I saw her outside school
by the steps
leading down
from the classrooms

her eyes were red
behind her thick
lens glasses
her plaited hair

was untidy
she held
a grey/white handkerchief
what's up?

I asked
she shrugged her shoulders
and walked away
from the school

her satchel over her shoulder
along Colnbrook Street
what's up Helen?
I was beside her now

and tried to get
her to talk
(not usually a job)
we came out

on St George's Road
she dawdling along
her handkerchief
to her eyes

some one upset you?
One of the teacher' tell you off?
some boys called me
an ugly four eyed clown

she said
who were they?
I said
don't matter

she said
they said it
we walked along
in silence a while

I tried to think
who would have
upset her
who'd say that

to her
want an ice cream?
I asked
as we came

to a grocer shop
haven't any money
she said tearfully
I have

what do you want?
We went in the shop
and she chose
from a list

by the ice cream counter
I gave the store minder
the coins
and we walked

out of the shop
with our ice creams
thank you
she said

that’s' all right
I said
so who upset you?
that Cogan boy

and another boy
she said
I’ll button his lip
I said

he's always trying
to upset kids
anyway he can't talk
he wears glasses too

I know because
he had to take them off
the last time
we fought

after school
am I ugly?
She asked
you're pretty

I said  
you've the loveliest eyes
I’ve seen
she smiled

and we walked on
towards the Elephant and Castle
I thinking
of jam sandwiches

for tea
and she maybe
thinking
of kissing me.

The storms are pounding
Destruction is rampant
No end seems in sight.
The day is endless
The night never ending
Will it ever, ever be right?

Lightning crashes
Winds are swirling
Torrents of water fall down.
The earth is shaking
The shelter is breaking
Thunderous sound resound.


Above the storm
the Calm prevails
Overlooking the turmoil below.
Awaiting the return
of order again
That Peace and Calm bestow.


Then it is over...

No more pounding
Silence, beautiful silence
Comes whispering in the ears.
The Earth becomes firm
The Sun is still shining
It dries up all the tears.

Through the debris
New hopes arise
Covering the scars below.
Growing stronger, stronger
As strength rebounds
Renewed by the seeds we sow.

Repairing the damage
Replacing the lost
Moving forward with or without.
Finding Hope in the future
as Faith reaches upward
Redeeming Love without a doubt.

--------------------------------
When the storms of life
Cause turmoil and strife,
The Son dries all my tears.
When all seemed lost
I counted the cost
Turned over all my fears.

I am surviving.
I am stronger still.

She said people were seasons,
and when I first met her, I couldn't agree more.  
After getting to know her, I wished that I didn't.
Her ex-lovers were Winter, and her eyes were a shade of Spring.
I could see the vulnerability of a car crash
swimming in each fountain trapped behind her emeralds.
She was beautiful in the way that could cause suicides,
and fix spider-webbed windshields after each collision of,
“Are you okay,” and, “I’m fine; I promise.”

Every story was Winter, and she was always left alone in the snow.
Mauve lips mouthed words that silently whispered,
"When is this too much? When are you going to leave?"

People are patterns,
and all she knew was the tessellation of temporary love and permanent loss.
Her hands trembled as she looked down.
She was in transit; moving after each hope of home fell apart.
And I wanted to kiss her like the world was falling apart.

It wasnt often but when I did
Ardbeg would speak in my stead
and Ardbeg then would rule my head
It would speak the words I never could,
the words that should never be said
She entraps me in her golden snare
her pungent aroma fills the air
and the level of the liquid there
slowly and surely drops
The words oft unsaid then leave my mouth
for Ardbeg takes control
and speaks for me
The amber nectar in that bottle there
took my soul then destroyed the love I had
She has now gone, taken part of me
but the Ardbeg still remains

My friend Kaia has these
Marbles that she hasn't lost
Yet.

A few of them work together
When we discuss my
Alcoholic Anger  
Problem:

You have to vent the things that
Irk you. Before you get drunk.
"Get it out and over with.
You'll have nothing to be
Angry about when you
Drink."

So clear.
I am such an
Idiot.

Guys. It's too late for me.
But save yourselves.
No drunk anger ever.

The **** you say...
So glad our mothers will
Never hear us like that.
They'd cry for days.

"Don't go to bed angry," they say.
I say "don't drink a drop with a
Grudge."

It'll **** your
Everything if you keep
Dancing with it; the

House always wins.
You'll never be yourself
Again.

