I looked into the water
And saw my past.
You came into view with my sister in your arms
As you sat her next to me, I caught your eye.
You smiled,
An uneasy red-lipped, smile.
You sat next to my father in the front seat of the car
And began to chat
I was urging you to look round.
You did
Our eyes met.
You could not understand
What I was doing
“You are a funny little chap” you said,
Turning away.
You were thinking,
Thinking about me.
I had done it.
I waited.
I waited some more.
You looked round again
And smiled a lover’s smile of defeat.
I had done it.
I had made you fall in love with me.

Hail the spring morning!
The early sunlight smiles upon the garden
Spots of dew twinkle like diamonds on a rose
Which stretches tall, full of elegance and grace
A bumble bee struggles clumsily into a foxglove tube
And then out again

It is warm and it is beautiful

Slugs rest hidden under leaves waiting for the twilight
Before entering the stage
A wood pigeon coos his predictable song
Outdone by the fresh melody of the blackbird
And the sonorous caw of the crow
The full blaze of the sun has swept the dampness off the grass
The sky is full of blue
It is warm
A clump of white and purple daisies dance
Swaying wherever the soft breeze takes them

And they are beautiful

I tried to find a song
Which would express more eloquently
What I wanted to say to you
But I could not
Then I thought that I should shut up
Keep it to myself
I mean, what would be the point?
You would not welcome it
And you do not feel the same way
But then I thought  
We only have one life
And, in any event, you already know
That I love you.

I listened to a song,

It was beautiful.

It reminded me of you.

Your smile.

The simplicity of your life.

And your death.

You fell asleep and did not wake.

A beautiful end for a beautiful man.

I wonder if,  somehow, your essence lives on.

In a man, a woman, a child, an animal.

If so, I wonder if I see you, I shall recognise you?

I think I would.

What if our understanding of time is wrong,

That it is not chronological

And that we only discover this after we “die”.

If so, I look forward to meeting you again

For we had too little “time” together

Whatever that means.

Who was he?" she enquired of me
A man I knew, a man of many parts
A soul who stirred both gender's hearts
"He owns an open and honest countenance" said she

Open? Yes but he could shut it tight
"That I find difficult to believe" she remarked
"That a face of such design be moved to dark"
Dark? Yes but his true self was reborn in the light

"How so?" She was now both perplexed and wise
I and others have seen him turn a page
Or speak a line upon a stage
"Ah now!" she laughed "I see it with my eyes"

Words written and quoted were the butter on his bread
He could comprehend and play
Darkness or light any day
About a man so open and honest as he, what better could be said?

Sometimes I just want to be normal
I want to stroll over to the pub
And chat to a guy I know
And when I want to leave
I shall go

I shall walk out into the sunlight
Stretch my back and get into my car
Put on my music loud
And drive as fast I can
As fast I’m allowed

It will take twenty minutes or so
To reach the station in time
I park and watch a disabled guy
Limp to the ticket machine
I thank my lucky stars
That it’s him
Instead of me

You see me as you leave the train
You smile in that familiar way
Demure and kind of formal
A smile that a wife
Would give to a husband    
If he was normal    

Yeah, normal is what I’d like to be
Nothing special, just as before
A man who could hold his head high
A man who could sing with The Beatles
Tell me why

She has a nest in her studio
She has a nest In her bag
She has a nest in her note book
A nest of memories of her mum and dad

She has a nest on several bookshelves
She has a nest of tools below the food
She has a nest of films on the TV
To watch if in the mood

She makes a nest for the tortoise
She looks for nests in a tree
She makes a nest of her bedroom
Even in her new lavatory

The car is a nest of tobacco bags
A bottle without a top,
A note if anyone wants the car moved
She’ll make nests until she drops

She has a nest of ideas
Her brain is a nest of plans and schemes
And when she goes to bed at night
She has a nestful of dreams

Softly now,
Wish as you whisper,
Wipe away the tears
That hesitate in my eyes,
You paint in lavender today
Tomorrow in blue,
The day after?
Who knows?
Why do I weep?
It is not the colour,
No! It is something else,
It is the pain,
Sudden, like a slap,
That then seeps into my heart,
Squeezing it with kisses.

