"horrible bird"
she called it
telling of how
she had watched
a crow pluck
and pry at
its weakened prey
while perched upon
the bird bath
outside her window
at the garden's edge
despite this sternest
of lessons
nature at its most fickle
she still sits
in her comfy chair
looking out
over a bank of flowers
buoyant in bloom
enjoying the sight
of wagtail
bunting and finch
alighting on the stone plinth
pompous and preening
refreshing themselves
admiring the plumage
of their reflection
before returning once more
to wing and wind

how loudly
that clock ticks
when all you want
is ******* sleep

knowing full well
the pain it causes
and the knowledge
that it will only
make it worse
i still bite
and pick and pull
at that jagged edge
of my finger nail;
more often than not
the finger is left
bleeding and aches
for so long after

the old wives
say it must be
the left hind foot
of a rabbit
shot with a silver bullet
or not shot at all
simply captured
one way or another
ideally on the grave
of a criminal
the more wicked the person
the more potent the charm
with the foot harvested
while the poor creature
is still alive
it has to be done
in a cemetery
during the night
of a full
or new moon
though others say
it should be
a friday
a rainy friday
friday the thirteenth
if the foot is to become
one of those lucky ones

it's
not enough
and
it never will be

****
it
all

i bought a chair
that i thought was
exactly
what i was looking for
exactly
what i needed

the style
           the shape
                        the colour
ergonomic perfection

that something so simple
could align with
my needs
my wants;
i was surprised
i admit
it caught me off guard

but in time
the comfort i thought
i had found
was found wanting
dissipated

adjustments were made
and support toyed with
plumped up
or reduced
as seemed necessary
only to achieve
further discomfort
and anger

perhaps this desire
(or desperation)
to find
an idea of perfection
dulled my senses
forced
what did not truly fit

i have now spent
more time
seated
upon the floor
considering a replacement;
unable to commit
to discarding
this imperfect throne

i have no confidence
in finding anything better
and will likely continue
second guessing myself
as i second guess myself

she said
that i manage
to reduce
the nicest moments
into their
most negative
aspects
my eyes wandered
as she spoke
falling upon
an extravagant
burst of
the sun's rays
exploding through
the rolls
of pearly cloud
colouring the sky
with blooming petals
of pinks
and oranges
haloed by yellows
and creams
a sight
to marvel at
perhaps
but without
the imperfection
of that
darkened shroud
this light
would not
be mixed
into such
artistic palettes
and
the magnificence
of the scene
would go
unnoticed

perhaps the moth
simply doesn't know
the strength of
its own wings
but the way it flutters
seemingly erratic
        in its choices
never straight forward
        in its direction
can be infuriating at times
as those silken sails
appear to force it
where none expect it to be
in disjointed circles
often far off course
only occasionally
will it find itself
exactly where it should be
whether accidentally
         or by design
its every path is filled
with calculated corrections
revisions and redress
in order to reach
its intended
that source of light
one way or another

there are certain things
that i only think about
late at night
while the moon
smirking down
looms
full and brilliant
encouraging me to consider
everything broken

there's an answer there somewhere
it promises

by morning
epiphanies fade
never held long enough
never followed through

squinting
against the sun's condescension
i'm reminded of the moon
and it's smirk
but this time
there is no trust

it made him feel old
     beyond even the years
          he was managing to carry
as he judged the children
storming the carriage
raucous in hi-vis
ever-ebullient despite
their chaperon's plea
to showcase successfully
their inimitable behaviour
only to be scuppered by
a locomotive
     lack of momentum
which did nothing to quell
their impatient effervescence

as the stationary train
     held by an unexplained
          flashing of red signals
awaited its onward journey
through yet another
outbound rush hour
not one single person
elected to sit next to
or even near by
that solitary man
wrapped tightly in coat
bedecked in hood and hat
hands deeply pocketed
and eyes half-closed
blind against his fatigue
and the low-slung sun

unseen by the children
until after their calming
the man appeared to them
     as one of those adults
          not to be disturbed
like their grandpas
deeply snoring on
those rainy Sundays
or their parents
finally at peace
after one of those
     wanton days
steering clear of limbs
and personal space
they are careful to avoid
any proximity to this
slumbering stranger
fearful of the wrath
of such an awakening

