's words which mirror the every day person
working their socks off to make a living
and in the hectic hustle and bustle
one of the sanctuaries is Coach D
on the way home from the City
and the frustration and restraint
of anti-social conduct
and basic respect.

14. That I will be on David Letterman
or the Late Late Show
or USA tonight
or the BBC prime time news
or some such over-hyped
TV show talking about you.

15. That you will thank me for making you a celebrity by default -
15.1 and subsequently appear on late night Z-list celebrity game shows involving boxes of spiders.

You are the worst Muse ever
in the history of Muses

16. and this is how you will be remembered

thick skin;
born from years
of frustration
exile
and failure

a diamond fella
they called him
a gentle man
by any other name
in my book

always with open arms
giving his time freely
helping people
was his vice
and ultimately
his undoing

understated in beige
camouflaged in denim
cloaked in 3-0-1 zips
sipping a beer
I've never even heard of

all the time I knew him
every time I saw him
sat on his own
or propping up the bar
he was playing Worms
the 2007 Edition
on a retro brick mobile

just to be around people
the social animal inside
drawn like a moth to the flame
the flickering glow
the background chatter
the clinking of glasses

the deluge of laughter
surfing the vibes of waves
drowned in the welcomed
cacophony of bar culture

he was everywhere
and nowhere
the man with no name
seemingly knowing everyone
but he always
sat alone

tonight my friend
someone
somewhere
is raising a glass
with your
name on it

in silent slumber
slowly awakens
wrapped in a cotton cocoon;
the sweet smells of sleep
seducing the senses

forget the sour notes
those bitter fruits
the disjointed limbs
the ***** that yawn
in the trickle of yesterday

laid to waste
burnt in the unforgiving ash;
a misplaced cigarette
and the wine rediscovered
hiding in the cupboard
which tasted of vinegar

savour the new day
the awakening
the red dawn

revel in the mystery girl
face-palm-plant
the lost chances
the razor sharp wit
lost in the sugar syrup
of many a Mojito;
the things I could've said,
I should've said

fumble
in the blur
another
Sunday morning;
the day after
the night before.

So....
you were tactile
when we first met
the showing
and, then,
seemingly
welcoming

But....
And....
(it was easy to beguile him)

I wanted something
You had something
we agreed with smiles
(nothing written down)
....
regret is but an emotion;
not a dribble of ink.
....
chasing shadows
springbok in season;
sharp claws
arched back;
pounce.
....
The Prey just rang the buzzer
(three chapters later....)
....
So you have to leave now -
Thanks for playing my game
I am not interested any more
I have had my enjoyment
(at your expense)
....
you can go now
....
Leave
more confused
....
than when you
Arrived
....
She purrs
>
Who is next?

Farewell Govan -
bathed in a baking sun
littered with betting shops
and no win/no fee criminal lawyers
and a myriad of pubs caked in years of libation
steeped in history of industry and shipbuilding
blackened smoked walls etched with gangland symbols:
tooled-up local carnivores who ride shotgun on a BMX
swapping discrete envelopes for indiscreet wads of cash.

Farewell Govan -
you fractured my ribs once in a moment of mistaken identity
I didn't heed the advice to not walk through the park at night
I didn't hear the pitter-patter of adolescent feet
speeding my way in brand new trainers across the grass
but I did feel the clunk of something solid on my head
as the ground rushed up to meet me in a concrete embrace
and watched as 4 bags of overladen shopping spewed out
lying face up spread-eagle in Lilliput fashion
and a mobile torch-app in my face with the repeating words
“Ima tellin’ you man its naw him, its naw him”
I reassured them frantically that I was definitely not him!
as the hooded troupe picked up what was left of my shopping
and even gifted me a couple of cans of super strength lager,
a cube of dubious council estate hash
and an usher to leave immediately
(and think myself lucky).

Farewell Govan -
you got me blazing on cheap beer at the local pub
which had recreated a holiday beach scene
with a hand-written sign that read: Better than Ibiza!
awash with carefree children
and pit-bull terriers wearing bespoke Barbour dog jackets
and brand spanking new Adidas white trainers
purchased from Tam out of a nondescript blue plastic bag
who always passes the day's pleasantries
while topping up his pension
chatting with auld Billy who was in the war (don’t you know)
via the Merchant Navy
and the version of how he was gunner on an oil boat in Vietnam
via the umpteenth pint that afternoon.