I sit alone, watching the thin branches shudder
In the breeze,
I look again.
They are still.
No, they sway,
I think,
The blossom feeds on the fog,
As it puffs and sinks and settles.
All life and death is here -
A blur,
A smudge,
A shadow,
A lick,
A spit,
A kick,
I flick a switch and it has gone.
The pain remains,
That beautiful ache in my eyes,
Washed clean so that I can see
The reality of time
Expressed so eloquently
In a moment
That I love.

We Didn’t

I sensed that you would have if you could have but you didn’t.
I felt that I could have if you did but you didn’t.
I looked away as I spoke but you didn’t.
You brushed your hair from your face but I couldn’t.
You might have if I’d asked but I daren’t.
I liked how I ate as best I could have but you didn’t.
And, as you ate, I said what I said but shouldn’t.
You touched me twice as I did but I didn’t.
As you left I wanted you to stay but you didn’t.
I wanted to hug you but you kissed me twice so I couldn’t.
I felt that you might have if you’d stayed but you didn’t.
So – we could have and maybe we should have but we didn’t

Just a whisper of remembrance,
A brief touch on my shoulder,
And there you are!
Smiling, enquiring
Listening, reacting,
I shall let you go now
To be with them,
Your family,
Who love you so.
Your blood is their communion
What joy, what warmth,
You gave them and give them still.
How fortunate are they and we
To hear your whisper,
To feel your touch,
To love and be loved.

It was only a moment
No more
I mean, how long does a moment last?
She was standing in the kitchen
Near the sink
Next to me
Facing away
I took a step back
She turned on her heel
I happened to be holding my left hand about level with her waist
It was almost a dance step
We did not touch
And then it was over
I carried on past her
I don’t think she noticed
She had her back to me
It was only a moment

In my dreams
They skim across the turf,
Like white swans,
Weaving patterns with the ball of brown leather.
Mackay with chest puffed out, strong and hard
Blanchflower threading the ball through enemy lines
To the Welsh wizard, Jones
Who turns on a sixpence,
Leaving the defender flat on his back.
The ball floats into the box
The crowd lurches forward as one,
Willing the burly Smith to plant it into the net.
It groans as the ball is punched away by a desperate goalkeeper,
It spins high into the sky
And for a moment,
It is lost in the glare of the floodlights
But one man keeps his eye firmly on the ball
The tall, noble Norman leaps into the air
And we hear the thud as he heads the ball back
From whence it came,
Thousands cheer and then weep with wonder
As the Ghost, White, appears from nowhere
To cosset it with his right and flick it with his left
Into the path of Greaves who turns to acknowledge the roar
Even before it crosses the line.
He runs to the centre circle,
His hand outstretched, to thank
The mighty centre half
Who stands like a sentry at the castle gate
All in white – white shirt, white shorts, white socks –
Apart from the cockerel sewn in blue onto his heaving chest,
Which encases the throbbing heart
That now beats no more
Except,
In my dreams.

The boy pressed his palm on the glass,
It seemed warm against the hand of his father,
Who stood on the platform,
Looking at the face of his son,
Perhaps for the last time.
Be well! he shouted
Look after mama!
His son called back
He heard no words,
But understood as thin arms crossed a chest,
Heaving with sobs.
The man could not bear to think
He would never hold that small body again,
Never lift it onto his shoulders
Never see it grow.
His pretence of bravery,
Conjured by his smile,
Deserted him as the train lurched forward,
Then stopped cruelly,
Revealing the desperation in his heart.
He swallowed his tears
And shouted again,
Goodbye my boy!
There was no respite this time,
The carriage accelerated away,
Taking his son to a new life,
A new history.