appreciating their caution
     unnecessary as it may be
through his squinted
obstructing view
unexpectant and unexpected
he found himself smiling
     at what he could see
     at what he remembered
and stirred playfully
settling deeper into
his feigned slumber
careful to avoid
confounding
any of those
childish preconceptions

i didn't intend
for it to seem pointed
that time the dog
accidentaly ******
on the
     church
              steps

i have no idea
when it started
but
i've been building
for a while now
year on year
brick on brick
everything sacred
                    fragile
safe and protected
behind the fortress walls

a citadel
for the pure
             the honest
                    the real
locked away
hidden
from the risk takers
and the hurtful

safe inside
surely...

realising too late
all i will ever see
is
brick
on
brick
while the beautiful
and miraculous
pass by
out of reach

this watch strap
was meant to be
made of genuine leather
the highest quality
chocolate brown with
a steel pin buckle
alligator patterned
finished in matte
though whether cut
from that soft yet durable
popular reptilian hide
as was "guaranteed"
questions will remain
it was not after all
purchased from one
of the authentic
branded sellers
so would appear that
i may have been
caught out by one of those
virally pervasive
regrettably persuasive
and ever-prevailing
peddlers of ****
once again
instead of the promised
"many years of enjoyment"
that were blindly expected
i am left resenting
those moments between
glances at that glassy face
futilely aware of the seconds
minutes and hours
that each split and crack
grows wider and deepens
beyond repair

guilted into yet another
late evening dog-walk
after too long spent
indoors and weighed down
by endless introversion
trudging an unlit path
free of the imposition
of street lamp
     and headlight
with nothing except
those familiar constellations
and a degree of
     lunular exposure
to guide our path
despite the cold and
that lingering feeling
of obstinate lethargy
we firmly planted
our mud-caked boots
upon the saturated ground
unstable and clogged
as it may have been
in order to marvel
at that moment
of unexpected perfection
perhaps it was simply
a case of fortuitousness
or sheer coincidence
but to us it seems
the universe is offering
more wishes than we could
ever have hoped for

there are times
while reading
that rather
than check
the definition
     of a word
a word
which is recognised
but whose true meaning
evades me
rather than
search the illumined
pages of a dictionary
to reveal
the mysteries of
     this vital word
this word
which carries
the entire weight
of interpretation
and comprehension
for the rest
     of the sentence
     of the paragraph
     of the page
instead there is
a striving
to illicit some
understanding
vague or otherwise
from whatever context
can be applied
to those words
that remain
indifferent to
the possibility
that I might
misunderstand
it all

even if
   i could
go back
in time
make changes
to the things
that didn't quite
work out
the way i wanted
have a second
   third
      fourth
attempt
at putting
something right
even if
there was
an opportunity
to make
the entirety
   of everything
better
i can honestly say
i'm not certain
i would

i've seen
far too many
films
and tv shows
about time-travel
to make me think
it's probably
a lot more effort
than
it's worth

it is no surprise
that it feels
so suffocating
with a mask held
this firmly in place

no matter how many times
i've crossed these tracks
nor how old i might now be
i will still feel
that childlike excitement
building within
as i look cautiously
left then right and
left then right again
just to be sure
before stepping across
that first metallic line
a symbol of both
danger and adventure
rechecking the signals
as i cross the second
i have never understood
what those lights tell
of the next train's progress
red yellow green
single or double
flashing or constant
no matter how clear
the tracks appear
the uncertainty of
what might soon be
unstoppably approaching
always sets me on edge
momentarily apprehensive
yet exhilarated by
each rushed step

i found myself reading
the words of Bukowski
as he describes a series
of meaningless moments
aspects of a journey
seemingly trifling
prosaic and unremarkable
in the manner recounted

a bus stops at a cafe
in the hills
lightly touched by
a newly-falling snow
of food and coffee
he says both were good
the waitress rare
the cook effervescent
the dishwasher commodious

as the snow swirls
beyond the window
he describes the scene
as beautiful but curious
certain it will forever
be beautiful in that way
he wished to stay
yet returned to the bus
nonetheless
when the driver beckoned

the other passengers
spoke or read or
tried to sleep
and none had noticed
the beauty of that moment
that something could be
so poignant to one
while being mundane
to others
is worth remembering
i guess

