In her head she kisses Mickey Rourke
to the sounds of jazz lounge
or electronica, imagining the City

sky-lit skyscrapers
hoarding robotic lives
only she & Mickey are alive

only they are worth it
their joy-ride of lust
holds them in it's grip

but only the wind forgives
the stars that hide
the love soon to be torn apart

Borrowed lives sulk, sprawling over lines
in coffee stains lies their demise
They live in lonely candle-light
are born in the agonies of night
After the streets have lost their sounds
they are the voices of lost crowds.
After a day’s lies, well-meant
they free truth’s pent-up discontent
Confessionals, they welcome
fearlessly each miscreant
And in a Lover’s hand they shine
with chivalry and love sublime
love which lives purely to exist.
Lives even in those who, unrequited
can but dream of it beyond the binned,
torn scraps which litter their sunrises

Iggy & Lou,
my iron angels
I do love you two
I am your sister now
schooled in experience
a Passenger
a Transformer
of dark days
though, Lou
they never tried
to fry my brain
thank god
Iggy, what did you do
when you were bored
locked up
what did you do
to shock them
I want to see your notes
& what they wrote
what havoc you caused
if you tried to jump over the fence
Boys, no matter how they treated you
your music still came out
they couldn't stop you
& they won't stop me
for with you, I am free
donning my leather
strutting my stuff
spitting words
out like charcoal
& grit
through the night's
backside

I'm restless again
six years in the same place

taking refuge in plane
trips to the same place

I look at the Atlas
& stick pins

in all the spots
that she has been

my mother
the accidental explorer

China, America
Japan, Italy

France, Germany
& Spain

rewards
after a life

behind
the Iron Curtain

going on field trips
even then

Mongolia
Siberia

I grew up
in freedom

yet have
never been

past
my past

I'm still chasing it
can this last

Six years
in the same places

Capital city gal
turned small-town child

I want to go wild
spin the earth round

in my direction
change my reflection

feel my feet
on new ground

I'll stick pins
in all the places

I could find
myself in

& write
self-addressed

envelopes
to send postcards in

because
you never know

what the day
will bring

Sometimes in the dark
you stumble
before the morning lark

calls out to the smart
you mumble
sometimes in the dark

faintly beats the heart
sensing trouble
before the morning lark

calls for the day to start
we blunder
sometimes in the dark

trying to make their mark
our thoughts rumble
before the morning lark

All is but a house of cards
& about to crumble
somewhere in the dark
before the morning lark

Quiet, hallucinating Ombrophile seeks Pluviophobe
to convert to own religion
Must like ******* in the woods at night
& being happy to fight

angrily over nothing & to believe
in little green men
My personal hobbies include punting on the river
& singing ' Greensleeves'

for R. you're not reading this, alas & in any case you wouldn't care-

Another sunset,
the clouds stained
Warhol red, passion pink
interspersed with yellow
cider streaks
of dying sunlight
birds ****
leaves, mumbling, rustle
a snail crawls
it should be a full moon
tonight
one of the last
August moons
I'm thinking
of how that summer
in college
it was too hard to breathe
for the heat & pollution
yet how I made it
up that hill every time
birds cease to ****
leaves to rustle
a snail still crawls
August Moon rises
& I think
of werewolves
& how anyone could
be this under the right conditions
faceless office workers
doing time
ripping off shirts
wildly in the night
to howl
in ****** of mundanity
I know how you cope,
like me, you have your poetry
& I have free time
to read it
as often as I want
& to think
of your genius
breaking up minutes
into diamonds
that I keep in my heart
under lock & key
a danger, imminent

Ask me about *****
at the Pitcher & Piano
a woman sits angular
snow swirls in her face
the Tundra, a riot, an Izba
or a Romanov's Faberge egg
Lean into this moment
the curve of it's being
like a sail into the wind
or the Bering Strait neatly
amongst Icebergs
Canada
Marylin
The Niagara Falls
a Geologist's contentment
a backpack & a tent
ink& a compass
Omai resplendent

