I scoffed at enlightenment,
Then it embraced my battered mind

The silence hits harder than a punch,
Yet time flies by.
But oh so slow when words, once so easy,
become lodged in the deep well of insecurity and defiance.
The dichotomy a crescendo with each silent passing hour.
The fire's smoke, now whimpering tendrils, flit out as if caught in a breeze.
But the air is still, the storm is only raging in my unsettled mind,
And the next farewell may become another Eulogy to love lost.

That simple fleeting touch of skin on skin,
Heaven itself

Acceptance, the catalyst for healing,
When you accept it's value

I left before I left.
I just didn't know then.

I visit your grave at the cemetery and I feel nothing,
This horribly beautiful and peaceful place.
All I see are monuments to death.
I don't think of you there.

I remember gripping your finger,
As we walked to mass on a Saturday night.
I think of the times we shared a beer,
The times we made each other laugh.

The one time you made us cry,
Was when you left us.
But, left us with loving memories and hope,
That one day we'd see you again.

Now when I visit the grave,
I want to laugh in the face of death
Then tell him he'll never win.
You're in my heart and in my head forever.

Someday we will all marvel at the lives we've had,
Inspired by one great man to some,
Simply Da to me

Accept those thoughts in there,
Every one is yours alone.

In a room full of people there you were.
Two hundred eyes all seeing something different,
And there you were, seeing just one pair of eyes.
A solitary tear escapes my grip and tumbles onto the cold floor.
The tear is pride and affection.
I looked up again and there you are,
Being you.

Will I bring you dying flowers?

You want me to court you,
You want me to wine n dine you
You want me to love your kids
You want your Mum to like me

But you still want dying flowers?

I want you to hold my hand
I want you to walk in the grass barefoot
I want you to sing to empty rooms
Dance.

I’m not bringing you dying flowers

I want to give you seeds
I want you to water them
I want you to love something
That isn’t person or animal

There are no worse cuts than cutting through life that isn’t your own

Just because I tell you that you’re pretty
Doesn’t mean I’m taking you home

Beauty is kindness

Love isn’t defined by the size of your waist
Nor how long you can hold my gaze

Beauty is still kindness

I may tell you I love you
Years before I want you

Just be kind to me

Take a piece of me with you
In the dark days it may light the way

Now be kind to you

Love is within
Share it

Always

He said, she said.
He lied, she cried.
But!
Then he cried because she lied.
Too many hard questions with no good answers.
But!
In the eye of the storm it's all blown away.
You can't shake hands with gloves on.

I don't want to be strong today
I want to be weak
I don't want to stay positive today
I want to cry
I don't want to talk today
I want to punch
I don't want to be kind today
I want to wallow
I don't want to write today
I want to hug

I spent the evening walking by a water's edge.
Taking nothing in but the smells and sounds.
Rotting driftwood laying the base over two flies fighting or mating,
In a buzzing cacophony over the soft lapping of the tide.

I see a boat far out drifting rhythmically on a lonely swell.
But unlike me, it's empty, rudderless and aimless.
Or like I was, maybe. But not today.
Today I'm free to enjoy this peaceful escape, just minutes from my back door.

I used to be careful not to slip or trip into the murky black,
I wouldn't have had the strength to get back out then.
It's all me now, no pests, nobody's time but my own.
I like it here, I can just be.

With your last breath, you focused all your will and then,

You took the knife out of your heart and impaled my soul.

Welcome to the futile death of our love.

I’d  never  have  thought  I'd  stray  before,  

But  that  was ­ before  she  moved  in  next  door.  

Those  passing  hellos  a­nd  smiles  for  my  wife,  

The  winks  and  glimpses  that  ru­ined  my  life.  

Who’d  have  known  that  little  old  me,  

­Would  swap  his  Toyota  for  a  nice  M-three!

Your tongue cut me,
The exit broke me,
I’m smiling hard,
Trying not to is harder.

New flat, new clothes,
Same mood, same toes.
I know that I’m looking at my feet!
Everyone knows I can’t face the street.

The pity party has started.
Marriage vows discarded.
Moving on is great
If you’re the one moving.

I wonder why?
Did we even try?
To fix the hole before it got that big.

A super massive black dog hole.
Big enough to drown in,
Big enough to frown in.
Far too big to live in.

