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!

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.

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.

I see you in my dreams,
A white body in the water,
Your legs close to mine
Almost (but not quite) touching my knee.

I think back to the day
You came to your door,
Still wearing the warmth and stickiness of sleep
Which almost (but not quite) melts into me.

I wish I did not feel this way
But I do not seem able to stop.
Maybe winter will cool my ardour,
A question of almost (but not quite) wait and see.

I kissed your lips last night,
Almost drowned in cushions of flesh.
Should I avoid these somehow?
I wish almost (but not quite) that I could let it be.

I realise it cannot happen
The way I want it to be.
For all my so called liberation,
I am almost (but not quite) free.

My head and heart are in the ascendancy
But my body is in thrall to the drugs.
My diseased brain is at fault;
I am almost (but not quite) the real me.

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

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.

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?

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?

Oh, deep, dark night,
I have welcomed you as a friend;
Now you turn against me
With all your imperious power.
What have I done to deserve this torment?
Nothing.
A seed sown at birth
Is now in full bloom.
My country,
My country.
I touched your back
And remembered how it feels to hold you,
So comfortable.
So sure.
Now I couldn’t hold a feather,
Now I dribble **** down my legs,
Now I walk like an old man,
Now I can hardly write these miserable words.
No wonder you talk of former lovers,
A group of which I am now a member.
I am going to fight it all the way.
Oh deep dark night,
Let battle commence!

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 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.

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.