I wish I had found in you,
all you had found in me.

This is not my poem
Sure I sat here and wrote it down,
but its not my poem.
Yes, yes I took the time to memorise it so I could see my words reflected in the expressions on your face as I read aloud...
but its not my poem.

This is your poem
You wrote this
You wrote this with your smile
the curve of your lips wrote this
the sparkle in your eyes punctuated every line and measured every pause, perfectly.
Your lips formed every word, sounded every syllable, created the melody that echos in my head as I write YOUR poem.

The rise and fall of your chest first catches my breath, then takes it away completely. Sensibilities and caution tumble down your back like rain in a warm summer shower that falls from a star filled sky, the heavens have opened. My heavens have opened. Caution is now a distant memory, like something once heard but long forgotten, something you knew you once knew but know you no longer have to remember so while there is at least an awareness of it, its passing will not be mourned.

And there, pooled in the small of your back, nestled just above the curve of your buttocks, lies hope.

The hope that the beauty I see in you, in us, in everything since we met isn't a mirage, isnt a projection of some one sided fantasy but that its real. That its as real for you as it for me and that I'm not alone. That I'm not alone in the way I feel and the way I think and the way........ the way.....the way I love. Its hope that knowing how I feel, how much I'm in love, in love with you, the hope that hearing me say out loud the very thing that I've had to fight telling you on a daily basis hasn't scared the **** out of you the way finally admitting it to you has me.
But this isn't my poem.
This is your poem.
You wrote it
and its my gift to you.

...after what feels like years of falling off the horse and being advised by well meaning friends that the best course of action is to get right back on, it has dawned on me that rather than falling off the horse I am indeed being thrown, as demonstrated by the invariable trampling I receive while trying to regain my feet. I have therefore decided to take this as life's way of telling me to stay the **** away from horses.

I think, at least some of us, fall in love instantly without even knowing it. And the time between then and the point where we actually admit it to ourselves, is more about acceptance, either social or personal, of how long it should take to "get there".

How else would you explain that once you know you're in love with someone its almost impossible to remember a time when you weren't in love with them.

The downside of this theory is that should things not work out, its so ******* ******* hard to get back to a time before, a time when you weren't in love with them.

And maybe we never do. Maybe we never fully recover.

Initially it's the immediate changes that carry the most pain. No morning greetings on your phone, no shared nonsense during the day, the kind of nonsense only couples share, the empty bed... the feeling of once again being alone.

In time though those moments get forgotten, or at least replaced by new routines that help avoid them until enough of the pieces are back together that they don't hurt anymore. You no longer have to fight the urge to say good morning the moment you wake up; going for coffee no longer feels like an inside joke you have to share; going to sleep is no longer something that follows a two hour phone call.

But the bigger stuff, the truly great memories, they never go away. We find ourselves looking back on them with fondness, for comfort, proof that it did happen, that we were once that happy, that for a while at least we felt like we had it all. And sometimes we'll know why it ended and sometimes we wont; and as frustrating as either of these scenarios are, we'll accept that it doesn't really matter.

As long as we get to keep those moments.

It's those moments that make me question whether or not we ever truly stop loving someone. No matter how hurt we feel, no matter how much we feel they hurt us, deep down, if we're honest, we all have those moments, even for those who hurt us most. Sure they could be hidden behind bitterness, buried under blame, locked up behind the walls we let ourselves build as some kind of protection, but they're still there.

You're all still there.

What does the future have in store
that I need the strength
all these trails are supposed to be giving me?

What does my character lack
that it needs these lessons?

Or am I purely being punished?

