a flat white cools
far too quickly
for prolonged enjoyment
steaming the window
above the table
where it rests
next to it
my latest trial
of literature
at times
lengthy of word
ponderous
but probing
while others
lesser
   in page number
though not
   in meaning
brief yet pointed
but always
formidable enough
in name
   or title
to impress
a wandering eye

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

my father sat in a pool
of mid-morning sunshine
on the raised patio
overlooking the garden
an open book in his lap
the dog asleep at his side
the lightest of clouds
decorating the horizon
and a whisper of leaves
his only distraction

as i rushed to the kitchen
for a hastily made
better-than-nothing version
of a flat white
that i wouldn't even enjoy
only ten minutes to spare
before yet another meeting
i paused for a moment
to take in this scene
resplendent as he was
peacefully present
behind the radiance
of diaphanous lace
breeze-rippled curtains
suffused with sunlight

a pertinent reminder
of something which
i didn't have time
to consider

i read an article
on self-realisation today
about how
we are an echo
of the universe
and how we can use
that awareness
to unlock our greatness

it stated that
an echo is merely
a vibration bouncing
from point
   to point
across an expanse
it explained that
all objects
throughout the universe
pulsate with energy
that all objects
are a manifestation
of energy;
therefore we are
nothing more than
clusters of energy
vibrating
           bouncing
     ricocheting
through space and time

over time
echoes weaken and fade
into nothingness
returning to
the universe's preferred
state of equilibrium
that cosmic balance
between order and chaos
which existed long before
our disturbance and
will surely return again

the article was meant to be
an aid for practicing inner peace
but it seems i may have
missed the point

the brightest star
of that well-known
oft mistaken
constellation
disfigured and disguised
by the shifting
of Rorschach’s clouds
the temporary flair
of an unremarkable
astral body
burning through
the upper atmosphere
forgotten immediately
as it fades
along with
any accompanying wish
the strobing beacon
of wingtip
or undercarriage
marking the distance
needed for safety
moving through turbulence
restlessness and discomfort
watched with
ill-considered envy
in this overcast
night sky
those twinkling lights
will often go
unnoticed or
simply ignored

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

sometimes
it doesn't matter
how beautiful
the birdsong

sometimes
all you want
is
to sleep

that initial feeling
of water as
it seeps
through the seams
of a boot
finding cracks
in the leather
supposedly
   waterproofed
against such leaching
of puddles being
drawn in by
a traitorous sock
willing to sacrifice
the fraternity
of dry comfort
that once it held
flooded with irritation
that will be quenched
only with the offering
of an inane
expletive or two
muttered
under breath
carrying the weight
of a week's worth
of frustrations

she may have claimed
that she could always
find one of those rare
desperately sought
four-leaf clovers
amongst any cluster
that had sprouted
amidst the grass
and **** growth
of park or pasture
but never once did she
try to find one
for me

mittened hands wrapped
around hot choc mugs
light-hearted bickering
over the tones and shades
of leaves yet to fall
chilly sun-streaked mornings
of fresh earthy air
and early hibernation nights
of gathered quietude
that indulgent autumn
for which she longed
seemed not to arrive
at least not as expected
set to follow the bright
bustling summer excitement
always written to precede
the forward-looking days
of winter's introspection
ordained as it was
by the dictums of old
those of time and tide
instead her blooming
has been a wearisome
back-and-forth between
the extremes of each
untimely and unexpected
yet unfortunately necessary
before she might witness
those flowers of hers
blossoming under
the warmth and light
of that newly shining Sun

distracted yet again by
the fullest of moons
on an unexceptional night
blown out of proportion
by undue reverence
and misplaced relevance
looming larger than it seems
nature should allow
a false sense of light
marred by hues
of orange and red
forced upon it by
this unseasonably late
summer's twilight
there are those who
will assign meaning to
this sight and to any
signs thus associated
guided by the symbolic
grounded in the scientific
somehow the truest
of explanations are overlooked
the simple will always
inexplicably
be far less appealing
than the convoluted

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

i would love to
be able to identify
a bird from its call
or the shape of
wide-spread wings
as one flies overhead
in theory
it may seem impressive
but if i were to
successfully distinguish
a chiffchaff from
a willow warbler
based on the patterning
and colour of
its plumage
or the shape
and length of
its tail feathers
i struggle to think
of a single person
who would respond
with more than
an indifferent
mocking or
pandering "oh"