* Izba - a country hut ( russian)
* Omai - Mai, the second pacific Islander to ever visit Britain in the late 1700ds who became popular in London's high society

I will miss these August nights
the neighbors partying in the next garden

wishing on shooting stars
drinking my third cider

the cat, catching moths
by the outdoor light

the music of a lost summertime
caught in passing rain showers

unwritten letters
playing on my mind

thinking that yesterday
it was your birthday, friend

& that each August
we've been separated

I have thought of you
even if you haven't thought of me

So just how much *******
are you prepared to believe?

Lets see, take a seat
we've got half an hour

or maybe even better
you're locked up

at my mercy
& my team

are giving you drugs
for a diagnosis

I've given you
before we've even talked

& hopefully the drugs
are curing you of life, love, hope

& any despair you're feeling
at being stuck here

what's that?
you've ballooned in weight?

all you do is sleep?
your feet are turning inward?

You're nearly diabetic?
Your hands are always shaking?

I'm shrinking your
unwanted little brain?

A small price to pay
for the promise of freedom

my little puppet
on a string

lets see just how much
******* we can make you believe

I'll make you say it
' I'm ill'

or I'll never let you out
it's just my little whim

you're one of the chosen few
whose life will be shattered in two

kiss goodbye to your emotions
What? You're angry? That's atrocious.

You are dangerous
it's good we locked you up

and what?
You say you're in love?

sheer Erotomania, my dear
we will cure it, never fear

Talking of fear,
I'd say you have paranoia

MHM, Psychosis,
that's right, Momma

Happiness is mania
Sadness is depression

having said that,
you'll hopefully want to **** yourself

after our little session
to confirm my treatment of you

I'm an expert
I've got a degree in *******

no-one has ever
dared to say I'm wrong

so don't you start
I do, you know have a heart

& it beats only for me
so if you want to be free

you'd better **** it up
& suffer

Snatching bats
in street lamp light
such a sight
for the sleepless
in the hollow night

I sang ' Here's to you Mrs Robinson'
downed a pint of Thatchers
while the guitar played

& in the empty streets
there was the Moon
coarse & incomplete

these strange suburban nights
bring back memories of loss
& of the coming of agelessness

I never learnt how to drive
& still rely on the bus
unable to graduate from life

yet I hope my torn sunsets
& wasted loves
have made me wiser

whispering mantras
not afraid of being the outsider
forever drawing maps




*Thatchers is a cider from Somerset, England.

Clock drips
twists time
faceless man
reflects sky
nothing
measured

In this silence
blindness permeates
Leaves dance unnoticed, whirling
dodging death cars swirl
a child slips soundlessly
to the echo of nowhere
hands lose each other
seagulls do not fly needlessly
washing hangs still on a line
an old couple
small & slight
& bent double
feel their old way to one another
as if searching for gold

Toy guerilla warrior
his voice is pagan smog
                                                 his eyes are bitter coal
                                                 a rolling pebble

pinning a breach
upon a hedgerow path                       

                                                               he is a Golem splitting a wall
                                                               freeing a maiden ******

                                                               A Summons to a devil
                                                               shoots their tin hearts

                                                               a Decoupage screen is
                                                               no trust in a redeemer

                                                               and I'm on my knees
                                                               this All Hallow's Eve.

You were my white rabbit
to follow, take me away

I was an Angel called Alice that
thought you a thing of beauty

All you saw down the rabbit hole
was dust & dirt, darkness,

I saw Angels sadly singing,
locked up, little pills at bedtime

but was reassured the way the world shone
when I said your name

I was convinced
you were waiting for me there

so I asked someone
the way to the fireworks

in Rabbit town, they
weren't sure if there

were going to be any
' No fireworks, on Bonfire night?'

so I followed the talking lamp lights
all the way to the dim, dank river

where a homeless man,
whom I thought to be a messenger

asked me for a coin
& pointed me to a pub

where Rabbits
were gathered drinking

old porter or stout
' There are no fireworks tonight'

they said & asked me
for my passport

''An Angel?
& down here? Ha ha!"

