If I were a bird,
I would fly over to him
And sit on a branch by his window
And sing melodies all day long.

If I were a lion,
I would leap on to his bed
And lie down beside him, heavy and muscular,
To give him the strength he does not have.

If I were a flower,
I would grow tall and graceful
And give out the perfect aroma
As he sits on his garden seat.

If I were an angel,
I would float down and lift him up in my arms,
Leaving the disease where he lay
And restore and return him to you.

If I were the sun,
I would shine hot every day
To provide him with the warmth and succour
That his ailing body craves.

If I were God,
I would cure him tomorrow.

I am none of these things
But I am his brother
And if all the love I feel
Were transformed into a melody,
Into the courage and strength of a lion,
Into the perfume of the finest rose,
Into a choir of angels,
Into the hottest sun,
Into the most powerful deity,
He would rise from his bed like Lazarus
And be well again.

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 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.

I confess that I do not know
The way to get to where I am to go
But there will be light and darkness
And warriors and dancers
Who will know the music in my heart
That says that I love you.

I confess that I do not care
Which persons will be there
To mourn my final breath.
What is life but waiting for death?
What is life but a time to dare
To love you


I confess that I did not laugh
At the strange things that littered the path
Through the time which I have been given,
A time when all the answers were hidden
The answers to the question
Why do I love you?

I confess that I shall not cry
When I know that I am to die
Because then shall I know for sure
What lives in my deepest core;
It is the only thing that matters
The love I feel for you.

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.

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.

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.

Do you remember me?

The boy whom you loved
In that world where you walked
And clicked your heels?

The youth who had grown
Into manhood
Whilst you explored another land?

The young man from whom you recoiled
With anger and spite
When he moved you aside?

The brother who stood by your bed
And witnessed the beginning
And the end?

I am the keeper of the flame
In my heart which flickers
Still.
Until,
My beginning,
My end.

I remember you.
Do you remember me?

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?

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.

I lie here in the dark
The cool morning air dries my skin
Moist after the sweaty night
I want a body next to me
Preferably yours
Just someone else who accepts me as I am
Crippled and trembling
With fear and with rejection
I am apart from everyone else
Sure, they are very kind to me now that I am no longer normal
They mean well
But I want them to mean more
I no longer have the confidence
To flirt, to beguile, to make people laugh
Oh I can raise the odd eyebrow
I tell a story
Probably the same one again and again
And they indulge me
Yes this is a form of self-pity
Not very attractive I know
But I have only myself to relate to now
I am the outsider
That people welcome into their lives
And say how amazing I am
And then they go home to their normal family,
So I lie here in the dark
Naked with myself
I brush my hands over my skin
And sometimes it feels good
And sometimes it doesn’t
I’m ****** basically
I am waiting for the sea to warm up
So that I can envelope myself in its silky charms
But I am afraid that even the sea will say no to me
Sorry chum but you’re just not up to it any more
You are an outsider

A pale blue silk thread
Has been sewn onto my pillow;
My future hangs by such.
Now, I understand the actor’s question,
“Do you like killing beautiful things?”
In that case it was a rose
Planted, fed, watered, sprayed, nurtured, admired
And then cut.
It was grown to cut
Like the lamb of God that takest away the sins of the world was grown to be slaughtered.
The alternative would be the slow death,
As each petal falls to the ground,
To be collected and secretly placed
In the shape of a heart on a bed
Or laid out on the grass in a line leading the way to the casket buried in the earth
I call out.
But she has gone,
Trust me, she has gone
Perhaps something remains,
Hanging by a pale blue silk thread.
I do not deny the charge but I admit no guilt;
It was me.
I drew three dots on my thigh in biro ink
So ******* what?

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

When I saw you yesterday,
You smiled at me
And, in that moment,
I knew the secret of life.

You were saying in that smile,
It is my turn now,
I am going to carry on
What others before have done.

I saw in your eyes
The sight of ancient times;
People I did not know
As well as those whom I loved.

It was strange
To see such faces
In the eyes of one so young.
It was a thing of wonder,
Like a beautiful song.

Your mummy will sing to you
As I sang to her.
She will talk to you
As I talked to her.

She will impart tales of times gone by
And she will speak the names
Of people you will never know
But you will take these forward.