Tell me the truth
set me free.

and in a single look
   with no words spoken
     more was said
         than in an eternity of conversation
            and whispered proclamations

It's always incredibly sad when you say goodbye to a loved one.
Doubly so when its the one that convinced you that "loved" ones could still exist in your life beyond family and people you've known forever.
You would think at 46 it would be different somehow, different to the way it was when you were 16.
But it isn't
Not really
The big hole in your chest is still there, the tightness, still there
You still put on a brave face to everyone around you lest they know the pain you're in
And it still doesn't make
any
*******
sense
at
all
...
..
.
So you just choke everything down as best you can,
move on,
lick your wounds,
and try not to let this moment of your past dictate your future the way theirs did.
And therein lies the tragedy of it all I guess.
You can go forward assuming everyone's the same, put up walls, let nobody in for fear you'll feel this way again and in some bizarre ******* of the word feel "safe"
or
you lay low for a while and go out there again
forgive and forget
really and truly try and forget
let the future be anything it wants to be without looking in every nook and cranny, every gesture, every subtext every moment...... for signs that its going to happen again, that he or she is just like "they" were.

Whoever said insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result has clearly never been in love.

Days are never longer,
                                        nor more empty,
                                                          ­            than when you're not in them.
                                                                                                                              .
                                                                                                                                .
                                                                                                                                .

When life has taught you,
through experience,
that two unrelated things going wrong at the same time,
will beyond a shadow of a doubt,
**** everything up that really matters.

Every time it goes to **** a little piece of me dies with it.
Hearts break sure, but they also mend over time.
What stays broken, what breaks more than it recovers every time though,
is hope
the belief in happiness
the belief in trust
the belief that if you put your everything into something
into someone
that it will all work out in the end
that knowing you would do anything would somehow mean they would too
that they forgive as you would
that they would work at it as you would
that they are somehow as committed as you are
all these things die a little each time, and never come all the way back

Sometimes
                                                    a
 ­                                                spark
                                         ignites         a
                                       flame,
                                       other times
                                                        it
­                                                    simply
      ­                                sputters  out
                   ­                leaving
                                behind   nothing
                              but                        ­a
                                wisp of smoke
                                  and a hint
                                    of
                     ­                sulphur,
                                       the only
                                        evidence
           ­                           we even
                                      tried.
               ­                            ...

Let me in so I can write poetry
in the goosebumps on your skin
And tell a tale of where we are
and where we did begin.

My kisses would form letters
in a braille that briefly lingers
That I might read as I go along
with the light touch of my fingers

Let me in so I can write poetry
in the goosebumps on your skin

Every night when I turn over, before I fall asleep, I wait for you to ask why.
I wait for you to ask why so that I can explain.
I can explain that if I turn over I can't see you. If I turn over and I wake up in the night, which is seem to do every night I stay here, at least two or three times, then all I see in the moonlight is the attic door, the vague outline of a bedside table, the soft pulsing glow of a charging cellphone.
Because if I can't see you then I can convince myself I won't feel the need to touch you.
Because if I don't touch you, I don't have to deal with the way it feels when you pull away.
So I turn over every night before I go to sleep and wait for you to ask.
But you never do.

Each of us has been granted an amazing gift
Most of us don't see it yet but as the years pass we will come to cherish it.
And with any luck we will get the chance at some point to pass it on.
You will abuse it.
You will neglect it.
You will most likely take it for granted.
And on those darkest of days you may even consider yourself unworthy of having it.
But you are wrong!
If you were unworthy, you wouldn't have been given it in the first place.
I only hope each of you realize just how fortunate YOU are to have it and in doing so promise yourselves never to waste another minute of it.

I miss the simplicity of a shared blanket, the intimacy of a shared pillow.
Moments of pure connection passed in dreams punctuated by waking, seeing you there and once again holding you close, but never close enough.
I miss your touch, the sound of your voice, the sight of your words.
I miss so many things about you its hard to explain that you're still here.
Not metaphorically but actually.
Is this how it ends?
Is this how we know its not going to work anymore?
Two people inches apart but a thousand miles away from each other?
I used to be able to tell the very moment you fell asleep, we were that in tune with one another.
Now I don't even know what time you wake up.
Before, before every change in your breathing would be enough to wake me. Not wake me to the point of consciousness but enough that I would be aware if it stayed changed or went back to normal.
Normal.
That's something that seems a long way off now.
I don't know if we'll ever see normal again and sometimes, just sometimes I'm not even sure I want to.
But then other times I feel like I would give anything to go back to normal, back to normal with you.
Normal.
Maybe for me, this is normal?
Who the **** knows anymore?
I'm just so tired.

