I've been
up and down lately,
well..
more than lately,
kinda jumpy too 
Y'know...
Figure if I jump high enough
with the earth spinning beneath me
the way it does
I'll see it all
for free...
Mostly I jump
waiting the next bus
on cemetery hill,
up and down and up again
watching burials
intermittently
over the wall,
my now you see me-
now you don't appearances
are part of the mourning process
in Selly Oak these days;
leaving folk in holes
with dirt on their faces,
their chests
and their feet
frightens me,
seems gravity's got
a hold on them
forever now,
so I'm glad for
the days when smoke
stacks exhale
and the wind
is filled with people,
I feel the bounce
in my sole remembered
and I know
sooner or later
I too will catch an updraft
and fly....
I've been
up and down lately..
well..    
more than lately
I've been kinda jumpy too
Y'know ?

He knelt
for twenty
years and
more to
fan the
guttering
flame, and
when he
sifted
through
the ashes
found
no reason
to remain.

''click-ety-clack
don't look back
click-ety-clack
don't look
don't
don't
don't''
the chanting carriages
stutter through the
blue knots of steel-
house-lane junction
trying to remember
their lines before
we vanish
down tunnels
stuffed with depth
thick enough to
touch; I unwind,
unravel, shuffle past
Mr Allsmiles
stretch my bones
and muscles back
into a less shocking
relationship and
rock toward the
corridor filled
with cold echo
spilling through the
open windows
like a cave
breathing out; damp
walls swing close
and away again
black with soot,
and other dark
things inches from
my outstretched
hand, if I bellow
through this window
...........
if I bellow
through this window
at that passing
wall of alcoves
my voice will become
another echo
in its history
shrinking like
a farewell
wave; ten minutes
behind Staffordshire
Mr Allsmiles
declared his love
for travel
to be borne
of desire for
new places
new faces,
I explained I
travel to leave
both behind.
'Even mine ?' he
joked
'Even yours' I
replied.
'You find pleasure
in arrival and
I in departure
don't....
take it to heart''
but he did
and he left
and he saved me
the trouble.
Outside is
a big dawn
in a pink and
an orange sky,
we are tearing
a scar through
it's birth
at one hundred and
ten miles an hour
toxic (per)fumes
invade my lungs
tears slide sideways
into my ears,
when it rains
I will wear
pits in my skin
like a pebbledashed
wall I am fifteen
years old,
at this speed
I can barely breathe
but i am flying
faster than
my fear of
a normal life and
...it     ...can't      ...catch        ...me

Stark staring planet
captained by fools
carrying a cargo
of hatred;

watched in the dark by
an audience of jewels
embarrassed they once
were related.

I put my trembling

hand in hers

when I was four

and twenty years

now twenty more

are come and gone

and yet my trembling

carries on

for different reasons

though I don't

remember when

those reasons changed

and all I have

is foolish hope

that one day they may

change again ....

Like a
crooked
tooth
she played
on his
mind
just
enough
to keep
him
from
smiling...

Scaffolders grimly
work in Whitehall raising up
hopes of a hanging..

There's a face at the window,
an old one I don't know,

I do hope he's not slow
to answer my knock;

It's late in the evening,
it's christmas and freezing,

I think he stopped breathing,
well ain't that my luck.  :0/

A heart beats thinly
under the winter's cold skin
it's sunken pulse fades..

Blindfolded
taking great care
to aim true
to loves path
Cupid arched his bow
and sneezed,
letting loose
a gold tipped arrow
too soon.
''****''
he muttered to himself
in Latin,
wiping his nose
on a bare
forearm.
''More heartbreak,
I hate
the ******
    summertime.......
.......I really
should wear something
with sleeves''

The heat of my youth
is as faraway now
as winters
that burned
in the hearth,
the flames
that once tickled my senses
splutter and cough
in the dark,
I used to see dreams
in the firelight
that smouldered
with promise and hope
but they cooled
with the wait
and when
it was too late
they drifted away
with the smoke.

Heavy with time he
turns the stones of memory
as he pans for gold..

Old Father Jack
followed the track
trying to find
his way home,
heavy of heart
and foot in the dark
cut by the wind
to his bones;
old Father Jack
night on his back
battered by gale
and rain,
cried out for the Lord
who thundered and roared
and took old Jack
home on a train.

She learned the story at school
of the son of the lord of us all,
and it has her convinced
though he's not been seen since
and he isn't returning her calls.

With backs as broad
as upturned sailing
boats on meadow-grass
the cows look up
from udderneath
the wind and watch it
hurry passed...

Somebody painted
a face
on my time
and pretending
that it
was a game,
they numbered
my days
and stood them
in line
and made
every one
look the same.

Somebody gave it
two hands
and a voice
that isn't
allowed
to stop,
it can tell
if Im late
and Im learning
to hate
the sound of
their
tick tocking
clock.

If it's dark and I know
nobody is around
I go outside and lay
plastic sacks on the ground
then I open all the windows
and I listen for the sound
of the storm that was forecast
marching into town..