Then one day you will look
Into the eyes of your child
And you will see what I saw yesterday,
When you smiled at me.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

"When shall we stop looking at women?"
Asked my friend.
As another came into view,
I hoped
That we had not stared
Too much, too long, too anything.
Educated, sincere, honest,
No-one should vilify his roving eye.
Later, as we sat eating,
The beauty parade continued;
We were polite, gracious, complimentary.
I walked through the tables,
The thin waitress caught my eye - the other one -
I returned her smile.
We left for home, my friend and I
To take to our beds,
Each of us alone,
Without enjoying the touch of another's flesh
Words of innocence,
A song of joy.
We had come into the world with nothing,
Only to lose everything.
"The day we die" I replied.

"When shall we stop looking at women?"
Asked my friend.
As another came into view,
I hoped
That we had not stared
Too much, too long, too anything.
Educated, sincere, honest,
No-one should vilify his roving eye.
Later, as we sat eating,
The beauty parade continued;
We were polite, gracious, complimentary.
I walked through the tables,
The thin waitress caught my eye - the other one -
I returned her smile.
We left for home, my friend and I
To take to our beds,
Each of us alone,
Without enjoying the touch of another's flesh
Words of innocence,
A song of joy.
We had come into the world with nothing,
Only to lose everything.
"The day we die" I replied.

yes,
he spoke of the language of flowers,
this man of Gaul,
he spoke and, as he spoke,
i looked out of his window,
i saw my thoughts trail across
a sky as blue as that in his first film.
i stood, naked, as he shined his light on me,
it picked out the old, the new,
it bathed me,
it made me feel beautiful again,
as any human, being, gone, to become.
he asked me to do what i wanted to do,
i laid on his floor,
i looked up,
into his eyes,
i saw that he knew
i was doing what i wanted to do,
i was speaking the language
of romance, poetry, of stories new and old,
my body twisted this way, that way,
the way it used to,
i was speaking la langue,
l'ancienne langue,
des fleures,
d'amour,
d'une vie,
une vie de la beauté,
oui.

“Do not be afraid”,
The poet said.

“Come, follow me,
Take my hand” he urged,
As he stood on the burning bridge.
“I will guide you into places
Where you have never been,
To see sights that you have never seen”

And guide us he did,
This wonderful man,
With words and rhythms
And rhymes and reasons
That we had never heard,
The lines of which we had never learned

And when he took us home,
At the end of our long journey,
We felt refreshed and alive,
As if the sky had washed us
In a way it had never done
Whilst we sang a song we had never sung.

And this poet even put us to bed
And he watched as we dreamed
Of worlds we had never seen,
Of words we had never spoken,
In a way we shall never forget
And with a love that we shall never regret.

And the poet said,
“Do not be afraid”

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.

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

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 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.

Gosh! So many possibilities!


..............so what are the probabilities?
That roses bloom in Summer
And fill a secret vase
Kept out of sight?
That the tide comes in and goes out
That we shout our names across the sand
As we lie together in the grass
And kiss each other on the ****?
Oh the farce of it all.
I think I am circling you
But you stand and watch from the outer wall
As I fail and fall (with grace)
One day we shall share a glance
Just one look in the direction of France,
C’est moi, say moi, says I
As I look up to the sky
And turn to the left, no to the right,
Look ahead, eyes closed, open, shut.
It is not enough,
We swing, we sway, we sing, we play
At the possibilities
Whilst the roses fade away
Only to rise again another summer’s day
And another
And another
And another…….

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

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.

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 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

Put away those thoughts,
Those thoughts of what could be,
Lock them in a cupboard,
Throw away the key.

This is as much a command to me
As it is a polite request to you.
Let us rewind the tape;
Let us start anew.

I regret the words I wrote,
Seduction is a crime,
It fractures beating hearts;
It would break yours and mine.

Let us draw back,
Not to hearts of stone
But to the purity of art,
Not skin and bone.

And when we meet again,
As we shall surely do,
You will smile at me
And I shall smile at 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.

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.

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.

I cast off my clothes, as he had asked,
And stood against the tree nearby.
I bent my head as he demanded
And the river, well the river ran by.