Farewell Govan -
your late night shadows harbour an underlying tension
masked with comic humour only if you can understand the lingo
words that are distasteful anywhere else are in fact a term of endearment here
I shall miss the odious vernacular and doth my cap to your spirit
the Salt of the Earth and the Lifeblood of the Community
with at least 40% proof liquids mixed with Irn Bru
purchased at the 24/7 corner store along with a can of processed peas;
one of your five a day.

Farewell Govan -
I go to the sunny side of the Clyde
where it rains just as much
but you don’t get mugged for carrying an umbrella
or asked for the time from a watch-wearing tattooed sailor
and joy-of-joys there will be actual fruit & veg shops
where I don’t have to explain what fresh coriander is
and what you use it for, other than on a pizza;
I was offered dried bottled parsley instead.

Farewell Govan.

you
are
broken

just
like
me

search
ing
for

that
place

the
wander
er
with
in
has
awoken

and

echoes
every
face
we
see

the glitterball in space
wrapped in wormholes
caressed by distant quasars
peak at optimum speed
before floating falling
toward the muted aromas
of space age earth

the bile of industry
smears the planet in neon
one giant shinning marble
city lights stretch
in the haze from pole to pole
whatever hemisphere
whatever timezone
whatever continent

aqua is the precious mineral
few places exist where
hope springs life eternal
rivers were rerouted years ago
run by power corporations
who package it in sachets
with dehydrated memory

a planet of consumption
tectonic plates stitched
stapled, bridged and woven
the fabric of the world

we unzip to consume
revel in the electronic tune
that breeds our contempt
for the the lost seasons
our reason dilluted, polluted
by the tune that remains the same;
beautiful stranger
dream a dream for me
because now all we have
between us
is acid rain.

sacred
silent season
wrapped in silk
in your tall towers
imposed
with the
ambling sense
of reason
and ripe blossoms
bathed in ***** milk

never again
left to wonder
the aimless
riches of yesterday
and the golden
hopes of tomorrow
such are the joys
of a Norseman
pillage and plunder

I will rummage
your sweet gardens
let your woven path
lead my feet
free of chains
to your doorway;
and the Viking
stirs and hardens

alpha breath
against moist
misty white skin
my cobalt aquas
revel in the seas
of your chastity
now ablaze with
nordic sweat and
archaic sin

Let the games begin

Highland Nordic landscape
hands bound by twine
the smells of pine
wafting through the forest
the stranger awakes to their escorted fate
the judge, jury and executioner awaits
with bated breath and a heaving chest
behind the forever closed gates
just beyond the mist.

The Rebels want their Freedom
and the right to choose their destiny
The Empire want allegiance
and the spoils of war
to stroll their sequestered land
the suppression they hold unto thee

taken by force in an act of Union
intent on silencing the minority
but the quell of the rebel voice had failed
an unbridled passion and belief
that as natives they would never relinquish
not even under the purge of fire
nor the controls to decide
that resistance of existence is futile
in the face of a Colonial state
that all should bow and abide

emphatic on extending their reach
natives were but minions in their eyes
harvesting an ancient history
as you would brew heather mead
hounding the pilgrims of Talos
tending the ego's of the few over the many
laying claim to what lies beneath the sea
the fossil fuels they ache for
and on-demand that they have
the greatest need.

Dragon Slayer is in their midst
but they do not know that yet
not until this epic unfolds
like a warriors Tartan
laid out and stitched in war
the family crest emblazoned
hues of amber stained in years of fervor

the weight of the uninvited guest
who decided it was best
that they should take whatever they desired;
you land, your dreams, your women -
the nubile pale skin of a lovers breath
tarnished her name, pillaged her sanctuary
before you were able to take her hand
and under the arched stealth of moonlight
and under the eyes of your Gods
solemn oaths sworn and ritual pacts made
that they would never steal the memory
and that this would never fade.