Summer was spent
on home improvements,
re-aligning old walls,
building new ones,
replacing doors that swing open
with others that stay closed,
and soundproofing,
soundproofing from top to bottom
so now we no longer hear the neighbours,
or each other,
or any one at all...

Old Bones
planted
in a
crooked
straight line
watered
with the tears
of Sycamore
trees,
headstones
bend
under the
weight
of time
letters slowly
falling like
leaves

Theres a hill
made of wind
swept heather
and rock
where the time
that it takes
when I climb
to its top
is the same
that these words
too often unsaid
take to climb
from the
thickening
mist in my head.

Life is wonderful

She marches
the column
of crosses
and ticks
in line to
the foot of
the page,
a timetabled
life surrendered
to lists is
how she
gets rid
of her days.

Climbing slowly
up the back stairs
softly crossing
to the door
pushing gently
knocking empty
bottles to
the bedroom floor,
empty pledge
asleep on bedsheets
broken, blind and
in my chest
I can feel
an ageing drum's beat
marking time,
and emptiness.

For those who are regretful
is becoming more forgetful
ageings saving grace ?
If your memory starts to slip
does the bitterness untwist
and the frown turn upside down
upon your face?
I know it sounds bizzare
but if you don't know who you are
do they matter still,
those things you didn't do?
The reason that I ask
is I can't ressurect the past
and I need something
to look forward to.

If today
the anxiety
boiling
my head
boils it
inside out
and today
is the day
looks
really can
****, then
today I
shall have
to be
careful
to avoid
at all times
still water
polished metal
plate glass and
people in
sunglasses,
because today
(or any day)
I don't
want to
be a victim
of reflective
suicide..

She watches
at her window
for the sun
to reappear
and when it's warmth
is on her eyes
she knows
her friends are near
she smiles
because she's happy now
and turns around
to play
hand puppets
with her playmates
before they fade
away.

She flinched at the knock
of the first dirt to drop,

and wished for the voices
above her to stop

entreating Saint Peter
to greet her with keys,

she just wanted peace
and for everyone please

to *******..

She watches
her image
shatter
and fly
like tiny
glass tears
that fall
from the sky
and fall
with
their falling
accompanied by
the sound
of a satisfied sigh...

Not til the third
maybe fourth
deep sip
of sweet tea
does my body
begin to cushion
the boneknocking
rhythm of
the drumming
that has rolled
it's welcome
like carpet
over the dark hours
and the Wessex plains;
my face is one
of sleepless thousands
turned east
waiting
the return
of a warm
hearted friend
for the longest of days,
I stand in
fields of good wishes
and the impossible
blue giants
of Preseli feeling
wet grass
between my toes
remembering
another June day
breaking
in a place
not so very far
from here
where the drumming
was the beating
of club
against flesh
and the wetness
at our feet
was dripping and brutal,
I see others
that share
the taste
of undiluted bitterness
and still others
watching strangely
the strange folk
old enough
to know (better?)
than to curse
the footfall
of each passing
police issue
boot; some wounds
time heals
in it's own time
and though
we grow older
I would be glad
now if time
hurried a little;
a gentle breeze
smooths the fields
softly dropping
fine mist
over my ghosts
that thickens
like dark cloth
on the eastern hills,
collectively we stare
at the distance
willing a tear
through it while
up above our
heads there is
a pink sky calling
for the red sun rising
and we are here,
as we always
are, to remember
our tales and bear
witness.

Whitehall
in flood
in springtime,
at a bus stop
a young girl
impatiently
waits in a queue
for help
from the hands
of a handful
of strangers
to lift her
up onto
the bus shelter
roof; atop
of the shelter
afloat
in an ocean,
a boiling tide
that blisters
the street,
she stoops for
a bottle
cast up
by its motion
and plunges
it into
the waves
of police.

If you turned
inside out
could you bear
the exposure?

I'm tired of this side
of the wall,
tired from the effort
it takes to maintain.
I'm tired and wonder
if it should fall
how long will it take me
to raise up again?
I'm tired of this side
of the wall,
so tired I numbered
every stone.
I'm tired and wonder
if ever it falls
will I have the courage
to leave it alone?

Oh ******* the net
******* the net
I'll never forget
the moment we met,
from the moment I met
the ******* the net
I haven't been out
and I haven't slept;

she posted a picture
I did the same
she looks like an angel
I look in pain
so I posted another
this time of my brother
she told me her mother
had noticed the change;

******* the net
******* the net
surprisingly didn't
seem all that upset
said it was the hair
but she didn't care
she used to be Claire
and now her name's Jeff;

oh, Jeff on the net
Jeff on the net
everything's changing
and hasn't stopped yet
I love you I love you
but you ought to know
my body is buried
and I am a ghost;

******* the net
Jeff on the net
love on the net
death on the net
uou never know quite
what might happen next
in an internet life;
it's anyone's guess.....


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