The weight of the last cinderblock
took its toll,
that one final heave,
hoist and offload
handballing the lot
from broken pallets
to flatbed's top
no forklift or barrow in sight
under weather made heavy
by breezeless skies.
Body's done,
hand's numb,
mind's dumb,
arms quiver through,
back aches from over missuse.
Fingers so stiff,
with a pen I cant write.
My thumbs are grumpy
through which I type.
Feeling old hitting my wall
which I have yet to build
gives me something to do tomorrow
if I make it till tonight.

She's got her headphones on,
can't see further than the magazine pages,
articles about painting nails
and what celebrities said.

He wears his Sunday best.
Pops a pill for heartburn.
Worries about tax returns
and the few pounds he's gained.

But later tonight
their passion will be on the cusp of perfection
the greatest gift they've got
is only for them to know.

She has a wicket mind,
though you'd never think if you met her. She'd drive a good boy wild
and she can sing pretty well too.

He's a creative soul,
though you'd never know if you met him.
Could melt a heart of stone
and can cook a mean chilly too.

Monday's made for yawning,
watery eyes,
groggy headed morning,
takes two hours and some change
before I'm performing
somewhere close to normal.
I'm not fishing for pity,
but it's still dark when
I reach the city,
yet sometimes its
oh so pretty
when the sun paints it's colours
on you.

Heavy eyes
but light hearts keep them open,
late night
early morning
not wanting
to miss a beat of every moment.
Then a kiss untill the next calling
taking time wistfully strolling
walking the colours into the day
as the night gradually fades
like the distance of two bodies giving way.
Though dreary there's an energy
wanting to keep dreams at bay
and savour every touch
and word you may say.

Bah humbug it's Christmas
Time to panic and purchase extra ****
Time for adverts to hype kids to pester parents to scavenge shelves. Time for painful smiles to be painted and pretend all is well as kin folk gather.
Worry about bedding, and seating and gravy boats and tangled lights and sellotape and hiding spaces they want to sink into.
Time for the lonely to feel isolated and the happy to be oblivious.
Time for excess and ** ** **. Christmas songs relentless grinding through bones while millions go without.
Time for charity boxes to rattle because governments ignore.
Time for hangovers and walks of shame.
Devouring more than is needed. Consumed by the season's abused meaning.
Then once done and discarded we have January, Billuary ready to ****** up the spoils.
And the New Year foolishness of resolutions, and lose weight, get back in shape, sales and sales and holiday dreams until the old valentines rolls in, then Paddy's day and Easter, then pressure for the perfect beach ***. It goes on chipping away and chipping and chipping.

Scattered light
mottles through the rank of trees
reigning over the aisle between fields
in royal stainglass arcs of protection.
The wheat is young and green
though stretches tall enough to dance under the influence of wind's song
and conceal
scurrying mouse, hare
and proud breasted pheasant
from hunters gun and farmers dog.
No echoed shots ring out today
only the call of birds
seeking twig and thistledown
to weave chalice cupped homes
high up in the throne of trunk,
out of view
from all but the few
who come to seek solitude.

The walls are sick of looking at me
as I try to explain
why I love the rain
as twilight wanes.
A hunching shadow's long sigh
waited for darkness
to swallow troubles
hardly worth the pain,
wondering when I last felt
some kind of good
or if I would
again.

She's sitting there all pretty,
but I feel nothing, not a stir.
Shift closer in my chair
tossing conversations at her.
She throws them politly back
unsure.
Perhaps hoping for a spark,
a connection.
I gaze into her eyes at evening light's reflection
sparkling brightly as a dew drop glistening in the morning sun.
She's unaware of my distraction.
She got it wrong.
I notice a shy smile glow and resonate.
Her pupils dialate.
Unintentionally I've led her on.
Feeling a little guilty, I remember the evening's not just for me.
I cut the tethers of care to see
what our bodies will do.

Below the window the street spills through with each car pass and dribbling pavement foot fall, splashes of voices fresh as lilly dew. Babbling babes follow falling toys, hellos and goodbyes wash away in time's tides. And I listen out for you

Evening light washes pale
traffic scrunches up the motorway
weary bones heading home
minds coiled tense as a spring
ready to offload
wasted hours devoured by work.

You're wearing me out with your indifference
like a pair of boots walking long distance.
No matter which route I take
I never seem to reach your heart.

Tried travelling down other paths,
but it don't take long before
I have to turn back.
My only destination is wherever you're at..
But you get further and further away.

When loneliness comes
you call for another without calling.
When loneliness settles
you pray for someone without blessing.
When loneliness stays
isolation falls like winter's rain
deeply burrowing.
Destitute of humanity
despair comes echoing
when loneliness digs it's moat of disheartened thoughts
you shrivel disponded
cease the point of trying.
When loneliness calls.