The sun paints shapes of silver
On the water,
As it rushes over the pebbles,
Singing a melody,
Never heard before or since.
It is the end of life,
in its present form.
He goes now to a place
With neither past nor future,
He will feel exultant,
Vital and valiant.
You shall know this,
Because whenever you think of him,
He will be that way.
There will come a day
When you too will join him,
In that timeless state,
Where no wars are fought,
Where sunrise marks not a beginning,
Nor sunset an end.
Upon the sound of the gentle bell,
You shall go quietly,
To leave us to wonder,
Until we take our turn,
To roll out the blanket
To sit with you among “sweet forget-me-nots
That grow for happy lovers”,
While listening to the words,
Full of meaning,
That no-one understands,
No-one hears,
Until the bell chimes.

The nightingale sings
Beneath a silver moon
It is a song of melancholy
It falls upon my ear
Like a lover’s whispers,
Urgent and persuasive.
It is your happiness
That I want most of all
I see it in the frames of old films
In the swing of your hips
The melody guides me through the dark
To the beat of the crunch of the deadwood
Until I reach the water’s edge.
You are there;
The reflection of your body,
Shimmering in the ripples fed by the breeze
Which breathes over the lake,
Disappears as you push forward,
Searching for what you have no longer.
I stand and watch for a while
Then move on
For I have nothing to give
Only the song of the night bird
Over which I have no power
The cool water strokes you
Not as once I did
For in those days
I gave you your happiness
That happiness
Which now I want most of all

The boy pressed his palm on the glass,

It seemed warm against the hand of his father,

Who stood on the platform,

Looking at the face of his son,

Perhaps for the last time.

Be well! he shouted

Look after mama!

His son called back but he heard no words,

But understood as thin arms crossed a chest,

Heaving with sobs.

The man could not bear to think

He would never hold that small body again,

Never lift it onto his shoulders

Never see it grow.

His pretence of bravery,

Conjured by his smile,

Deserted him as the train lurched forward,

Then stopped cruelly,

Revealing the desperation in his heart.

He swallowed his tears

And shouted again,

Goodbye my boy!

There was no respite this time,

The carriage accelerated away,

Taking his son to a new life,

A new history.

Oh, The Snows of Kilimanjaro
What do they mean to you and me?
I asked a man passing by my house
As I leaned against a tree

A novel by Hemingway he responded
A book I have never read
But maybe one I shall pick up
And read before I am dead

But, you sir, he countered
What do the snows mean to you?
I hesitated before giving my answer
That we, all of us, live in a zoo

How is that? he enquired with interest
Are we not free go where we please?
No it means that we are imprisoned
They have thrown away the keys

We have free will the wise men say
But, in truth, that is not so
We cannot exercise it
With our feet stuck in the snow

If you know all this said the man
Why do you interrogate me?
Because, I replied, I must know if I am correct
Before I have my tea.

There is a small cupboard beside my bed
It is called William.
That was a joke
It s called a bedside cabinet.
It has a brass handle on the drawer
The drawer is central to this poem
Because of what it contains
Without its contents it would merely be a drawer
Now you want to know what the drawer contains don’t you?
No?
Well I shall tell you anyway
Inside the drawer is a metal nail, some toothpicks, some pills
A pair of ear plugs and a small piece of toilet tissue
Or lavatory paper as my mother would prefer to call it.
The paper or tissue doesn’t mind what you call it – it is simply a tissue
It has no mind no feelings
Let‘s not waste our time speculating about the offence caused to a piece of tissue,
Alright paper  
But going back to my point about the contents of the drawer being central to this poem
Why is that so?
I could make it easy for you but why not work it out yourself?
Think about it
A metal nail.
Toothpicks
Pills
Ear plugs
Toilet tissue
Alright, mum
Lavatory paper.
What do these tell you?
ABSOLUTE **** ALL

Wow,
Just streaming
Through these old, old chinks
In the wall,
Like some forgotten sun,
Black and blue outside,
On the edge, in.
Your eyes slipping,
My eyes cornered,
Trying to flow freely,
Taking threads, for now,
From yesterday,
Swimming in a pool of time and words,
Don’t say it,
Don’t day it,
Don’t say ‘I love you’.
Don’t say it
And maybe I will too,
Sitting in the middle of
Nowhere,
Waiting for a ride,
On some passing theme,
To be carried a little further away,
Painting,
Painting all earth blue,
Filtering over closed eyes,
Looking far ahead.