The one thing I know for sure is,
These cuts are not going to heal at all,
If I don’t stop scratchin’

"The Anniversary" is approaching way way too fast,
Almost a year since...
Eleven months of "getting on with it, you know?"
Eleven months of "what do you do?"
Eleven months of "Mum's fine, thanks."
Eleven months of "I miss him every day."
When the next anniversary rolls around,
Will I still be writing?
Is this really catharsis?

Is there an end to the questions?

Well after midnight, dark out, rise at seven am.
Metallic bangs and piercing whistles going off in my head.
Sleep is like the memory of a kindergarten toy,
Once loved, but disappeared among the trials in between.
Getting up tired for the fifth time this week.

Robotically dress, wash, eat.
If I can stomach anything.
No real thought process forming,
Nothing going on but everything crashing together at once.

My head has a dull ache, not pain.
My limbs are cramped and lethargy rages throughout me,
Muscle and mind.
I try to think of something to look forward to.
Nothing seems worth it today, but I will fight again tomorrow.

Saturday morning, I awake at 7am, so much for the lie in.
Joyless prospect of tolerating those around me I do love.
My friend who is not my friend,
Is beckoning me down into the thoughtless mire
I’ll go on today.

And start all over again tomorrow.

I’d love to sit and watch the flowers grow,
Never wondering where from or when or how.
I’d love to be hugged and to not try,
To work out now exactly why.
I’d love to hear a songbird sing,
Never asking how they took to the wing.
I’d love to read a thousand more books,
And not once be asked how it looks.
I’d love to exist in peace, and dream,
Of pretty things and those less extreme.
I’d love to sleep with a peaceful mind,
Not wondering why moles are blind.
A fairy tale life, never pondering existence.
Is this the price of my intelligence?

My mood is so low, I appeared on downdetector's site

Enough romantic poetic questions.
This is the time for answers.

My tormentor returned today,
The strain almost broke my mind again.
Took every ounce of strength I had to move.
Now I'm drained, mentally sapped,
Even my bones feel worn.
The tornado of ridiculous thought almost broke down my door.
It took a stranglehold on my rationale.
I almost tapped out, almost gave in.
Then the clouds parted, my was rock reformed,
By a soft reminder of how much I'm loved,
And how much I'd be missed.
;

When you saw me sit with my head in my hands,
When you saw me unshaven and shabbily dressed,
When you saw the smile, that rigid liar's smile,
When you saw me cry, and then laugh on point,
When you saw me suffer in silence,
Did you feel anything? Or see anything at all?
I see it all, feel it all, torture myself with it all.
One kind word or that one question,
Would have changed my life, and maybe would have saved me.
Ask.
Please?

Physical body crashed out on floor, eyes shut tight against the torrent.
Emotional demons battling the ethereal in the theatre of my mind.
The supposed friends, the right choices judged to be wrong by the foresight of conscience.
Damning them all to sections of an imagined chart inside this wretched brain, pondering ridiculous questions.
The hard ones,
The final ones.
Who goes? Who stays? Who lives on?
The process splatters what’s left of my psyche all over the inside of my skull.
Nobody wins, no medal for everyone and no certificate.
There’s no just reward.
Is life about this battle or is the raging battle life?

I can’t!
Did you try?
I won’t!
That’s better.
I lied.
I know.

The finger points up at the stars,
And oftentimes the moon.
The finger wags in admonishment,
And beckons lovers to croon.
The finger points in the face of anger,
And soothes the hurts and burns.
The finger extends from the reapers sleeve,
And draws his clan to mourn.
Don't give the finger too much regard,
It will point at you, in turn.

You should have punched me, it would have hurt less.
You should have left me, I’d have got over it.
You should let me breathe, instead you suffocate.
You should have trusted me, before the love turned to distaste.

Monday’s child hit me in the face,
Tuesday’s child doesn’t know his place.
Wednesday’s child is depressed and alone,
Thursday’s child is accident prone.
Friday’s child is full of remorse,
Saturday’s child is right, of course.
Sunday’s child is an atheist.

I did that thing,
It was in my letter.
I said that stuff,
It’s all in my letter.
But,
You didn’t help me,
That is in the letter.
You didn’t listen,
That is in the letter.
But,
I didn’t cry,
That isn't in the letter.
I didn’t talk,
That isn't in the letter.