What if your last love was exactly that, the last one?
Would you be more forgiving?
Would you "let more things go" in favor of not being alone?
After all, if they were your last and you knew there wouldn't be another, might you not be more inclined to keep them around?
I think about that sometimes.
I knew goodbye wasn't what they wanted to hear.
I knew they wanted to work it out.
But I know, for me, there was just no way.
Don't get me wrong, it was once great. It was once the best.
For a while we both tried to kid ourselves that it would last forever.
Turns out we were both wrong.
But as sad that feels, it was the right thing to do.

And if they were the last, then as much as it ***** being so premature, it could have been much worse.

Not a poem, just a thank you.
Today my HP reads passed the million mark.
A huge thank you to everyone that took the time to read the things I've written and special thanks to those that took the time to like, share and comment.

Thank you all so very much.

Peace

The uncomfortable smile
that you wear on your face
Your self confessed klutzness
and perceived lack of grace

The things that you say
and the things that you do
are just some of the things
I like about you

Like the stillest of waters
you run so deep
and the words that you share
are the treasures I'll keep

You're honest and modest
and fragile yet strong
and yet so uncertain
of where you belong

Let go of your past
leave your baggage behind
and trust in your heart
and just see what you find

You may be surprised
at how good things can be
If you let yourself go
let yourself become free

You'll never get rich as a poet,
its not that you're not any good,
but your words get given away to the poor,
like you're a lyrical Robin of Hood.

Your words will serve as a comfort,
to women and children and men,
but your time and emotions flow freely,
like the ink from your fountain pen.

But lets be honest about one thing,
we don't do what we do for the cash.
Words are like itches we can't quite scratch,
and our poems the resulting rash.

So you'll never get rich as a poet,
at least not in a monetary sense,
but you'll have lived your life in the trenches,
and not watched it pass by from the fence.

I struggle to make sense of it
but the only reason I can see
is that I was there to give you strength
that helped you to set you free

You left a life of comfort
but with no spirit and no soul
for a life with many challenges
perhaps to make you whole

But first one thing then another
made our future hard to see
and after one too many battles
you walked away from me

So tell me whats the lesson here?
What am I learn from this?
That I'm destined to come second?
That I'll never top the list?

Because trust me I know heartbreak,
I've learned that one many times.
But I thought this time was different,
thought I'd read between the lines.

Now all I feel is guilty,
that our crossing paths just made yours worse,
to me you were a blessing.
Was I to you a curse?

What dreams may come to me this night
yet disappear by mornings light
What visions there of you and me
my waking hours will never see

The touch, the taste, the smell of you
Is cast out by the sun
But in the first breath of a brand a new day
Lies the scent of dreams to come

As kids we played soldiers
sticks were our guns
our words were our bullets
we had hours of fun

But for kids in Uganda
it isn't the same
not since Joseph Kony
took over the game

He forced them to fight
and he forced them to ****
while we stood by and did nothing
lacking knowledge and will

But let this be the year
that it comes to an end
that there's visible justice
for invisible children

Because Joseph Kony
we're coming for you
stopping at nothing
and there's **** all you can do

http://vimeo.com/invisible/kony2012

The unanswered phone calls,
the unopened mail,
the half pack of cigarettes,
all witnessed the tale.

The half eaten sandwich,
the fully drunk scotch,
the out of date calendar,
the unticking watch.

The smell of stale sweat,
and the stains on the sheet.
The small empty bottle,
the drug store receipt.

This is the story,
of the unshaven guy,
alone in the bedroom,
escaping the lie.