we are stuck
between Scylla
                           and
        Charybdis
we know the path we must take
but
I fear
we will ignore
the warnings

we are still off course

ever since
that brightest of lights
birthed the universe
and all that it holds
our particles have
been striving through
all that is known
of space and time
through countless changes
of form and matter
through our unknown infinities
amidst the infinites known
through beliefs and disbeliefs
uncertainties and doubts
falling continuously
in the path of our orbits
endlessly we will travail
entrained to reunite
with our eternal partner
separated only temporally
impeded by the superlunary
seemingly fated from beyond
the gravity of this mystic tie
binds all sempiternally
and we will be found
one in the other

lying
on my back
surrounded by
the beauteous
and magnificent
i had intended
on being
absorbed
   immersed
      softened;
instead
that which i carry
proved
too distracting
to ignore

i did not see
the grace
   of the clouds
watching only
in hope that
it might
drift away
with them;
dismayed
to see only
cirrus and cirrocumulus
and neither
looked strong enough
to bear
the weight

i could not feel
the warmth
   of the sand
instead
focused on burying
attempting to crush
and blend it
to a fine grain
but
it would not
     breakdown;
its bulk
remained
providing
neither comfort
not support

i was not worthy
of the calming embrace
   of the sea
saw no point
in making
an offering
to the waves
only for it to be
rejected
   and returned
by the tide;
the swell spitting
at my feet
in dismissal

noticing the sun
hiding its face
i packed up
   my belongings
making sure
not to leave
anything behind;
all that i had carried
would return
with me

It should never have started
I know
As well as anyone
That it shouldn't

But this
I can guarantee;
Whenever they say
"Do not..."
I'll be the first in line
To do just the opposite

Beneath it all
Though I know my mistake
It doesn't mean
I regret
A single moment

Perhaps
It should never have started

Doesn't mean
It should have to end

if i could just
find the trick
to remembering
that i was right
               all along
for a change

whether hero
or failure
we all have a breaking point
the difference between the two;
how much is loaded up
before the camel's back breaks

that deadened fingernail
first damaged long ago
not quite a lifetime but
time enough
          to feel that way
is showing signs of regrowth
partially shrouded but visible
beneath the lingering ruin
the fingertip was caught
ensnared and pressed
more firmly than
          could be endured
though care was provided
the bruising ran deep
and undermined any chance
of this body's repair
unexpectedly
          and unimaginable
in spite of this layer
of lamented keratin
there stretched forth
a sudden burgeoning
a crescent of cuticle
          and lunula
telling of the strength
of the fingernail to come

there is a point of no return;
unthinkingly dismissed
a line crossed;
bringing
instant regret
each
    and
           every
                   decision
up until that moment;
questioned
lamented
rued

i have just crossed
that threshold

the hangnail was bitten
and pulled
until flesh was torn
and blood ran
now there is nothing
but discomfort

knowing full well
what i was doing;
there is no excuse for such idiocy

i sit on the bench
and watch him roam
free to do as he pleases
within the confines of
our fenced sanctuary
that four-legged build up
of energy and excitement
taken by a sudden burst
sniffing at the long grass
as he bounds excitedly
up down around and back
only to stop abruptly
freezing in a Pointer's stalk
until the cause of rustling
in the undergrowth
reveals itself and takes flight
leaving him to snuffle
the scents that remain
exploring deeper
he pauses and looks back
checking i am still here
making sure i know
i am not forgotten

fireworks
******* fireworks
happy new year then
i suppose

it's
not enough
and
it
never will be;

but
it's never wasted
and
won't soon
be forgotten.

the key went
in the lock
easily enough
with no resistance
in the cylinder
nor any loose pins
catching inside
yet try as i might
it would not turn
all three keys
were the same
identical in height
of teeth and
depth of notch
i could not have
picked the wrong one
still the deadbolt
was unmoved and
would not let me
into my own home

entirely at fault
the Ubermensch
within
will still find
a means
of spreading the blame
beyond
the limits of responsibility

even these words
pass the blame
onto something
that can be claimed
as being
beyond my control

so is it even
really
my fault
at all?