Dragon Slayer would have you heed their name
in time to come when all must decide
make alliances of your own
or squander freedom in the name of history
let the past slip into the murky waters of shame
preserved in the wetland bogs to the west
till the soil broken by man's greed
to populate the last remains of nature
so that he may gorge his already fat belly
with the notion of carrying on his seed
in a world where more are alive today
than have ever been.

You decide:
what do your Elven ears hear
your Orcish eyes see
your Redguard heart feel
your Viking spirit wield
your Khajiit senses fear

the Argonian lizard
his forked tongue speaks in riddles
puzzles await
poisoned logic
and arcane magic
in a time before the world found its feet
when dragons ruled the skies
and breathed fire and ice

the artifacts of legend
lay hidden in the hall of stories
rewarding only the Dragon Slayer
with the wall of voices

will you accept the fate of history
or stand tall and embrace the change
will you go headlong into the cold night alone
whether you be the warrior or the mage
all that is yours by right to keep
your moment of glory awaits

the Greybeards will ask only this:
which destiny will you seek?

There was a time
when people
were simply
people
before they understood
the sensation
of belonging
and speech
was wrapped
in neon

Fear of wonder
the lost
reflection in
the frosted glass
peering out
across the world

He embraced
the harmony
She resonated

stand fast
raise your warrior arm
in splendour and dissent

carve the path
besieged on all sides;
the penance of deviance
awaits with open arms

embrace the battle cry
let it ring in the ears
of your foes and their kin

fulfill the oathes
uphold all that is good
in a world of devilment
that crawls beneath the skin

You are a Viking
in this life and the next
do not falter

your name depends on it;
resolution and absolution
await only the brave

the Viking exists in you
do not ignore your dreams
until your grave

your last breath
will be the final kiss
upon this world;
make it count.

Tread the bourgeois carpet
of 5000 feet
caked in airmiles

Enter the ornately crafted
nondescript facade
passed the chap in the tall hat

Rank and file -
standard issue pleasantries

Sign the guestbook
of illegible memories

Acclimatise to the room
of temporary devotion

devoid of belonging
or emotion;

the ruthless economics
of designed practicality

The impending ideology:
that what you pay for
you dont get to keep

That nameless hotel
dressed in uniformed vulgarity
is the fourth to be welcomed
as Home this week

Technology:
how I love you and loathe you
in the same breath

your phonic ears
listening out for
a babble of distress
from a childs vest
sleeping soundly
in the next room

your ten tentacle arms
purge my words
and shelter emotions
across vast distances
for long lost friends
to find comfort
in 140 characters

your innovations
are the respirator
the breathing lungs
the beating heart
the bionic limbs
that help without want
to walk again

if only you could
just once
guess my words
correctly
just once
is all I ask

I invited that girl
for a pint
not a riot
and the black berry
ripens in the east
is now an improvised
IED

Technology:
will you ever be perfect?
or will you always
be evolving

how will you know
that you have not
stepped back
to be overshadowed
by an ape

punching numbers
searching for Shots
and finding Pints
in the middle of
a dusty Riot

the chalice of fire
glitters in the darkness
spirals in space
wrapped in wire
good vibrations
litter every street corner
sparkled eyes
sensual lips
and a warm wise face

I welcomed you
ushered you in
from the dark
and you stole
the one thing
I could not replace

Love

dented but not broken
in the demon dark
the deep chasms
of the wilderness
and the forgotten recess
silence from tender slumber
has awoken
the synergy of temptations
on their merry dance
sip divines peach nectar
the naked flesh and heaving chest
unleash thy sporadic vital spark
the impressed intent
of thy chosen scent
fuels the interactive nodes
neon infused electronic spasms
that echo in the dark

a subtle jowl in latent jest
as twilights nimble fingers
unbutton what remains of carefree days
and the fallen angels
with such sweet caress
to touch the mystic
unfurl the arc of your rainbow
and shine your rays
on cobbled memories
of Paris in the rain
and Tokyo Blue
hustles in the backstreets aroma
blow the cobwebs a gentle kiss
on days like this
left unchecked and laid to rest

gathered in momentums voice
and uttered as a sensual breath
the nakedness of emotion
the arcane interventions
should not be left to fade
to fill the empty space
they call the void
these technicolour moments
we've made  
stumble on the waves
the fragrances of youth etched
in unedited stop motion
the contours of discovery
sparkle in the ether
the azure eyes
and the open arms
of the ocean