'' I bet she's never
been ******!"

" Look, please,
I'm just trying to find someone''

I said, not a little upset
'' Yeah, well, who?''

so I told them about you
& they laughed & laughed

'' Us rabbits don't love Angels
He doesn't love you''

'' I think he is a man'' I said
'' That's even worse : lost cause'', they scoffed

as I made my way out
of the Rabbit pub

someone brushed past me
'' Psst, psst, he lives up North''

so I made my way
to the rabbit train station

sat down briefly
on a wall to rest

just then a police car
with some rabbits turned up

'' Angel, you must be cold
what are you doing out here''

'' Yes, get in the car" they said
I tried to explain as best as I was allowed

that I was on my way to meet you
but they packed me away into the car

& before I knew it, drove me there too
Now I'm just another Angel

locked up, drugged & singing sadly
' mental health' the problem, apparently

& each day they tell me
that you don't love me

that's what they do,
the rabbit quacks

but when I get out
I'm going to find you

I'm an Angel,
& Angels always have faith.

My moustache it tells me you did it. Don't argue.

So I went
down the rabbit hole
thinking I was following you, my love
They would have said
it was Mad
that's why I didn't tell anyone
that the living room table & house
was divided into different countries
America at the helm
Germany, Britain and Russia
as I stood in my chequered coat
for days on end, crying
believing people thought I was Stalin
or else, a diplomat
about to be killed
& M&S; tea, the package
being red & black
made me think of communism
( red) & fascism ( black)
& though being neither
I wanted to promptly
order my mother
to spread it amongst the people
then realized the irony of this
& refrained
instead, asking her
why she was sending signals
to the neighbors
by putting the kettle on
whilst praying for all the believers
in and of True Love
True Love,
salvation & fury
debased by them
on purpose, I thought
' Erotomaniac'
what?
Simply for wanting
to have hope?
Believing in romance?
And you,
who rejected me
you'll never know Wonderland
all you saw was a rabbit hole,
darkness & dirt
& it's true, it all just turned into barbed wire
& Angels singing, locked up
little pills at bedtime
fear, my only crime
& yet for a while before that
the world shone
& I don't know how to talk about that
it's just that I thought
every person I met
would lead me to your door
that all the songs in the world
were sung for me
& that all your poetry
was a declaration of love
just waiting to happen

Angels visit this place sometimes,
when occasional fog comes down
& cloaks them in their flight

there are gelaterias
& burger restaurants in town now
& the buses still run at midnight

but when all are gone, the angels gather
at the sleeping harbor
& gaze at the Clifton lights

watching over this pirate town
guarding somebody's broken heart
perhaps now, mine

re-reading rejected love letters
shaking their sublime wings

-for my mother-

Some days I catch you sleeping
my legs are as long as yours now
Somewhere in the past, slipping
about, I'm still learning how
to speak. Even all these years on
I'm still searching for my voice
which you've always silenced
the May rain pours down outside
the days are long & ragged
some nights we see the Moon
& it sings it's serenade to us
In our old place we used to play
the piano in our living room
Moon River, Edvard Grieg
& buy fresh brötchen from the bakery
or walk beneath the ginko & linden trees
or talk for hours on the phone
The phone never rings any more
You buy yourself Comte cheese
a memory of bygone luxury
& we leave our garden door
open sometimes when we're in
& watch the slugs come in
& think of how things change.