I know that you can see me
because you turn your eyes away
and I know that you can hear me
by the things you do not say
How can we be so far apart
when I'm stood right by your side
Is there any chance you'd find me
if I chose to run and hide?
I feel just like a ghost sometimes
yet I'm the one that's haunted
by memories of happy times
not times by isolation taunted
My life is a frosted  vacuum
at least to me that's how it seems
where no one can see my tears
and not a soul can hear my screams

When you picture your paradise
what do you see?
A guy with a pen and a pad 'neath a tree?
or perhaps there are footprints
marked in the sand
tracing pathways of lovers
who walked hand in hand
Or maybe just maybe
there are sparks in the sky
from the bonfire beside which
we sleep you and I
When you picture your paradise
what do you see
for when I picture mine
I see just you and me

Another time, another place
perhaps then it would make sense
but for now its just too painful
watching you sit upon the fence
The timing was not ours to choose
for surely if it were
You wouldn't have to make a choice
nor I 'tween you and her
But choose I did and you I did
I give to you my all
but there you sit upon the fence
unsure which side to fall
And so I ask you one last time
who your choice is please just say
put us both out of our misery
and let the wounded walk away
Another time, another place
perhaps then it would make sense
perhaps then our paths would never cross
and we would keep our innocence

Life really is too short
for all we should have done
and how wrong it is we chose to walk
in the race we could have run
But we closed our eyes and turned our heads
when we had so much to see
A tale so truly tragic
is the one of you and me

Its snowing again,
but getting stuck here without you hardly seems fair.
A foot at least.
Like we always talked about, the wind howling down the chimney, snow drifting up against the door.
Pointless really.
Why have a good storm if you have no one to enjoy it with?
You should be here.
It should be all candles and brandy and a proper fire.
"Real flame effect" who are they trying to kid?
Not much use when the power goes.
What was I thinking?

When finally the end arrives
will it be a blessed release
will the turmoil of this life we live
be at last replaced by peace
Will I say goodbye with dignity
slipping slowly from the light
or will I be gripped by panic
from holding on too tight
I hope I have the courage
that I can show to those who care
so they remember me as being calm
passing in peace, not in despair.
There's so much I have left to do
so much more I have to say
when finally the end arrives
please let it not be today.

You're looking old, my friend,
and if I may say, a little sad.
Such is the nature of the honesty
our chats have always had.
And now your looking tired too,
worn down, defeated.
Where once I saw an extrovert,
I now see a man retreated.
The boy you used to be is gone,
never to come back.
The fresh faced look of yesterday,
hides 'neath stubble, grey and black.
The wrinkles now say character,
where their absence once said youth,
and eyes that once said innocence,
now show experience and truth.
That's not all, there's something else,
as if a sadness shrouds your soul.
hiding scars you cannot heal
whilst two halves remain unwhole.
But you know my friend, its up to you
and the chances that you take,
for our path is one we draw ourselves
by the decisions that we make.

Surrounded by people,
isolated and alone.
A day to day that begs escape.
A shelter's not a home.
Passing strangers turn their heads,
not one of them a friend.
Forgotten human contact,
let this not be the end.
Does anybody see me;
or does my voice just go unheard?
Am I really so invisible;
another unread word?
If just one of you would take the time,
to raise your eyes up from the ground,
but instead you just keep walking by,
ease your discomfort for a Pound.

I spend my days in ignorance
thinking everything's alright
Only to learn that "can we talk"
means "its time we had a fight"

How do I get it so wrong
just by hearing what you say
and choosing not to turn it round
to take it a different way

I tell you that I'm tired
but that's never what you hear
You choose instead that its a sign
that I don't want you near

I tell you that I'm busy
and the words fill you doubt
but it just means I have stuff to do
before the time runs out.