I should've guessed
by the nondescript response
teenagers glazed
by 'proper' use of language;
'old-speak' as some would see it
yet to be blessed by a words prowess
fazed by more than 1 syllable
seems inconceivable
and yet text-speak sits,
or rather, should be, languish,
as a hybrid of our languages
prompts me to write this
out of plain literary anguish.

each year on birthdays
write a small poem or limerick
the momentary excitement of opening the card
is lapsed by reason
(it does not contain a £20 note)
the thought bubble denotes
they express some disdain
the speech bubble that follows
the spark in the brain
just another of Uncles gimmicks
lacking the imagination to invoke
something more personal
than a hardback book:
another 200 recipes
for the aspiring young cook

they implied they enjoyed lunchtimes at school
instead wanted an iPad or something
equally expensive and cool

So I try to embrace it
this thing they call urban
write something poetic in text-speak
the very premise of it
is somewhat disturbing
the infinite curve of learning
LOLs from actual LOLS;
the mobile language equivalent
of online voyeurs,
the posters of nonsense,
noobs and trolls

apparently a ROFL
is more-or-less as potent as ****
I scratch my head in wonder
text-speak is used by millions
to converse on a global scale
some how

Q: does SUM exist
(as in 'shut ur mouth' )
is that acceptable?

A: not yet cordially invited on the list
(its an actual word
doesn't count as an acronym)
Im told

the coal face of the lexicon:
indigestible
the steep learning curve:
unpredictable

by your 30s its automatically
re-classified:
Congratulations
You are now officially 'Old'

we are merely wordsmith pedestrians
lost in the tide of text-speak equestrians
jumping and leaping and rolling in SETE and S2R's
are we binned as an S4L, the Spam For Life?
(perhaps I haven't got that abbreviation quite right)

in the context of text-speak
they are suitably troll-like in their essence
forgive me dear teenager
I am but a
SNAG in your presence:

'Sensitive'
(on occasion)
'New
Age' and
'Grown-up'
(given the right persuasion)

the riposte would be SUYF!!
('Shut Up You Fool' - said like MR. T in A-Team)
STM and Spank The Monkey
apologise, SOZ, SRY and Apls
or something equally short,
snappy and funky

at this juncture
before the brain has a puncture
simply BBFN, lest I
BBS or BBIAB or BBIAF
[thankfully this isn't a test]

like WCA
(Who Cares Anyway)
but you'd remark WAI
(and thats I for Idiot)
let out a long distance sigh
wave the imaginary fist
at the youth of yesteryear

all you'd get back was
Wicked Evil Grin
(WEG) for a
Wild *** Guess
(WAG);
a WEG for a WAG
and a PDQ x 2

would be the sum parts of the conversation
between me and you

if language and words and meaning was lost
if acronyms and abbrieviations
in CAPS
was all that there was

*** smeared in ***
with APLS for the PMJI
TXT SPK has got me PML
when MHBFY and
M8s on a MOB crusade
AWOL and dizzy for the next API
MGB for your MF device
throw in some GALGAL logic
where GIGO will simply suffice
Warning: PAW and GJIAGDV
(where the latter is Volcano)
include your GF for some cuddly GBH
and some GHP if she says so

its T2Go
be positive with the T+
and all of that Text-Speak CUZ
I'll T2UL and T for your time,
I'll TAH on the whole TBC

next year i'll just slip in a £20 note
and simply write:
Happy Birthday
with LV
from me

Today I lost a dear friend.
She loved with unconditional love;
the type you can not buy or barter
she would instinctively know when I was near
and would wait patiently by the front door
a 6th sense beyond what we see or what we hear
what we think we heard or what we thought we saw.

She had golden hair with flecks of mottled brown
smiling eyes that knew friend from foe
loyally walk side by side
without fear in the darkest places
where ever we would go

I remember that time before;
id broken up with a girl of 5 years
she knew something hidden was very wrong,
although I hid the tears, let the feelings cower
she sat upon my legs, a paw on each shoulder
nestled her head into my neck
and hugged me for at least an hour

She was a lady of grace,
with the poise of pedigree
with an open heart for those close she loved;
her immediate family, close friends and me.