In reflection of minor moments that ended before I had understand or recognition of their value
I stumbled across a time of mine
as a child
scurrying through a park
hurrying to play before the dark
came to take freedom away.
From the corner of my eye
I spied
a wood pigeon
struggling against the snag
of dense ivy vine.
Its leg revealed trapped between
frantic flapping
and panicked call.
I crawled a careful crawl
ignoring thorns and nettle stings
I used to cover my approach.
Reaching out
denying maddened pecks
and talon sctatchs to detour me,
I gently held the bird
between leg and hand
as the other hand tore ivy vine.
Released it sored.
Swift and gone.
The throb of its shaking heart still echoing in my palm
as this memory echoes in my heart.

Lurking in a sullen snug
hiding away from eyes of the good
except the occasional ones
of a waitress who acknowledges
his order
with a nod
a momentarily glimmer of light
from neon reflecting sparks of life
between exchanges of glasses,
empty for full.
The change lands on the table  
dull as a labour's boots.
Sometimes here he writes
of worlds too fine for spoken words.
In the wakefulness of day
they are crumpled, discarded, shredded and burned.
Who'll listening if he could,
but speak as he wrote?
But there's nought.

Can be hard to stare unflinching into the eyes of reality
coloured by harshness and badness riddled with tragedy.
Run by dictators and tyrants,
corrupted democracy,
religious fanatics,
blinded hypocrisy.
Innocent children washed up on beaches dying to be refugees
what's that teach us?
Fleeing the horrors of war, torture, starvation, killing and maiming.
Ordered by powerful faces on posters, the soulless have no shaming.
Shake our heads, "it's so terribly sad" express our empathetic views
before flicking on chatshows,
turn off the news.
Can be hard to grasp reality really
in our protective womb
harder to admit what happens closer to home, in the other room.
Violence, abuse, ****, neglect.
Smaller wars perhaps, but with the same truamatic effect.
These don't make the headlines or cover front pages
untill we end what's beside us we can't end the evil that rages.

When you be busy getting
to where you want to be going
don't be neglecting
the path you're now roaming
or before you know
it your now will be stolen,
other paths will go unknown,
other mysteries will never be shown,
other yous will never be grown.
And when you arrive you could be regretting
what's the good things you have now
when you get to where you be going.

big words can constrict me
leaving little room to wiggle free,
they constrain
unequivocally,
there for show and tell, no doubt!
What can I do with discombobulate
that I can't do with confuse and frustrate?
Or maybe I can postulated
it's just a suggestion
can you relate?
When I say big words,
I meant to say long
cos little words like hope and love have more worth and meaning than floccinaucinihilipilification
Or maybe l'm dumb and use to procrastination
putting off what can be cleverly done.
But if I find a word that's lenghty
and hits the spot just right
I will use it ostentatiously,
or so I might.

Oh has there ever been a breath such as yours
to tease goosebumps upon my neck as if they were my first?
A breath of passage from deep within lungs that oscillates my blood and heart's pulse?
Oh has there ever been a breath such as yours to carry heavylight words
of love?

Still the night
muffled by a dark velvet sky
so animals may slumber
while others take silent flight.
An aphotic world
kept in secret from sight
shared only among hushes
in the envelope of a sigh.

Cat spat out a baby bird
deader than a drunk's promised word
broken from the maw
only a little blood, no more.  
Could've cried a little
as I scooped it up from the door
into a dandoline dust pan
before the kids saw.
The cat did what cats do
I wasn't angry with it as it pawed
my ankle expectantly seeking a reward

Wonder I sadly
the wish of the sun
for a shadow or
somewhere dark enough
to dream.

Clawed back from the dredges of deep self-pitty
"woe is mine" and "abandoned" and other such decrees.
Raised head aloft above self and had a good musing of this one grain among many.
others are far worse
and others faring better
but most
grains fare the same.
Is there a parculiar comfort in sorrow?
An odd warmth to loneliness
Perhaps it's a strange familiarity that forgives lack of energy.
Though the choice of circumstance maybe beyond our persuasion,
how we deal with it
is in our control.
Or so I heard someone say

We are a zoo
there are many animals
housed within
some are protected
by our prison
some pace frantically
clawing for freedom
some are timid
and keep themselves hidden
sometimes they battle for dominance
sometimes they're peaceful sometimes they're driven to violence
sometimes they're docile
sometimes they're irrational
sometimes they take over
our wild animals are all
emotional.

Battle hardened hearts
***** battlements
to protect from future
emotional elements
and
bitter scares.
Because every love is a possible enemy
and every love is a possible knife twist.
Is it better to stay alone and numb
than allow room for more hurt to exist?
If a love should come
bringing liberty
to smash those cold walls
there will still be
noticiple relics in crumpled debris
cautions of what could be.
Don't fear them or let them mislead.
heed their history,
but set your heart free.

His shoulders wilted
like the petals of a weary cafe flower.

low as a fading iodine evening light.

Drained trying to understand
those last riverlets of kisses  
that douced his contours

parceled cushions of a lovers mouth
dripped lush droplets
of breath and promises.

The same mouth

that shuddered sorries

before
uttering goodbye
forever more.

Our behaviours are reactions to our perceptions of situatuons
There may not always be a best option
but most problems have a solution.
For those that don't
we can make resolutions
when things get out of our control
we can learn to control our reactions,
our behaviour and self-perceptions.