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

to be the kind of person
who will glimpse
the cherry blossom tree
beautifully delicate
in its early bloom
fluttering the palest pink
against a fragile white
desperate against even
the gentlest of breeze
but only observe
the black and the white
of what the premature
might mean for later
commenting how soon
these branches will lose
their graceful lustre
no longer to inspire
those hopeful wanderers
only to appear barren
and lifeless once again

we are the cat
that is both
alive
       and
            dead
but this box
is too small
there is not room
in this state of flux

one way
or
another
a truth
must be established;
either
open the box
to see for certain
or accept
what you believe
could be true

bury the box
forget the alternative
move beyond
the internal
       eternal
dissonance

there are times
when the meaning
of a word
is asked
one that
has been read
and regurgitated
used regularly
correctly adopted
as part of
an apparent
well-read
   or pretentious
vocabulary
however upon
being asked
its meaning
there is only
a blank
vacuous
addled
unable to provide
a succinct
or even literate
definition

to save face
to re-establish
the hubris
of this
abashed lexicologist
analogous alternatives
will be offered
oversimplified
synonyms
carrying a little
less gravitas
a layman's explanation
to maintain
position on his
self-congratulatory
podium

it seems that
unfortunately
someone
is always at fault

these
           days
they
                sleep
without
                 touching

i am
considering
buying tickets
to a lecture
on the cosmos
though my thoughts
have often
dwelt
amongst the celestials
in one form
   or another
i know little
beyond
what was learnt
at school;
cursory details
when the vastness
of the universe
is considered

there is a desire
to understand
   from where we came
   of what made us
   how we came to be
and
   our chances
      for a future
there is
a radiance
and pageantry
to the stars;
an expanse
that should incite
inspiration
   and wonder
instead
this infinity
is a subject
dominated by
doomsdayers
   and
      doomsayers
without much
pity left
for
the rest of us

if i do
choose
to attend
i know that
i’ll be lost
to the magnificence
of the dwarfs
   and nebulas
understanding
at best
half
of all that
is proffered

to be honest
i’m not sure
its worth
the £50
plus postage
when i think
i can predict
how it will end;
warnings
will be given
and advice
   imparted
unfortunately
there is
no guarantee
i will still
be listening

"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

the thing is
you never know
if
you'll be
smiling
or cursing

at least for now
i'm smiling

this bowl can still
be repaired
even if it
seems broken
irredeemably
even if its pieces
have been trodden
underfoot
further ground down
in an effort
to recover those
scattered fragments
as unlikely as
it may be that
these edges can
be jigsawed together
aligned once more
it could simply be
a case of
embracing the cracks
that might remain
filling them
with something
to be marvelled at

forgotten are
those bright
autumnal colours
of the freshly fallen
no longer able
to offer
a crisp rustling
with each step
a whisper that
invites child
and adult alike
to kick
   and shuffle
playfully
ignoring the bite
of frost
unwelcomed
by noses
and fingertips

those downbeat leaves
lately of such
seasonal delight
have been rejected
by bough
   and branch
drifting meekly
without protest
or wrenched
from arboreal familiarity
by gusting wind
or gloved hand
turned to mulch
by constant downpours
muddily trodden upon
without second thought
clinging to any
passing boot
trainer or shoe
only to be scraped
and scuffed
on pavement
   or curb
stomped in a puddle
left behind

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

the dog
resting peacefully
in his crate
is content
with being
shut in;
essentially
        trapped
only permitted freedom              
at the behest
of another

there was not always
such serenity
behind these bars;
there was howling
                  gnashing
                  whining

cag­ed like that
could not have been
further
from finding comfort

there were rewards
on occasions
though it was unclear
just why
these were offered
and when
the next might appear

with time
it became easier
to simply accept
the limitation
and wait
unenthusiastically
for the next
moment of joy
to come around

however long
that
     might
               be

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

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

i caught
the midnight sky
winking at me
as i walked
out the front door;
its clouded lid
falling upon
that bright
but waning eye
for the briefest
of moments

it is hard
to know
if this was
a gesture
   of endorsement
a translunary "attaboy"
   of encouragement
to keep walking
this path
less travelled
or an accusatory
reassurance
despite
   the ambivalence
that my secrets
would be kept
by this
ever-watchful
stellar companion