She would've made a winning frisbee catcher
that'll be the greyhound whippet in her genes
zig zag sprinting faster than the wind itself
hares and foxes was her excited prize
lay low among the undergrowth unseen
other than her piercing forever watching eyes

Yesterday, like any other day she dug for stones
chased her reflection on the water
and stood guard as we slept
little did we know the excitment of a fox to chase
would stop her heart and for hours after
my father, who kept his emotions in check,
was left speechless and bereft  
as he uncontrollably wept.

Today I lost a dear friend,
a companion like no other
an amalgamated sense of loss,
like a sister from another mother.

Her last breaths, there are no words
to look upon her slowly glazing eyes
wrapped in a shroud and placed in a box
she will be sorely missed
departed from the ones she loved
to the land of the chasing fox;
muted words exchanged -
the last goodbye
the forever kiss.

Corrie
Rest in Peace
1999 - 2013

reach up, outwards, touch the frozen sky
marvel at the dancing shadow
birds in deft murmurations;
before they wave goodbye

lost swallows of yesteryear
traced flight and swift souls in
motion, like tiny frozen tears;
serenade the dying sun

gilded and immaculate
silver auburn summer glaze
to brooding blackness of night;
kaleidoscopic

marvel in the majesty, behold
inhale the epic simple beauty
exhale the stress of modernity
seize natures gold

I love a good debate,
[science mixed with illusion]
and this year was no exception:
the debate on the best shapes for a kite
from design implementation, inception and execution

some sturdy string and industrial-strength glue
the machinations of whether to use plywood or bamboo
and of course built by your own fair hand
such was the intensity of discussion it continued
with an after-lunch stroll on the beach, where the uncles
drew their prize-winning geometry
with a primitive stick
in the sand

a question on the mathematics of aerodynamics aside
its currently a battle of the cyclic quadrilaterals
and documented film of it successfully tested and tried;
years of perfection honed by the skills of Fatherhood
to know instinctively the difference
between the brilliance of genius
and the borderline
just plain good

If nothing else has come from this
I now
know
[so as not to lose]

K = p/q over 2
or
K = ab – sin Ø

[are the formulas to use]

my heart bleeds for the Lost Children of Tomorrow
cut down in their infant prime
a community broken by sorrow
families in turmoil
united, saddened, enraged and loyal.

what happened in Connecticut the other day
is just ******* wrong
I rarely swear in my poems
but the feelings too strong
I struggle to express
20 children killed
lest, the very thought
leaves the spine frozen and chilled

Im not one to be political
and this poem isn't satirical
we talk about the Lost Children of America
but what of the Lost Children of Gaza
200 killed, bombed and shot
in their schools, in their homes, in the plaza
do we protest that these atrocities must stop?
we outcry at the public consumption of guns
but are we fickle to which news story
that leaves us shell shocked and stunned

perhaps we have become dehumanised
to the daily statistics of death;
we should write eulogies
for all the Lost Children of Tomorrow
not just for those from the West

my heart bleeds for the Lost Children of Tomorrow
cut down in their infant prime
leaves a world broken by sorrow
in a race against time
lets not forget the other nations
at this time of giving;
we should be a race united
for the love & for the living

I shed a tear let it not be for nothing
please do not scan read the poems meaning
or dismiss it as poor verse
because it demands of your feelings;
if the emotions were blood vessels
the arteries would burst

we are all poets here
with words to share
put our hearts online
our emotions laid bare
I ask very little of you
Only,
lets not forget the many
when we eulogise the few

the pitch dark symmetry
of spiral engraved
glossy jet black
vinyl

the ***** claws
and webbed spiders;
graced with impeccable
scratch

words come back around
from dog day afternoon;
entwined in ritual
beatology

technique absorbed in prowess
dedication assimilated by passion;
human form and synthetic resin becomes
overlayed

polyvinyl chloride or
unsaturated hydrocarbon radicals;
a derivative by any other
name

I'll leave that nugget for the pub quiz
and relax, post-Christmas stress;
the street scramble bustle,
embrace a pint of
black magic