I really don’t know where I am,
It is hard to believe
There is not a solid thought in my head,
Every one of them crumbles away,
A million and one possibilities,
All as potentially real as the other,
Although,
There is one that I know -
That you are beautiful and,
If you love me,
It will all be ok.

I want to go back
I want to hold you in my arms
I want to hug you into my body
I want to kiss you on the hips
I want to whisper in your ear
I want to feel the curve of your back
I want to touch your eyelids
I wan to kiss your neck
I want to hold your breast in my hand
I want to stroke the inside of your elbow
I want to tickle the inside of your knee
I want to love you like I used to
I’m fed up with now
I want then
Not now and then
But always

You cried.
I did not want to hurt you
But I wanted you to cry.
I left you alone to wipe away the tears.
Otherwise,
I would have kissed them away.

When you returned to the room,
You seemed lost,
Searching for the lost thing
Or a thing to replace the lost thing
Why?
You hugged me
I did not want to hurt anyone
But I wanted you to hug me
I felt your body in my arms
The strap of your bra
So many times I looked at your lips

But I am not the man I was -
I am me.
I had pull myself out of a deep pool
A pool of despondency
A pool of emptiness
A pool of Loneliness.
Have you been there?

I like the sensation of communication
From different parts of the train
We text only a few times
But we meet on the platform as old friends.
Once we arrive at the house,
You take off your coat
To reveal a dress which swings and sways
As you sway and you swing.
We talk about our lives;
I do not feel that I reveal any secrets,
Nor discover any.
It is refreshing this advent;
We just want to play,
Maybe we will,
Maybe we won’t.
Who cares?
Not you,
Not I,
Not us.

My skin is old
My hair is grey
My speech is impaired
When I read the cricket scores in the paper
I am a boy again.
That boy
Who had no idea
What life would look like at 70
My tweed coat is motheaten
My stomach bulbous
My sister has been dead for 25 years
Is that all there is?
No, wait – there is so much
I listen to songs
We played when we were almost young
Young women look so pretty
Older women look so pretty
Old women look as old as they are
I cannot whistle
I cannot ******
I cannot stand and ***
I cannot sing
The songs of my youth
Which have become the anthems of my old age
But, I can think
I can stand on one leg,
I can eat from a spoon
I can read words
I can write them too
I am a boy of 70
That boy
Who has no idea

Hi
Hi
Hello
How did you sleep?
Ok
Badly
The only thing you done was yesterday
How did you sleep?
Alright
Not very well
I was thinking….
Mm?
Not interested
That……
Mm?!
Still not interested
Never mind
I want to say it
What?
Spit it out
Spit it out so I can wipe it up and throw it away
How much I love you
Please don’t sigh and say you love me too
Sigh - I love you
Too?
Don’t sigh again.
What?
Yes - too - sigh
You should see someone
And talk to them not me
Like that woman I saw before?
Counsellor, date, *******?
Yes maybe
Losing interest again
Give someone a ring
Who?
A friend, sister, brother
I don’t know
A friend, sister, brother
Please don’t cry
I’m not crying by the way
I’ve got something in my eye
It’s called a tear
Good.

My darling, my blood
Consider this
A man’s shadow
Falls across your path
It is unexpected
But it is not a surprise
It fits.
You bear his children
There is a pattern to life
But then one day
You are shopping, dancing
I don’t know
You look down
And you recognize the path
This time it is shadow free
So you take a step forward
It feels like flying
You glance behind
To see your hair blowing
Your dress billowing
The breeze cools your bare skin
It is wonderful
You smile
You laugh,
You cry
You shout
You sing
You dance
You look
You glance
You meet others on the way
Strangers who become friends
Friends who become strange
You are young
You make mistakes
You are old
You make more
You die
You live forever
Consider all this
Write it down
On scraps of paper
Throw them into the flames
Names, titles, curses, prayers all
Watch them curl and blacken
And come to their rest
It is alright
It is settled
Do not be afraid