it is not words
not even laughter
not a smile
nor a gesture
an expression
or opinion

there could be
silence;
nothing
but silence
and
our stillness

it would still be true.

like a horse
at the end of a whip
i keep circling
answering
each and every
beckoning call
with a smile
held in place by stilts

they have ears
that don't hear
and eyes
that won't see
and
they'll never truly know

i fear i'll never tell them

while i waited
for a sign
i forgot
to look at you

i still wait
but now
i do it
alone

though i float in time
i cannot get where i want
there may be comfort
found in the past
but
to remain there would be
too great a sacrifice;
this is
a much better place
though it cracks
and flakes

now that you mention it
the bright mornings
of yesterday
were just as clouded
maybe more so

dwelling on our struggles
we must not forget
the joys of
today

there is beauty
beneath;
i know
i have seen it
i have felt the joy
and
the peace

but
in my anger
it is crushed
it turns to sand
and falls
from
          my
                 clenched
                                  fist

i couldn’t stop myself

it turns out
we were hasty;
though we gathered wood
it was not nearly enough

those fires we had
burned bright
and true
but
maintaining such heat
proved harder
than imagined

offerings
at the start
were too much
too generous
burnt through
too quickly
radiating heat
enveloping us
in a false sense
of comfort

settling into this warmth
this temporary state
of contentment
the need for stoking
                for fresh wood
goes forgotten
as flames die
as embers dull

all it needs
is for someone
to reach out
into the cold
and awaken the fire
but it seems
no one
is willing

I'm trying
to be more positive
it's not as easy as
they say

optimism is
simply
accepting the worst
smiling
until the **** drains away
and the stench
starts to clear

when the absence
lulls you
makes it feel
like paradise

yet
still
there is a puddle of excrement
about your heels

i sit
and watch the fly
in its directionless ballet
it is frustrating
                and tiring
just watching
as it changes it's mind
incessantly

i laugh
i know as little as the fly
down which path
the right choice lies
maybe if i help
i'll get some help
in return

i open the window
and wait;
over
and
over
it flies into the pane

i can't decide
if its inspirational
or
pitiful

they say that
the centre will hold;
it's a pity
i'm not
centred
at all

there was a time
when my truth could be told
perfect
i thought
"say it
now
this will be beautiful
your bluebird will be free"

but
never trusting myself
i waited
too long
swallowed the key
silenced the song

the moment
gone
just like you

the truth
unspoken
my burden
remains

a crow
struggling
against something unseen
tries to fly
only to be forced
backwards
further from its goal
with every attempt

it will never realise
it was better off
beforehand
there is no regret
it will simply
keep trying
again
and again
until it succeeds

never thought
i'd be jealous
of
a crow

I have
nothing
but time
and
an apparent
lack of decision

did I take
the road less travelled
or
was it merely
the easiest route?

in this moment
while the sun enriches
i sit back
with my feet on the table
the great american novel
in my hand
pages whispering
as they turn

eventually
understanding their message
i close the book
lay it aside
turn my face to the sun
and listen;
birds drift and chirp
a breeze soothes all that is crosses
the trees and mountains alike
all remains unchanged
since well before my time

surrounded like this
there is nothing to do
but marvel
with time to just sit
and be;
there is nothing better

i used to think
i could conquer
anybody
anything

nothing out of reach
unobtainable;
nonsense

but no

mistakes
failings
resentments
regrets

heartbroken

         ­                   forgotten

                                   ­                left behind

now
all it takes
to break me
is
a beautiful pair of eyes
looking
the other direction

it seems that
unfortunately
someone
is always at fault

these
           days
they
                sleep
without
                 touching

at one point
ranks of flowers
lined the garden;
none of which
i could name
nor did i care
to learn

but at full bloom
staring into that kaleidoscope
those colours and the shapes;
there was catharsis

looking now
the garden is
a palette smeared
a spectrum of brown;
         brownish yellow
   greeny brown
      brown on
        slightly darker brown

the dog maintains eye contact
while defecating
on the flower beds;
and this is also
strangely cathartic

this rope
should not be pulled
from opposite ends
in opposite directions

what once was straight
is now
a tangled knot;
no direction
can be discerned

my white-knuckled grip
must be relaxed
if
this mess
is to be
made straight