Did you think I wasn’t watching? Or,
Did you think that I wasn’t there?
Did you think I left without a word or I simply didn’t care?

Did you think of how I was feeling? Or,
Did you think of my clothes or hair?
Did you think, because I was in the room , that my mind was also there?

Did you think that I wouldn't notice? Or,
Did you think that you'd make me care?
Did you think it was alright to move along as if I never was there?

Am I supposed to keep on caring? Or,
Am I supposed to pretend to care?
Am I supposed to move along anyway with all the doubt in the air?

Maybe I should have shouted more? Or,
Maybe I should have lied?
Maybe I should have walked years ago, long before it died.

I know what it’s like my friend, being at your wits end.
You think nobody cares and who on earth would understand?
Your life may have imploded, crashed down around your ears.
Nothing left to do but broil and multiply your fears.

I stepped off that rock and forced myself to take a different view,
I accepted those tears, fought back and stood up in full public view.
Now the world doesn’t seem so bad, life keeps moving on.
Talk or cry and scream at the sky. Demand it of yourself.

It matters not if you’re getting divorced or you have ill health,
Your problems are very much your own and they say that life Is wealth.
Tell you what, I’ll trade you. A day in my life for yours?
We’ll both go running back again and take what we know is ours.

Don’t let the demons in your head move in and take you over.
There’s no point in trying to run away, there is no clear, safe cover.
Let the demons out I say, say Hi and take command.
Then banish them from your life for good because YOU are their power.

One more week,
I didn’t spend the time I should.
One more day,
I didn’t say what needed said.
One more hour,
So you can tell me those things I already know.
One more minute,
So I can tell you the same.
One more second,
Of that silent, perfect love.
One more,
just
one
more
everything.

Strength,
the ability to endure
what we hate
without complaint

Words and lines flowed into my mind last night,
On the precipice of sleep, delirium tremens in full flight,
The sweats, the wicked dreams and the ****** paranoia,
******* the heels of the previous night’s dreamless collapse,
Holding onto a sliver of reality as the impending dawn slams my head into the pillow.
Again and again, sleep, wake, sleep if you dare and awaken.
The beloved, accursed alcoholic frolic is taking its revenge.
A killing curse hurled at me from a mystery on horseback,
My heartbeat lost its rhythm at the edge of my sanity.
Then the unforgiving morning comes after a fitful, broken rest,
Fleeting memories of Epic, guilty ballads of Kings and sinners,
Of beautiful prose and perfect rhymes.
All lost to me, and the world because of my horrible, loving vice.

I have nothing I didn’t earn,
But it took me forty years to learn,
The lessons my wise old Father taught me,
All the gifts of life and love he brought me.
There’s nothing lost in a fight but pride,
And nothing to be gained in taking sides.
Be a clown or wear a sad frown,
The value of everything is going down.
Looking so far forward, they think I’m backward.
Now I’m writing things close to awkward.
Smashing, splashing, is it all a dream?
Waiting for the boat to come back upstream.
Alone with nature, finding peace,
Scribing and thinking, looking for release.
The peace that will never, ever come,
I’ll keep looking anyway, my face is numb.
My heart is sick and all because,
My wise old man is almost lost.

I started the story with "Years ago", then it made me think.
The things I used to do each week, began to make me stink.
The high barstool, the flies and lies just put me out of kilter,
So I settle for a coffee now and forget about the filter.

Lies, lies, the wonderful lies and all to get a drink,
Ignoring the scorn on my mother’s face and not bothering to think.
When at last, my good friend said to me, "you’ll have a heart attack",
I settled for a water then and tried to forget the black.

Then the lass who tried in vain, to break me and abuse me.
Kept me under the spell of her and tried her best to use me.
Then one day I looked down at the face, of the child I hold so dear,
But I was just out of the shower then and heading for a beer.

It wasn’t months but more like years, before I lost the notion.
I watched my friends and family too, all drown in legal potion.
Now I sit and write and think, but not about the *****.
Now at peace, and I figured out, when I drink they all lose.

Concern turns to worry,
Worry to fear,
Fear to dread,
Dread to torment,
Torment in the mind is no less than others.

Then
others
become
concerned.

Arise, go to work,
Best shoes, clean shirt.
No boots, nice tie.
No tools, learned to lie.