My darling

My love

There are shadows in my life,
Dark places where secrets lie,
Waiting to be uncovered.
But there is no shadow
Without the spark of a match, the glow of a torch,
The blaze of a fire,
The flick of a switch
There is no secret in an open heart,
Some breathe in the fetid air of the dark,
Where there is no light, no shadow, no hope.
Others want to escape, to joy and delight.
I have no secrets from you,
No desires unexpressed, nothing hidden.
You know it all.
You know that when next we meet,
We shall feel as if we are naked
We shall lie together and talk and laugh,
You will light a candle and photograph the shadows I make on the wall
They will look like sprites
They will sound like the wings of birds.
There will be no shame, no blame, no guilt, no despair, no regret,
Only the secret of friendship.

You said yes
And now I cannot wait
Until I see your smile
Feel your hands on my skin
Your breath on my face
What have you done to me?
Everything
What do you mean to me?
Everything
What do I want?
Everything.

A violin plays
I drink some water
I sing a song in my head
As I imagine her in my arms
I stroke the sleeve of her cardigan
I have broken my promise
But she doesn’t seem to mind
She smiles
I dare myself to kiss her head
The moment passes
But like an off beat, strangely the time is right
She mms
But I let her go
She dances across the kitchen floor
To a hidden tune
I feel self conscious as I dance too
Someone calls on the phone
Neither of us answer
She begins to cry
I yearn to wrap her in my arms
I cannot
She looks at me
I look at her
Then I leave the room
I sit in the dark
With my glass in my hand
I know that she will not join me
I can still hear her dancing
On her own
As I sit on my own
And as I let sadness pour out of me
A violin plays

I look at the shapes
Of what I think I desire
They stare back
As gaping holes
I would spell it out for you
Only I cannot smell
I come away with an empty purse
Bereft even of the simplistic morality of youth
My youth, in which my past
Was short and indistinct
My future, romantic and unknown
And my present, documented but misunderstood
I walk alone amongst the crowds
A stranger to them all
It is a beautiful night
For some
For someone
But for me therein lies danger
And fear
Fear of the putridity of what lies below the surface
A foulness that even I cannot disinter
I am lost in a wilderness of goodness and honesty
For which I yearn each and every day.

l thought of you just now
my mind wandered in and out of the long grass
through bushes
along a path
through a gate and on to an empty beach
and there you were
sitting cross legged
before the sunset
there was a space
on the towel next to you
l sat  there
and together we watched the sun go down
once it had disappeared
l turned to speak to you
but you had gone
like a sunset

You
I saw
You.
I did
I saw you
Saw you give,
To me
To others
To sisters
To brothers
I saw kin
I saw slim
I saw mild,
So fast
It was wild
How did I see
So much
So free?
What is it
To me
To you
To him
To them?
Begin
Again
I saw you
What you do
What is it for
What I saw?
What did I see?
Me,
I saw
Me.

Before the sun had risen
This morning
I turned in my bed
And hooked my little finger
Through the wires attached to my ipod shuffle
Plugged in the ear phones
And pressed play
But there was no sound
The battery had lost its charge
I didn’t get up
I wanted music
So I lay back and closed my eyes
And thought of you
The music you make
The clash of cymbals when you are angry
The sweet sound of the flute when
You have no cares,
The deep sonorous bellow of the trombone when you are serious
The plucking of strings when you are contrary
The lush harmony of the string section when you declare you allegiance
The stark blast of the trumpet when you force me to think
The doleful melancholy of the cello
The sad wail of an electric guitar
And l thought
Yeah
You are an orchestral score of the movie of your life
I thought of all this
Before the sun had risen

I am gentle
I am kind
I can see
I am blind
I walk the line
I walk fast
I come in first
I come in last
I feel happy
I feel sad
I am good
I am bad
I try hard
I try my best
I try serious
I try jest
I can’t be
Yes I can
I could be
Just a man
I sing songs
I make no sound
From Penny Lane
To Homeward Bound
I have dreams
I cannot sleep
I just doze
And stretch my feet
I’m in love
I’m in a spot
It’s complex
No it’s not
I make mistakes
I make do,
I make biscuits
I make you
Laugh at me
Laugh with you
Laugh a lot
Laugh a few
But who am I
But who am I  
But who am I
Make a guess
I am gentle
I am kind
I can see
I am……..blessed!