.*brötchen - bread buns ( german)

Frozen pizza & cheese,
ska, movie marathons
these foolish things they remind me
of you, as the song goes

remember that January night
when we lay down on the snow-covered grass
under the lights of Potzdamer Platz
to make snow angels

by the Brandenburger Gate
in a city no longer divided
or living on a tightrope
but living for each breath

In amidst the crisp coldness
we could smell spring
waiting patiently in the air
& it was almost time for our train

we talked of our M&Ms;
a code word just for them
two brothers we loved
bound by this crush

like sisters
not knowing we weren't
to be friends
for much longer

you counted the stars
the stars which were countless
like all the times
I've thought of you since

eyes dart
train station waits

                      empty footsteps smartly
                      sound

the bone parade

                      wiping make-up from your face
                      you're waving to eternity

                      but eternity does not wait
                      for you,

preferring preacher men

in stiff neck-collars
downing whiskeys

                              just as you leave
                              a butterfly dies

& newspapers the next day
print an article about the extinction

of a rare species
& the train station waits

waits
waits

For Rembrandt, love of my life.

Rimbaud,
were you next door
with Verlaine
or in a bar
or in a church
when the tables
were turned by
an invisible hand
against us
my heart was snatched
from our star
& stuffed down
a chimney stack
full of eyes &
knock knocking
on a door & a cry
as a pistol shot
rang out in sepia
do you believe
in women made of paper
folded into dancers
for suit-clad spiders
by doses of poison
if so hold this song
between your fingers
say a prayer
or just curse science
or the shadows
of a trashed childhood
any in memoriam
will do right now
when I still love you.

I leave you in the middle of town
I hope you have a map
to get back to the bus station

Over a cider in the posh end of town
which probably cost us both more
than we could afford

after our afternoon's talk of Tolstoy
& a shared love of Enid Blyton
& musicians we both loved

we talked of what the current government
was doing to the British poor
& you told me of your own

straightened circumstances
as a child, relying on food parcels
from the Church to stay alive

& I told you how in the Soviet Union
& during the Perestroika
there was never any food in the shops

for anyone & how my mother
queued for hours to get a single pint of milk
not knowing if she'd get it

& how our life changed
when we came here
for the better

we come from different worlds,
each has had their problems
this & Poetry is what connects us.

Never did a rose
bloom so sweet

                                                          ­                                              all complete
                                                        ­            with mascara & tracksuit bottoms

                                                        ­                                    bubble-gum brains
                                                          ­                                   hooked to her ipod

' Whatever happened to the days
of vinyl players'

                                            sighs her grandmother
                                                   & pours her

                                                            ­                                  another cup of tea
                                                             ­                                        she sneers

& leaves
later she's chasing

                                              paper aeroplanes
                                              smoking hashish

                                                        ­                           & stinging the bad  boys
                                                       ­                                           with her thorns.

her scars are hidden
in plain sight of eternity

There's a promise of rain
again, today, my faithful companion
the clouds are dark & the air
is  sultry in it's sweat awaiting it's arrival

I didn't eat my breakfast egg today
I didn't catch the train to Windermere
for the first time, as planned
so instead I'm stuck on Weston sands

The dunes by which he wrote of me,
my poem ' Stralsund' & the Baltic Sea
The tide is out, the donkeys are still around
though there's no children to ride them

today & the seagulls have no chips to steal
from passers by & nothing seems real
nothing can be if my love did not win
& if all that's left is just the memory of him

***** with me
let me feel the beat
that will make us complete
***** with me

***** with me
let us tear down this wall
and ignore all the fools
***** with me

***** with me
before our teenage dreams
fall apart at the seams
***** with me

***** with me
forget all their wars
I'm all yours
***** with me

Nothing is meant by
this August ; the still bright sky
does not confess.