Sales, sales for sale’s sake.
Why be a builder when you can be a snake?
Office, coffee, ***** looks and sneaks,
Hide from bosses between the breaks.

The weekly crush, looking back, taking measure.
Silent heartbreak from a dismissive gesture.
Nothing lost and nothing gained.
Gimme a shovel, this work’s a pain.

Work? What work? Sitting typing?
Listening to clients always griping.
It’s my fault, they say, for telling the wrong lies.
A P45 and no goodbyes.

I lied to them but never to you,
What? You’re leaving me? Bully for you.
I’ll stay here, make lots of cash.
There’s nothing left but a square of hash.

Work? You work?
What’s that? Tell me!

At least I have my own brand of poetry.

Don’t lie
Don’t cheat
Don’t cry
Or no treats.

Every action rewarded by belt or praise.
Which is right?

Too much praise or too little belt?

I took my glasses off to see clearer.
No dice.

Life, ah sweet, beautiful life.
From the sunny days in happy company, joking, laughing, being thankful.
To the rainy days in grey misery, fighting against the wind.
The anxious wind that howls around my ears and bangs on the door of my psyche.
Begs me to let it in, coaxes me to move over and make room.
Sometimes I feel surrounded, it takes all my energy to hold the door.
So I lean my shoulder against the thin, weak portal to depression.
Praying to a God I don't hear to give me strength.
Today the sun is out, warming my skin,
But my bones are still cold.

Once again, walking life’s tightrope,
What’s keeping me up here?
Is it love? Is it hope?

How many things can karma throw at me?
How many more rounds before the ref steps in?
Gives me a ten count. TKO?

Keep putting one foot in front of the other,
It’s not the height that worries me,
*It’s the fall over the one I won’t see coming.

We know it’s coming, just as inevitable as life.
Is it enough to drive you back to the God you disowned?
Where do your loved ones go if there’s no heaven?
Life is for the living and death is for the dead.
Is the destination more important than the journey now?
Was it ever?

Box me, plant me, carry on in life.
Burn me or sink me, surely it’s all the same?

One less soul to be saved.
One less soul to love.
One more to add to the great silent majority.
One more to hear our prayers.

Horror and torment around every corner,
Love & compassion in the shadows,
Empathy a screamingly silent partner,
Begging for release.
Crocodile tears against a gathering of flowers,
Teddy in a football shirt, imploring why?
Was a decision made?
Or were fifty-seven lives caught in the same tornado?
They can be seen now, scattered all over the blood soaked street.
Stunned at the act, emptied by the loss.
Of another one, gone before life had really begun.

Words, words, too many words.
Smashing inside, trapped and bound,
Screaming at me to let them out.
Picking the wrong target,
Releasing the wrong ones.
Creating a mess of pain and hurt.
So I shut them in again,
Suffer them myself again.
Talk less, think more.
Love less, lose more.

I open up and show emotion.
Measuring levels of friendly devotion.
Self-analysis, mindful and all.
Driving change through the thickest wall.

Listeners smile that indifferent smile,
Awaiting the end, expression banal.
Change the subject, cheer up, be thankful,
Would be easier if I had a broken ankle.

A broken mind is harder to mend,
Hopefully before I go round the bend.
Where there’s life, there’s hope?
Or another cliché to avoid talk of rope.

The sun is out, the days are brighter.
Muscles in atrophy, smile no whiter.
Separating dark thought from obvious fact,
Or maybe I should improve the act?

Smiles that do not touch my eyes,
Surrounded by my paranoid spies.
Time to lift it, time to change,
Seems normality is out of range.

Now at days end, the cold sets in,
Still battling and thrashing the demon within.
My head’s still full of fear and doubt,
But everything’s fine when they’re without.

They don’t have to listen, nor even care.
Just be gracious,
And
be
there.

Why does my poetry ****,
When life is good? Luck?

I drowned a little yesterday,
The big brown eyes invited me to swim.
I caught my breath and dove in,
My knees weakened by the clash of red and black.
Tensed and ready for the onslaught,
I placed all my trust in the youthful face.
Expecting nothing but the world to be put to rights.
A little release, soft yet painful.
Like removing a splinter but leaving the cut.
Will I heal over the cut like always?
Will she dig it out and cut deeper to heal better?
Therapy is not for the weak,
But living is.
;

The thought train has left the tracks,
Derailed by inattention.