She looked at me
I looked at her
Uncomprehending
We stared
Two creatures with no knowledge of each other’s way of life
She continued to peck and tear at the back of her prey
A polite pigeon
Who had the temerity, and strength, to carry its killer on its back
Looking in vain to escape.
The pigeon blinked, resigned to its fate as her talons gripped tighter
The beak dug deeper.
Death came and the eyes closed
Peacefully, quietly.
The snapping of the beak on bone the only sound.
She paused to **** on the pigeon’s wing
Then continued her meal stabbing into the back
And the neck
Her mouth thick with blood
She had killed for food
A cruelty unknown to we who shop for ours, leaving the killing to others
The image of death remained with me
The ripping, tearing of feathers, skin and bone
The stare of her yellow eyes empty of compassion, regret or guilt but full of ferocity of savagery
All taking places on a soft bed of fluff white and grey feathers
As other pigeons sat and watched and cooed
I scooped up the remains later
It was a headless carcass.
Without a soul
Without religion
Without those beautiful innocent blinking eyes

Who am I?
A man of principle
Who would not wish anyone to come to harm
Least of all through his own acts, words or deeds.
Or am I a predatory sloth
Waiting in the shadows
For another unsuspecting female
To walk by
Whereupon, I would slither out
And try to entice her into the darkness
To share some loathsome activity
Under the heading of Art?
Am I the merry idiot whose sharp asides
Are the very essence of wit
Or am I thinking, planning, scheming
An unacceptable attack on the virtue
Of young virgins attracted by my fame
And yet mollified by my illness.
Yes, who is this man who is desperate to shed his clothes
In order to reveal the real him
The naked babe in the cot
Before sin permeated his disgusting mind
So perverted that even his wife cannot bear
Even the tiniest suspicion of a caress?
I speak of him now in the third person
Even I cannot own him.
Who is he?
Nothing.
A battery operated *** doll
Drugged out of his mind
Who can hardly speak or walk in a straight line
Let alone stand tall and *****.
I have told you who he is.
Now, you tell me
Who am I?

There is a lone rider in the sky.
I have never seen his face
But, late at night
I hear the ring of his spurs
As he urges his steed forward, forward.
He used never to be on his own
There used to be riders by the score
But his companions have disappeared, one by one
Until only this man and his horse remain
Listen
I hear the ring of his spurs again
This time it falls more gently upon my ear
I look up
As the evening approaches
It is becoming darker
Not so easy to see the lone rider in the sky
Listen.
There is no sound.
Look
Both man and animal have gone.

Who am I?
A man of principle
Who would not wish anyone to come to harm
Least of all through his own acts, words or deeds.
Or am I a predatory sloth
Waiting in the shadows
For another unsuspecting female
To walk by
Whereupon, I would slither out
And try to entice her into the darkness
To share some loathsome activity
Under the heading of Art?
Am I the merry idiot whose sharp asides
Are the very essence of wit
Or am I thinking, planning, scheming
An unacceptable attack on the virtue
Of young virgins attracted by my fame
And yet mollified by my illness.
Yes, who is this man who is desperate to shed his clothes
In order to reveal the real him
The naked babe in the cot
Before sin permeated his disgusting mind
I speak of him now in the third person
Even I cannot own him.
Who is he?
Nothing.
A battery operated *** doll
Drugged out of his mind
Who can hardly speak or walk in a straight line
Let alone stand tall and *****.
I have told you who he is.
Now, you tell me
Who am I?

What is it that you do now
That you have never done before?
What is it that I did not do before
That I do now?

What do you think now
That you never thought before?
What did I think before
That I give no thought to now?

What do you feel now
That you had no feeling for before?
What did I feel before
That I have no feeling for now?