It'll all go away, and it'll
Never be
Worth
It.

I now know
Why little girls crying
Into teddies say they're
Dying.
Now I know that none of
My songs of heart-

Break were real. I had
No idea.
None.

It's like holding your breath
When you know that that car is
Not going to
Stop.

It's the chill down your neck when
You learn that somebody
Just like you
Passed away. Suddenly.

It's the feeling of knowing you're
Losing your grip on the roof of
A burning
Skyscraper. Air.

A soldier, a landmine.
Looking down to see
That your body
Is broken.
Broken.

I now know why country music
Is so close to God at all times.
Why amputees grieve over
Lost limbs.
Why girls cry and boys drink.

It's going to bed, certain that  
The sun will not
Rise in the morning.

All through the night she works, tireless,  never ceasing to spin her silken threads
The perfect creation of natures lace, a silken shimmering web
No hand of man could ever produce such a beautiful work of art
With computers and modern technology we still wouldn't know where to start
A silken thread floating on air is gathered up and put into place
All this in darkness without pattern or plan she creates natures beautiful lace
Each silken thread is stronger than steel, stronger than anything man could produce
All this from a spider spinning her web, a product of natural juice
With the coming of dawn and a new rising sun a sight that is sure to amaze
Every tree, every bush,  every fence post, draped in a gown of gossamer lace

College is a cancer clinic.
At this university, you either live long enough to die,
or die until you want to live.
Kids drag backpacks like bags of morphine,
and are attached to their planners like they are their heart monitors.
You do your own chemotherapy,
as you poison yourself with debt,
and Friday night nickel shots.

What are you reading?
Atara asked.

Book on Schopenhauer,
I said.

Dull reading.

Depends on what you like.

She sipped her coke,
her eyes studying
the cover of the book.
Is that him?

Yes, old photograph.

She looked at me.
Why do you read
such dull books?

Maybe I'm a dull guy.

She smiled.
Not last night.

I closed the book
and laid it
on the table.
I sipped my beer.

Does he talk
about ***?
She asked.

Not that I’ve read
so far.

If a book doesn't mention ***
it isn't worth reading.

Maybe I should read Freud.

Why read?

I looked at the waiter
passing the table,
his clipped moustache,
his deep eyes.  

You read,
I said,
not heavy stuff,
but you do read.

I like my books
like I like my men:
not too deep and fun.

I said nothing
about my books
and women.

She didn't have
the depth
and she taught me
nothing,
although
that session
in the bathroom
had insight.

The way she had it
right down
to a fine art,
the subtleness
of her limbs,
her gyrations,
her lips and tongue.

What now?
She asked.
I fancy a walk
on the beach,
catch some sun.

You go,
I said,
I want to chill out
with a cold beer
and watch life go by.

She pulled a face sulkily,
but went off,
her hips doing
that thing they did
when she was annoyed.

I watched her go,
sipped the beer,
icy cold
like I enjoyed.

Weary eyed disappointment shines through the blue
in an attempt to quell my spirit.
6 weeks between us, yet you are as old as time.

I am not sorry for your frustration,
it stirs my ***** to see your distress
at my half-smile.

I offered you warning, long before gold was shared.
I told you I'd be hard to hold,
spelled out my weakness,
held aloft all flaws.

Still you lept at my flame,
seeking to contain it within your covetous palm,
to mold me with your priceless wisdom,
your righteous idea of who I could be,
should be....would be.

A me without a trace of self is your desire.
A shell filled with your vision of perfection.

A stay at home
Lay at home wife.

Last night you said that you had made me a better person,
while I sat and wondered at your breathing
in the hope that it would stop.

Do not take my silence as compliance.

it has been, some
seven months
since i started writing
here seriously..

before that a couple
of bread crumb poems...

so this i would like to say...
to all who care to see,
this place,
has become a sort of
nesting place, a home
of the thoughts, that
rattle around inside of me.

i feather it with words
strung together,

some like, gaudy paper chains.
and some threads of a deeper colour, grey, black, indigo blue...

some have the scent
of  an autumn morn,
smokey, salted and crisp, some of musk and lover's after bliss
others sweet reminiscent vapours, wafting from my past...
a few of, the little blucat
and his human toys.
most of love and life,
and the blessings,
that are my boys,
pebble and rock
oak and acorn...
my hope and daily joy...

i string these threads
and weavings up..
for all to come and see
and to those who do
i will for ever grateful be.

i thank you for giving
my words wings to flutter
and fly about...