one, two polished leather shoe set the beat,
marks the grey tone on the broken cobbled street.

three, four silent tears pour down the face
making widows lace of the sullen slaggy place.

five, six, the count fades to mix with the collective sound
of doors unbolting and the sight of chins taking to ground,
and busy hands stilled to lay respect like paving slabs.

The tall terraces stained with iron ore stoop to kiss the head
of another working class warrior fallen to soon to his bed.
Smoke billowing from cooling towers lays low - scent of '64
dousing wreaths in docker's sweat, a local hero's glow.

The final home leaving, with no kiss from his wife,
in the fanciest car he's been in in his life.
He never expected nor asked life for much,
a job in the docks, the works - a trade or such;
four walls and a roof to sit over his head,
a wife to share his heart, his life and his bed;
a family with whom to laugh and to cry,
not striving for riches, just to get by.

Happy and sated through much of his years,
counting his laughter so much more than his tears,
call him unambitious, plain if you will,
but how many die having had their fill?

Top hat and tails, 53 steps taken and checked
one for each year lived, a mark of respect.

And the sun is rising.
A crisp winter dawn is giving birth to this great city.
Rays of light kissing one way signs with promises amidst the building chaos.
The ear-spitting labour song gathers momentum and breaks into a cacophony
of horns panting, rails screeching, breaks shushing,
crowds pushing, rushing to the sound of can I get a hoagie?
a bagel, black coffee, eggs
scrambled into the pulsating clouds
light with smiles and heavy with the fuming of exhaust pipes
contracting to the crowning of car bonnets and head lamps and taxi cab signs
dancing in a place, to a pace and a rhythm constructed, conducted
by a lone woman in blue with benign brown eyes
leading a symphony of brake light beating, feet pounding, bus groaning,
venders sighing, newborns crying, school bus squealing,
pedal revving, fingers drumming, foot tapping pedestrians building
to erupt in a crescendo of a man asking to buy a cigarette for a dollar
and refusing to accept it for free.
To a heavy building door held open by a New York giant inviting me in;
welcoming me to the raw, ragged, rich, beautiful carnage
of the afterbirth.

Collective breath catches in the stalls,
slumber fails to take its place in time.
A fall from place to chaos
leaves all the world wanting for a reason;
for direction in the midst of this waning
of the reigning control of the conductor.
Such a careful composition,
to hold a position to be one of them.
And yet, mere moments gather a chorus;
a cacophony of freedom
of being
to crack away the chaining,
the tiniest twinkle of the cage door a jar -
such liberty.
And the fight waits in the wings.
But oh this fluid reality,
a magnificent rainbow,
a glistening roaring waterfall
a melody sung sweet of its own accord.
The conductor listens
and breath catches in the stalls.

The crack across the glass screen calling time
Chimes out the screeching to a halt.
A full stop.
The end
of another
fallen
friend.
Sweet suicide?
I call it the theft, that left my heart bereft
My life without the shape and texture of a love
That only one could give.
And a pain that can never be soothed
And a wound that can never be healed
And a reality that was never more clear than in these times
In the lingering of this tongue on trite futile lines
Because these acts that took those lives from mine
are the smorgasbord from which I will commit my crime.
And the days will be numerous between this day and then
But the measure of life, is when I say when.

You ask me to enter to the tilt of your head towards the computer screen
and see, in two words my definition -
bipolar disorder.

You do not look at me, just talk at me
medication? last relapse? severity of episodes?
You count failings, the moments in which I have lost my mind
and you reproach me for them.
You, as you two-finger-type a cold clinical echo of me,
I, on command, recite the past transgressions of my sanity
and you have me – three inches tall on my knees,
in a disease that thrice almost cost me my life
and in your Jobsworth view you tell me I will get ill,
as if this weren't a fact I fight and fear daily.
You with your tunic, blue, cold as your indifference,
announce this, as if calling time -
self-important, unfeeling, with one eye on your watch.

And I smile at you apologetically,
honestly offering up my faith, prayer, medication compliance,
self awareness, begrudged reliance on those I love to wave the red flag
if the waters I get into are too deep.
You are curt with your nod - as if all this is folly between now and the inevitable.
My recovery, my striding, my passion and profession -
All folly.
You are doing the last offices on quick time
because your time is precious and short
and not to be wasted on crazy dreamers with barely a shot in hell

But even with every mental regression, psychotic expression
manic obsession and abyss of depression -
still, still, the world needs more of mes and much less of yous.
So make your disclaimer and write your reports
I'll chant, share the truth in the streets and courts

She thought that no one would come.
Everyone's someone was there
laden with sweet kisses so craved.
She felt his gaze on her back,
gentle warm strokes like the sun.
She had seen him in the night,
longing's whisper brought to life
an image her heart had saved.
She heard him call out her name
felt her lungs draw fresh breath
and her tears kiss her pale cheeks.

He thought he'd never get there.
His body trembles and aches
underneath the mask he weaves.
He draws her into his chest
kissing the top of her head
breathing in golden blessings.
Every pretense leaves him then.
He feels her spirit in his bones.
He holds her tighter, closer,
feeling familiar pain pangs,
as fears' tears stream down his face.

They thought more of each other
choosing not to dwell on self
but to give rather than to receive.
Fingers tracing round faces.
Eyes locked dancing together.
Hospital stench, ****** sheets
fade into wedding vow fabric
made clean by a lifetime's love.
Wander, wander, wandering
and though neither knows to where
shared is a love that knows all.

And life came in, crowned in blood, kissed and messed,
announcing itself with a cry.  
A girl-child, missing piece, fitted to my breast
her weight absorbed with my heart's sigh
She was fear personified, so heavenly blessed,
she made my terrified simpers her lullaby.

I felt my heart's core swell to absorb her scent,
and my eyes overflowed with love's cascading cry.
She cast light into my darkened chaotic hurt -
sparked a desire to wake, to live, to try,
clasping her whole fist around my ring finger,
holding me still; the whole world passing by.

And in her absence she left her shadow nestled in my chest.
And in my absence I hid my kisses in her sigh.
She grew with eyes of blue and a sympathetic smile -
all faerie dust on the wing of a butterfly,
an almost echo of a girl I once knew.
Except she didn't know that kind of cry,
wouldn't know anything less than rainbows,
than Christmas mornings and endless blue skies.

We tripped, clicked heels through the passing years,
from little girl to little woman in the blink of an eye,
till we were both wearing her shoes instead of mine.
And like Alice, she snapped from low to high
she grew - time sculpting curvy definitions
of who I hope and fear she will be.

She is golden curls and girlish giggles
ever wondering the where or the why
ever seeking to help, to heal, to try
to pour her heart into an undeserving world.
She has legs she claims to stand her ground
to be, to free, to hold her own.

And though like me, she is not me,
since she is so much braver than I.
Her finger is wrapped around her innocence
holding strong to consent or deny.
This life will make her cry her tears
and this world will realise her fears
but she will ever have the wings to fly
and I will ever ready to sing her our lullaby.