I love you now
I loved you before

I think of you now
I thought of you before

I feel for you now
I felt for you before

But you are not here
You are there

And I am not there
I am here

I am walking ,
Alone, down a path in a forest
I hear nothing,
I hear everything,
The crunch of the dry earth under my feet,
The buzz of the wings of a wasp rushing by, black and yellow,
The breeze whispering in the trees,
Then I hear a different sound,
So pure and clear,
It is someone singing.
I move towards the voice
And come upon a lake
You are sitting by the water’s edge,
Drying your hair,
I sit next to you,
My eyelids droop,
I wake in the in the dusk.
There is no singing,
There is no sound at all,
You have gone
But you were here.

If you have what I have,
You will know that it affects every aspect of your life,
Your relationships,
Your friendships,
Your cognitive powers,
Your speech,
Your sleep
Your gait,
Your balance,
Your normality,
Your dribbling,
Your sense of smell,
Your marriage,
Your parenthood,
Your grandparenthood,
Your anxiety,
Your sensitivity,
Your reason,
Your mortality,
Your self-worth,
Your ****** performance,
Your self-respect,
Your ability to pull your socks on in the morning,
Your ability to joke,
Your ability to hide,
Your ability to stand still,
Your ability to swallow,
Your weight,
Your timing,
Your swagger,
Your urination and your defecation,
And if you happen to find a way to combat all this,
You are praised,
Which is very nice,
Very kind,
Very welcome,
Very uplifting,
Very comforting,
Very satisfying,
Very pleasing,
Very inspiring,
But it doesn’t go away,
It is always there,
Every second,
Every minute,
Every hour,
Every day,
Every week,
Every month,
Every year of your life until,
You die.
If you have Parkinson’s Disease,
You will know all this.

There was a bow,
On a hook,
By the door,
By the green door.
It was a ribbon of red silk
I was not afraid,
I saw your white skin,
In the surf  
Under the grey sky.
Why am I writing these words?
I didn’t want it to happen,
I didn’t want my life misshapen,
I didn’t want another sister
To replace her,
But there was a bow,
On the hook
By the door,
By the red door.
She unravelled the ribbon of red silk;
She held it tight between both hands
Across her mouth.
I saw the fold of skin behind her ear,
It was too late;
She had gone.
That is why I write as I do;
To tell the truth.
To say categorically,
I am not your brother,
I will not be your brother,
I never was your brother,
I long to touch you.
And so I say these words of love
To reach out,
To touch you.
There.

I called you loud, the other night
The other night I called you loud
I did not mean brash or mouthy
I was referring to the volume
But
Thinking back
I realise that you were in a rage
The loudness of your voice
Was needed to bring down
The walls that surround you
Like the trumpets at Jericho
It is your way of breaking out
Into the next phase of your life
From the prison in which you live
Of which I am a brick in the wall
Well, good luck to you and God speed
You have the voice to do it
I did it and, for a while, I was free
But then the posse was formed
To bring me back home
So run my darling
Shout all you like
Make art which will shock and surprise
And make people open their eyes

Oh fly me to thy bed,
Princess of the light.
Do not wait upon thy conscience
But love me there as I would wont to love thee.

And how would that be?
Soft and silent as a petal to the touch?
Or hard and rough,
Like the careless storms of winter?

No, it would be as thou desireth
So long as I am in the partnership of it.
I would accept thy every whim,
So to lie with thee upon thy grace.

‘Tis God’s truth
That I love the very core of thee;
Each movement of the clock
Hath marked this state.

Does it too, set the beat of my heart
In perfect harmony with thine,
Or is it discordant calamity
That falleth upon mine ear?

No, that clamour is
Born of the dancing of angels,
In joy in laughter in celebration
Of my love
And thine.

Come to my room tonight,
Whisper my name at the door,
I shall answer,
As I did before.

“Yes?” I shall say,
With a beating heart,
And the door will close
As I lie in the dark.

I shall hear the shuffle
Of your feet on the floor,
The rustle of sheets,
As I did before.

Without a word,
You will lie down by my side
I shall not move,
But I shall not hide.

And, in the morning,
As I awake,
Alone in my bed,
My heart shall ache.