Welcome, stranger Sun
we ain't seen in you in
a long time, Daddy
come & sleep in the fields
& re-spark the colors of the city
bless the children
playing with gravity
on the dizzy trampoline
shine on the ragged jazzman
playing Ellington
I don't mind,
if it's just for today
just for today
I'll eat ice cream
& converse with you a little while
& tell you how
Mamma rain's doing
& write you that poem
I promised you long ago
if you're lucky

Haunted by you, Keats
lost in my Autumn days' revel
I reach for '' dull'' rhymes
to chain my English with their wiles
wondering if you'd bow down
before the poets of performance & free verse
or else lament the passing of the days of old
the Seasons are still changing,
true weather is ever unforetold
few write of Greek myth now
& Chatterton is all but forgot
in this new England
where the spoken word is more favored
than the blessed page
& ever stranger tastes invade
& seize the poet's lyre
I, being but a traveller unto
this land can but aspire
to touch it with my verse
before you, Keats, I bow down
to your ' Eve of St Agnes', sonnets
to your ' Endymion'
I read you & am seized by song
Oh bright star of poets,
listen - may you ever reign!

Get rich quick: go and set up a flea circus!

All the way past Westminster
the Thames breathes rain & clouds

                                                         ­                     & the grim reaper beckons
                                                         ­                        in the iron vein moonlight
& I, I,
an I is an Eye
                                                             ­                  open wide a thousand times
                                                           ­                   & the grim reaper beckoning
Basho & the Dalai lama
might help me find
                                                            ­                                 the restless gambler,
                                                        ­                                            cards in hand
or escape the ships
that never sail past the horizon,

                                                       ­                                                     tribunals
  ­                                                                 ­                            & looking out now
from Cabot tower now past Bristol & beyond
a homeless man sits waiting
                                                         ­                                                     paper cup
                                                             ­                                            & styrofoam
& Clocks do not
tell the time

                                                           ­                              they are merely told it
                                                              ­                  yet in their vanity proclaim that they alone are it's keepers
& our only friend & Nemesis

Close your eyes
the Sea is waiting.

You've known the ***** of swords
the dresses crinoline
the corsets tight &  bold

the way the camera
lets light unfold
the restless stare

of the director
shouting ' Cut'
the many roles

that asked you
to try to do more
than you were told

the leading men
the parties
the red carpet

the list goes on
you've known it all
so Happy Birthday

Everywhere she looked
they followed her

it was obvious from
all the tattoos

they had on their arms
if she passed the test

she'd be one of the chosen
or else drugged till death

true love, her cause
true love, her wealth

' Stop struggling & we'll let you go'
they said & she froze

unwilling though to lose
their cruel embrace

while they were watching her
nothing could go amiss

so she said
' this is not a hospital'

& wept
they just looked on

At first fiercely alone,
he rode in sternly
A mirage sifted
the Iguana sands
among the Cacti
past the mountains
a gun shot rang out
near a convent
& changed into an oasis
where a single rose grew
and a pool no deeper
than a lover stood waist-high
greeted as he knelt
down & saw a pale stone.
Amused now, he held it in his hand
smooth as a girl
or the whittled bones
of some old traveller
gunned down by bandits,
& afraid to breathe
now even after death.
A poor find all in all
yet rounded in places.
A tepid fit to his palm
another horizon
claimed by an intent
that eclipsed the heavens
even as he sent his trinket
skipping, slicing the thin water
& the smug lilt of his voice
was the first the stone had ever heard
an incantation that blazed about it
like a kind of faith or condemnation
or a fire's leap at dusk.

Agatha Christie audiobook
drifts out across the dark room
all she can think of is of the one o' clock
shipping news, a swaying, seasick tune
calling to far off boats & sailors
adrift alone somewhere
thinking of their homes
a cold beer, she thinks will do
she would be writing
but no words come
she draws the duvet cover
closer round her shoulders
her lover's ghost
watches her silently

I'll try to find you
amongst sweet wrappers
mold you into a triangle
we shall talk about what matters
how the universe is an egg & you
are the golden tipped needle
ready to split the egg
& how stars & birds will fly out
when you do bend
to such majesty, loud
& impeccably candid
& the neighbor will ask
with a knock, if anyone's in
& I shan't answer, bask
in the glory of silence,
guarding  the future

Wings like eyes flickering, breathless soul bared to the world