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

we heard them talking
about a meteor shower
expected later that night
highly anticipated
set to accompany
the rust red supermoon
that we caught
following us home

lay down upon blankets
a meagre effort
to provide at least
a little comfort
while we witnessed
this astral magnificence
the significanceof which
none of us was certain
childishly imagining
a spectacle from
the dazzling of shooting stars
trailing tails like fireworks
pointing in wonder
appearing briefly
before burning out

instead
we found ourselves staring
up at one of those
countless  spots of white
slowly
unenthusiastically
     drifting across
          the stratosphere
it could be a meteor
maybe just an aeroplane
or simply a twinkling
trick of the light
yet still we watched
without excitement
without direction
without relevance

it will never make sense
that the mechanics
of the human body
allows for a person
to bite their own
tongue or cheek
mindlessly
yet with such force;
eye-watering
and debilitating
a momentary paralysis
of fist-clenched frustration
and wordless fury
the blood that flows
cannot be stemmed
must be left untended
and simply spat out
     or swallowed
before that metallic taste
taints every mouthful

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?

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

we each bought
a burrito from
that same van
i would visit back
when i lived there
two pork burritos
one with added
sweet potato
brazenly requested
the other simply
the expected guac
my overconfident request
should have cost more
than I was charged
but the man serving
could not bring himself
to demand the full cost
for "just" a burrito
we sat and ate
on the bank of the river
that i used to
think of as mine
we bit
we chewed
we swallowed
catching up
as napkin-less
salsa-dripping hands
were licked clean
and wiped dry
across the thighs of
already marred jeans

without context
it will
forever
be impossible
   to tell if
your eyes
are red
as a result
of
being upset
laughing
   until you cry
an eyelash
   in your eye
suffering
   from hay fever
or that you
clumsily
poked yourself
in the eye
again
while putting on
your glasses

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

let's be honest;
there will probably
still
be sunshine
when
          she's
                   gone

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

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

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

there may
   or may not
exist
certain colours
that the human eye
is unable
to see
an insipid
   blueish-yellow
an unpalatable
   greenish-red
each said
to be impossible
for our eyes
to process;
if seen
it could appear
in all manner
of forms
but would remain
indescribable

they say that
butterflies can see
the ultraviolet spectrum
and that
the honey bee
sees in infrared;
and so
it would not
be too absurd
for a person
to dismiss
the "impossible"
to believe
in the possibility
of the as-yet
unseen

although
scientifically
the only way
to perceive
these "forbidden" hues
is through trickery
and constraint
by forcing the brain
into seeing both
antagonistic colours
simultaneously
and
without reprieve
until the border
between
the opposing shades
finally dissolves

there may be
a truth
but it is hidden
somewhere between
the plausible
   yet impalpable
and the proven
   yet proselytised

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

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

the heroes of
those action movies
from the 80s and 90s
always looked
so much cooler
with their split lips
and bloodied noses
than i ever could
as they faced off
against the villain
   of the piece
bruised and aching
they would struggle on
regardless of pain
their success set back
but inevitable nonetheless

to be honest
i would love to see
one of those heroes
try to overcome
the villain
   of my peace
i've had plenty
of nose bleeds
through the years
but most of them
self-inflected

i have asked but
it remains unclear
if it was planted
purposefully
by somebody
for some reason
unknown to the rest
or merely discarded
within a pile of
offcuts and waste
following a frenzy
of gardening chores
regardless of
whether it was
intended or not
it has taken root
it has bloomed
bright and proud
brilliant cherry red
against dandelion yellow
and uncut-grass green
one solitary red tulip
amongst the weeds

i saw no point in telling
all she meant to me
of how i loved her
and of the dreams i had
as she never believed
those words for long
simply wouldn't accept
their true meaning

instead i bought
flowers and chocolates
and wrote a card
for her to read
over and again
until she might finally
see what i see
and fall in love

I have
nothing
but time
and
an apparent
lack of decision

there are songs
in the anger
of the waves
upon the rocks
and the tearing
of the wind
through the long grass
in the plotting
of the clouds
gathering low
in the sky
and
in the droplets
whispering
upon the page

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

no matter
what is built
or
what grows;
there is always
the fear
that foundations were laid
in
    shifting
                  sands
that roots
are rife with decay

i've suffered my fair share
i don't doubt
that you have too
yet
somehow
in spite of this
the walls
are still standing
the flowers
still bloom

maybe
its not as bad
as we thought