I tell you that I have to go
that there's a place I have to be
but you take as a personal slight
that its you I want to leave

But when I tell you that I love you
a smile lights up your face
There's no doubt or misconception
just acceptance in its place

I wish that you listen
and just hear the words I say
then we will last forever
and your smile is here to stay

We divert rivers for desert fountains
Mine the very souls of mountains
yet we cannot spare the cash to feed the poor

Election hopefuls promise lies
while they look us in the eyes
then line their pockets like any other corporate *****

The treasury of this nation
thrives on fiscal *******
massaging figures til the money is all spent

And while we're all left to drown
some get bailed out to higher ground
as they stand upon the ninety nine percent

Why does the power of human greed
come before helping those in need
or is compassion blind, no longer can she see?

I pray to god I'm not alone
so if you appreciate my tone
come out and Occupy this planet Earth with me

We were not part of your war
but just trying to live our life
myself and my two sons
my daughter and my wife

But that didn't seem to matter
when the bombs and missiles fell
Men, women and children
friends and family blown to hell

At least I'm not haunted by the visions
of my daughter torn in two
or the sound of the explosions
that beat my sons both black and blue

And every night I don't close my eyes
and hear the sound of my wife's voice
as she calls to warn my daughter
and then cries out to my boys

For I too was buried in that shallow grave
No words were said, none made a fuss
but when the poppys fall in the Albert Hall
tell me who'll remember us?

I'm over here, just look at me
acknowledge I exist
don't blindy shove your knife right in
and give a little twist
See I'm a real person too
with feelings just like yours
not a soul in search of pity
a human being not a cause
Listen to the words I say
don't presume to understand
just be sure you're going to follow through
before you offer me your hand
I've been let down way too many times
disappointed by the best
so now I stand upon the edge
and face the final test

What cruel twist of fate it is
that our paths were meant to cross
at a time when everything aligned
and conspired at our cost

We convince ourselves "another time,
a different life, some other place"
because karmic interference
is easier to face.

I wonder will there come a time
the pain becomes so great
that you abandon life with one unloved
and pursue a leap of faith

You see I lack the strength I need
to turn and walk away
and so I sit and wait in hope
you'll come to me one day.

Is it better to have loved and lost,
than never loved at all,
when the price of losing climbs so high,
and yet ignorance stays small?

A lack of motivation
Not knowing where to start
A desire for something different
pulling at my heart

Who knew that dreams could be so tough
that they could cause such pain
that reaching out and grasping nothing
would become my lifes refrain

Is it stubborn-ness that keeps me
banging my head against this wall
or is it knowing that by giving up
I'd not recover from this fall

So for now I'll keep on chasing
tilting at windmills if you will
for no matter how bad failure tastes
quittings a much more bitter pill

Is it wrong to say I miss you
Is it wrong to tell you so
To tell you that I think of you
Everywhere I go

To tell you I can see you
every time I close my eyes
Why pretend that things are different
theres no point in telling lies

Sometimes I think I hear your voice
like a whisper on the breeze
and still it sounds like music
and brings me to my knees

And as I kneel beneath the sky
wrapped in silent prayer
I ask that all my lives to come
with you I get to share

There's a wall around my garden
and in that wall appeared a door
I've lived here many years now
but not noticed it before

Its paint is worn and faded
you can see wood right through the green
and though its peeled and cracked in places
you can see nothing in between

And for some reason, until today,
I never gave much thought at all,
About what the world might look like,
On the other side of that wall.

But now I gaze upon that door,
Which has suddenly appeared to me.
And place my hand upon the latch,
And step out ....cautiously.

Is it ironic
that the child with terrible handwriting
expresses himself better with the written word
than he does the spoken?

Looking for the forest
from deep within the trees
lost within frustration
again upon my knees

Clouds once more have gathered
silver linings left behind
pain and pleasure hand in hand
forever intertwined

Torn between the future
and the struggles of the past
in a battle never ending
happiness can never last

One more night without you
ends another wasted day
each minute that we spend apart
makes me feel this way

No distance ever seemed so far
as that ‘tween you and I
Nor did a night ever seem longer
as in bed awake I lie

One day soon we’ll be together
nights will shorten, time will stall
From that day you will have all of me
My everything, my all.