Was it real or a dream?
I cannot be sure,
All I know is that I love you,
As I did before.

You showed me the words,
Which I did not ask to read,
Which I needed to read,
Which you needed to show me,
Which I wanted to hear.
Your poems were strangely beautiful,
Beautifully expressed,
Beautifully composed;
They told a story,
A story of hell.

I cannot remember the question,
But I do remember the answer I gave,
Without mercy,
That I had, we had,
Given my own daughter the happiest of childhoods.

Soon you and I shall dance together,
And after, you shall tell another story,
In words and pictures.
A story of a woman and a man;
It will not be strange or beautiful
But normal and safe.

Softly now,
Wish as you whisper,
Wipe away the tears
That drizzle down my cheeks,
You paint in lavender today
Tomorrow in blue, the day after ,
Who knows?
Why I cry?
It is not the colour,
No, it is something else,
It is the pain,
Sudden, like a slap,
That then seeps into my heart,
Squeezing it with kisses.

I sit alone, watching the thin branches shudder
In the breeze,
I look again.
Still. No, they sway, I think,
The petals feed on the fog,
As it puffs and sinks and settles.
All life and death is here -
A blur, a smudge, a shadow, a lick.
I flick a switch and it has gone;
The pain remains,
That beautiful ache in my eyes,
Washed clean so than I can see
The reality of time
Expressed so eloquently
In a moment
That I love.

I look up at your window,
As I pass by.
The shutters are closed,
Blank and white against the western sky.

I look up at your window
But you are not there.
I long to hear your thoughts,
Watch you re-arrange your hair

I look up at your window;
I want it all.
But it is not to be;
We were never meant to fall.

I look up at your window;
Today I see the sky.
I want to stand beside you,
And watch others pass by.

I look out of your window.
You do not ask me why.
I look across the Irish sea.
Where others watch you dry.

I look up at the window;
I see someone in your place.
You have now gone,
Leaving not a trace

I turn away from the window;
The wind of time has blown.
I walk home in silence,
To eat porridge on my own.

Away from you
I feel the past closing in,
Each path leads to memory,
Each road holds all the emotion and energy of my love
For those who have passed
But who gather on the wayside to watch me pass by.
They turn their heads to follow my progress along the route
To the place where we shall all be together again.
For their sake, I hope they do not wait for me
For I am not yet ready
They grow old and cold in the waiting
Whilst I smoulder and grow bolder
In my pursuit of happiness.
I could exist without it
But the fire would not light.
All I need is a spark.
The spark is you.

It is too late to ask me why,
It is too late to say I lied,
It is too late for me to run,
It is too late to blame my mum.

It is too early to say goodbye,
It is too early for me to die,
It is too early in the day,
It is too early for me to say.

It is too hard to explain,
It is too hard to take the blame,
It is too hard for me to cry,
It is too hard for me to try.

It is too easy to run away,
It is too easy for you to stay,
It is too easy to point at me,
It is too easy for me to see.

It is too late,
It is too early,
It is too hard,
It is too easy.

Two toos are two not four,
Four toos are four not eight,
You see, it’s not easy,
It’s just too late.

I am an old man
Who lost his way
Lost the capacity to understand
Built on the foundations of shifting sand

I thought I had won
The battle and the war
But it seemed I had lost
All that I lived for?

So why , why do I whisper
These words in your ear?
What do I expect to achieve
What do I know, what do I believe?

I believe that I know you
I know that I believe
That you will listen to your friend
That this not how it will end.

I thought I had lost
The battle and the war
But I had won
A friend.
And what are friends for?

I am already dead,
I tell them what they want to hear
I’m fine, thank you.
I love you
They assume that I am gushing,
Overflowing with love
But, am i?
I frighten them away,
I know that I shall act honourably
They know too, don’t they?
That I am a spaz
A dead spaz
But why didn’t you say?
Are you feeling better now?
Yes, I’m fine thank you
Look, I’m naked again,  
I cannot speak,
I cannot walk
I cannot go
I cannot come
I am inspirational, unoperational,
Sensational, creational
And
I am already dead
What a relief.