I fell from a slick white haven,
From paradise to this.
I landed somewhere incomprehensible,
alien to that bliss.

The men and the dogs
Statue staring in the street
Rabid and afraid

You all know how I died,
And I do not.
But I hope it was a fantastic
Spectacle of how to make your heart stop.

I hope I died flying backwards
in a crimson ball of flame,
Or fighting off a tiger
that never could to tame.

I hope I died with a smile on my face,
Beaming from ear to ear,
Or laughing so that everyone around
Could hear.

I hope I died doing something
To which my mother always said “No”,
“But if we don’t try,
How will we ever know?”

I hope I died not waiting for
Air to no longer suffice,
Lying in a bed with a tube
In every orifice.

I hope you did not let me age
And forget you,
Because I would be
Filled with regret too.

So I hope it was a spectacular expression
Of more than just existing,
I hope they oohed and aahed while
I flew through the air a-twisting.

And I can see some of you are grieving,
yet I know not why,
Because this is a celebration of
Life having been lived
And not a sombre lullaby.

So fill your glasses,
Cups and jugs,
And let’s see a smile on those
Ugly old mugs.

There’s a lesson too be learned,
and that is clear to see.
So without much further ado,
“Here’s to me!”

The blue night sang to me
A single note all alone.
It hung in the dense air
Beneath the darkness drone.

The blue night sang to me,
It skipped across the river.
It sang to me a melody,
A chilling ballard sends a spine to shiver.

The blue night sang to me
A song of sombre truth;
An epitaph to day,
Ending innocent youth.

The blue night sang to me
But it said not a word.
It sang of nothing real…
Or nothing that could be heard.

The blue night sang to me
From behind skeletal trees.
It boomed and whistled and cracked at
Branches broken to appease.

The blue night sang to me;
I could not help but hear.
It beat upon its war drum -
Abandon to fear.

The blue night sang to me;
It stared into my eyes.
A one man audience
To hear the beat demise.

The blue night sang to me,
A haunting melody
And forever will it follow
Wherever I may be.

a sequined heap
lay at rest
vigorous violet
motionless.

A figure in indigo
(12 or so) – old enough to know
nudged and shoved with
palm and fist.

the heap lay
and she pounded;
a silent scream
crimson flood.

the heap lay
stone as earth;
to her knees
skull fell to skull.

the corpses rest,
the curtain closes and
the audience aplauds
as it always does.

This is an ode to that bloke over there,
You see him? Glasses, very little hair.

Hunched over black coffee, holding it to a stare.
From his right hand hangs a spoon, giving it a stir.

A crumpled suit flecked with dirt hangs loose here and there.
He wears a yellowed shirt untucked and scuffed shoes a pair.

From his sockless ankles peek heels bare,
While he sits, head down, dispair.

He saved my life today that bloke over there,
I feel inclined to tell him but I doubt he’d really care.

The way back down
Is never as nice.
The deed is done
The path is ice.

It jars your knees
As you cling to the face.
You slide on your ****
Snow behind achase.

You find your footing
Toes over the lip,
Peering and looking
Rocks fall and flip.

In not quite darkness
The bottom you see.
Eternal dankness
Yet relief for thee.