I brushed my skin and looked into the sun
I waited patiently, stared him in the eye.
Voices from surrounding hills faded away
And the river, well the river ran by.

After it was over, I picked up my shirt
It was cold and wet, I don’t know why.
The insects danced in drunken delight.
And the river, well the river ran by.

We walked on through the grass and the ****.
The music in my head caused me to cry
He did not notice. Perhaps he did not care.
And the river, well the river ran by.

I ****** in the water and he looked surprised
The wild sheep grazing, seemed almost shy.
A rotting skull crumbled into the earth.
And the river, well, the river ran by


Afterwards, he left me alone and drove away,
He shook my hand and said goodbye.
I never saw him again, my friend.
And the river, well the river ran dry.

When next I see you,
I shall say nothing
Not that I have nothing to say.

When next I see you,
I shall feel nothing
Not that I have nothing to feel.

I shall not let words or feelings
Interrupt our communion

When you were young,
I played with you,
I read to you,
I tucked you in.

When you were older
I spoke words you enjoyed
I expressed feelings you understood

But, no, I shall say nothing,
I shall feel nothing,
It may only last a moment.

It will mean everything

When next I see you,
I shall say nothing
Not that I have nothing to say.

When next I see you,
I shall feel nothing
Not that I have nothing to feel.

I shall not let words or feelings
Interrupt our communion

When you were young,
I played with you,
I read to you,
I tucked you in.

When you were older
I spoke words you enjoyed
I expressed feelings you understood

But, no, I shall say nothing,
I shall feel nothing,
It may only last a moment.

It will mean everything

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!

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 the spurs again
This time it falls more softly 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.

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.

Swim
and
Dream,
Swim and dream….
My eyes, they are open but cannot see;
Yours are open like the petals of a rose.
You see clearly but why not I ?
You guide me,
Through the rushes which bend
Like Russian dancers,
This way, that way,
Over the rocks which seem to move
In the shifting sand;
Up to the light where naked limbs kick and struggle.
I blink in the sun;
I glance left and right,
I twist and turn,
You are gone.
I swim,
I dream,
Swim and dream….
And there you are,
Asleep on the sea bed.
Through a stream of bubbles I dive down
And you wake,
You smile,
I lean forward,
You laugh,
As the sun ***** you to the surface.
Your toes brush my fingers
As you climb past;
I follow,
We swim,
We dream,
Swim and dream….
Dream of the sound of shadows
To come .
What is that sound ?
It is nothing,
Nothing at all.

A rich carpet of blue silk
Stretches out before me.
It licks the shore like a lazy insistent lover.
I look down at my feet;
Their shape distorted by one ripple, then another.
I run my hand over my lumpen skull
Backwards, forwards, backwards, forwards
Until the thoughts settle and lie,
Until my heartbeat slows,
Until men in black pass by.
I look up into white clouds,
Kissed by the hidden sun.
A spider's web bounces in the breeze.
What madness we bring into this world!
What misguided passion!
Who cares? I do.
I smile whilst I can.
I am thinking,
Thinking, only of you.

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.

10.30pm.
I am alone in my room,
All is quiet ,
All is calm
All I want to do is write,
Write words,
Write words to you
To continue our conversation,
To continue our connection,
To continue our understanding.
But words are not enough;
I want to see you
So, I close my eyes on the day
And there you are.
I am no longer alone.

3am.
Where are you?
Oh, there you are.
Slowly you emerge from the dark,
Your smile is like a torch
The flames of which lick and fizz.
You speak to me;
Your voice is like a violin,
Plaintive, yearning, lost.
We dance in the torch light
Until slowly we fall into slumber,
You, where you are
And I where I am.

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.

We speak the same language,
You and I,
When we are sad, we smile,
When we are happy, we cry.

I leaned against a wall,
Concrete, smooth, grey,
You pressed the shutter,
The first of the day.

We walked across stones
To my beautiful sea,
Full of strength and purpose,
Just like you and me.

I found a stone at my feet,
Coloured with veins of blue,
It was the perfect gift,
A gift from me to you

Then you said farewell,
With a tear upon your cheek,
A sign of the fulfillment,
That constantly we seek.

We speak the same language,
There is no denial,
When we are sad, we cry,
When we are happy, we smile.

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.