Did the night
whisper your name?
Did I speak it
in a wish?
It hung here suddenly
almost a physical thing
delicately chiming echoes
elusively
pealing petal images
long after its bell had rung.
My heart listed
into its fading wave
before
its gentle ripple was lost
amid the sea
of a cruel cacophony.

Saturday's sky a dessert for the eye,
Creamy clouds dolloped liberally,
fluffy and plump
floating silently
through rich azure
sprinkled
with hovering vs
of birds soaring high.  
To have wings is to be blessed,
why can't I?
Questions of a child
still rumble in my aging bones.
Though I'm kind of glad
to still have
echos of innocents
and hidden hope
that one day I may.

You bet
there was **** frost on her breath
so coldly she told him to leave.
Just like that
he packed
his duffel bag,
fixed his hat.
Left and grabbed a bottle of Jack
and the first train.
Slowly he took a swig,
as it pulled away
better a leaving drunk on a train
than one that remains
bawling in the rain
after the tomorrows
flushing down the gutter drain.
He sank into the comfortable
locomotive sway
consulated their lust
wasn't deep enough to cause pain.
Smiling he toasted her all the best,
her and all the rest,
then he drifted away
wondering who would be next.

She gathers up the lost dreams
the old and the broken
the dying and the stolen
neglected and fogotten
then carefully carries them
in a spider spun satchel
takes them to her home in the meadow
where she carefully mends them
till they're strong enough to fly on wings of hope eternal
back to those that most need them.
The ones that have no one
to return to,
return to
live in the wishtree by her garden
and when it's time
they help guide her
to dreams newly lost and broken.

Within the woods
a cluster of silver birch
stand proud among the pines and hazel and elms.
Below the gaze of the silver bark eyes
half hidden beneath the mulch and loam of ground
a toppled circle of stone can be found
to a kean eye
faded traces of blackened soil
painted by the death of a flame
It holds memories, if you listen,
of promises and dreams intimately whispered about the fire
when everything and the world died except you and I.

Cloud cap,
graphite matte,
raised a horizon peak.
Pale magnolia added flesh
to dawn's early brow.
Is blindness worth witnesssing
the opening eye of the sun?
Waiting for the evening's softer one.

I write, but I am not a poet
I paint, but I'm no artist
I read, but I am no scholar
I have dreams, but I'm not a visionary
I create, but I'm not an inventor
I pray, but I'm far from being holy
I ponder, but I'm not a philosopher
I hate violence, but I'm not a pacifist
I am not unique, but I am uniquely me.
Though there's many things I'd like to change
for now
I just want to be

Time:
a perpetual motion,
an unstoppable force.
The present:
a constant collision with
an immovable object:
the past.

Hush,
the day's resting
night's emerging
earth's silently revolving
measurements of time are
peacefully shifting.

Friday
Raindrops fleck neon's flash
Friday night's here at last.
Used to mean freedom to me
cash in my wallet, friends to see.
I'm older and don't dig the city no more.
Got mouths to feed
I'm just above being poor, but
the streaks of rain
cause memories to soar
fresh aftershave city to explore,
though I wouldn't think twice
of hitting the clubs again,
I remember feeling free
when I was younger back then.
And I remember feeling lonely
too often,
sometimes my only friends
were at a bottles bottom.

I put off opening the *****
cos I knew it wouldn't last long
sometimes I prefer to get it wrong,
but sha-la-la a typical song.
You see the beer's all gone
and I don't trust myself
with old sea dog ***,
it stinks like an oil drum
and never knows when to leave me alone.
Some nights are made for drinking
turning  :-(  into a  B-)
but hold on
the ***** is starting to kick in
guess I'm ;-) till I pass out before dawn.
in the mean time tra-la d-dum dum dum

Sometimes I feel
I belong in the twilight
as it falls into night
amidst the silhouettes of trees and vanishing birds.
Just before the darkness  
completes its full shroud.
Its nature hushes me
like the final rotation
of a spinning coin
or the last inhale
before a kiss.

Diminishing lights
curving gradually
blinking until lost
in the depths of night.
Distant the fading airplane hum carrying on
once gone
from sight.
Suffer not wondering
of its destination,
the possibility of passengers,
the needful yearn to be one.
Some wished to stay behind,
to sit as you do
and remain on a patch of soil.
Imagine another wanting your life.
Bemused?
You should wonder why.

Slowly reading
allowing
       pronunciation
to roll,
tighten
and fold      
                    a whispering tongue
orripplelipspucker and smack stretching jaw       and morphing mouth,
  tongue to teeth,
placid cheek and fading
                             hushhhhhhhh.

Engine oil buried deep as hate beneath my nails.
Won't scrub away
it remains like the mistakes I made.
Not always visible,
but I know it's there all the same.

Old tatt lines blasted as heart ache,
it's hard to follow the ink.
What it represented
now an obscure link
like faded love.
Though in a certain light
it don't look that bad,
or so I tell myself,
but mostly I try not to think.