Dwelling, I feel forlorn.
I mourn for the lost thoughts
escaping like breath from the corner of your mouth when you stifle a yawn in the sun.
I think for the bottles of beer
lost at sea,
cold but empty, liquor drunk and lost, your bottle stands sentry,
proudly holding a message as it bobs over waves,
it sails for the marooned it's trying to save.
Inside, a note.
Outside, the glass reflects the clouds as it floats beneath them.
I sit with the marooned in the sun and watch the clouds -
shapes like animals, worlds in the sky glimpsed for a moment and lost -
melting away like frost in the sun.
I think for myself as I lounge.
Like frost in the sun, I melt into the ground and it cradles me,
shape of my body pressed in the sand.
Soon to be washed away,
with these thoughts dwelling in the sun, I stifle a yawn, and I open another beer.

Sometimes, I take a deep breath,
And my chest crashes like waves
Onto the shore where you bathe,
Your skin speckled with sand like glitter
Or dust on a priceless antique which nobody dares to clean

A candle went out
A little flame on the tabletop dancing in the reflection in the wine glasses
hot and molten and fragrant, nights spent behind lightly-coloured veiled curtains
Mysterious, dancing, floating shadows through the curtain are glimpsed.
Tales of mystery, magic, agelessness hints in the small flame.
Scandals in the dark.
Wax seals on yellow letters
remembered by the candle;
the only light there to see on those nights
In stone castles and in hot bedrooms,
On steel blades of kings to their steely gaze,
to nervous eyes and shining lips
All reflected the burning candle's wick
Whose warmth and flickering glow were taken for granted until
a candle went out.

I'm not quite sure why I feel this way
Why in my bed, my legs feel tired
In my head, my heart feels numb
Why my lips feel dry without gin passing through them.

Chapped and sore, my patience like my lips thirsts
for a numbing draft of spirit to quench.
Spirit is exactly what I need
to instill charm into this hopeless mind.

If only charm poured as easily as gin
from the bottle so green with envy
and malice and wickedness.
Heavy, silver liquid within.

I hope I'm drunk
because if this is what sober is like,
I don't want to be sober -
Better pour myself another glass.
Onto the old slice of lime.

I like sitting by the river
The white noise
The constant running
The seamless flow
Floating
Music of wildlife
Stones smoothed and softened by timeless, endless current
The water reflects the world.
The sun and the trees and the reeds and the rocks
are all mirrored in the warbling surface
which carries the lightest twigs
and absorbs the heaviest timber.
Waves break easily against any obstacle, yet continue to glide eternally downstream
For water is delicate, but the river never stops.
One seagull stands proudly on a lone rock in the middle of the river and glares upstream, its breast glowing white and its tail flowing grey.
Fish flit in and out of sight.
The creatures of the river are as sleek as their watery habitat.
The tiniest bubble floats over the water in front of me and bursts.
Even that tiny bubble left ripples on the surface of the mighty river, humble, ageless and alive.

I feel like the storm's passed
The battle's over, and
we just have to wait for the flowers to grow back out of the explosion craters.
We'll see if they grow back nicely
or if the lead poisons them from the soil upwards.

Do you love the flowers?
Will you water them when they need it?
If it doesn't rain for a week or so, they might need watering
and they'll always, always need sunshine

sometimes
some times feel hard
and all the while
the earth orbits the sun

sometimes
some times feel easy
and all the while
the moon pulls the tide

stars and galaxies surround each other
in infinite space, dust and light, rocks and crystals
moons shine and suns burn in their vastness
and our problems are still bigger than everything
our joys are still brighter
our universe full of laughter
sorrows still deeper than the tide
tall orders taller than the sky which stretches above us  

but sometimes
remember
through all your time
there's so much space up there
and only you can decide what you want to fill it with

I can see you there
Creeping up on me
A dark shadow amid the trees
that grow old and grey by the road.
Keep walking
your eyes glow dark ahead of me
I approach you quietly
and you approach me.
Dare we speak?
Dare we break the silence,
and utter the inevitable words
that cause inevitable hurt.
We will dare,
when we've lost all passion
when the trees have lost all their leaves
and the road has become flooded.
I can see you dare

Some people make me angry
However much they look outwards, they only see themselves
They only see their own face, reflected on the shimmering scales of the fish jumping in the lake by which they sit
The people like watching the fish
But fish and people can't be friends
because people can't see what a fish is thinking, even though the fish are always watching with lidless eyes
The fish; quiet, modest, good swimmers
The reflection of the onlooking person on their scales glimmers
Like a mirror
Some people only see themselves

A woman
Swathed in mystery
Darkness
In her history
Which she hints at but doesn't tell
While she walks through heaven and hell,
Drinking with the angels and playing poker with the devil
Because her poker face is better than his
But don't show me your poker face
Lay your hand on the table, aces up,
Show me your hand, mysterious woman

Why don't you stay
Why don't you say you'll look after me
I'll help you deal with what's wrong
We'll make it better before long
Because I'm not going anywhere
While you don't feel right
I can't just go to bed and sleep tight, and
I'm not going to have an easy, restful night
While there's something bothering you slightly

I don't know what
It is but it's not something I can ignore forever
It's not just a pointless endeavour
Of my emotions, on a journey
I want you to long for me; yearn for me
I want you to need to make me feel right
I want you to help me before saying goodbye

But then again,
I gave nothing to you
But a blank, cold stare
Wished you sweet dreams
With the glare of a nightmare
I care and I want to share
But it's not fair because
For too long I've been unhappy
On one side of my face

Schizophrenic,
Unauthentically authentic
I think that I meant it
and I doused it in wit
But what use is intelligence
When it uses idiotic reasoning
What use is a feeling
When it can't even identify itself easily
Cheesily,
hazily,
amazingly poetic

I want a week to myself
Or maybe a month
In a cave, on a hill
Playing chess, or something.
Making a mess, and loving
the time that I have alone.
Cold solitude
warm independence
Hours sat cross-legged
thinking, feeling, breathing
Senses
Calm
Cool
Cave

        Save me

Happiness is infectious
and so is unhappiness

I thought evil was only something you saw on the news.
Only something you read in the Bible, sitting in the pews in church
and reading about the hoardes of Jews who hurt
because God had something better waiting for them after the pain.
After the strain
put on the heart of my mum,
there'd better be some handsome sum sitting at the end of the road
and 3 handsome sons walking along the road too.
Walking towards the Holy Land,
hand-in-hand
and standing up to the man who held his hand to our faces and slapped them,
letting his family slip through his filthy fingers like sand.

But sand is better off on the beach than it is in somebody's palm,
and if this infectious unhappiness
is just travel sickness
en route to a sunny beach, lined with palms,
where we can stop reading Exodus
and start singing Psalms,
then I think, and I hope, I can put up with a little more time in this car.
Are we nearly there yet?

As he paces,
his heart races.
A thousand unknown faces
fill his head and he amazes
himself that he still gets so annoyed;
so sickeningly distraught
at the thought of other boys
using her as their toy.
A one-off meeting,
A nervous smile and fleeting glance
at her red lips.
A brush of the fingertips.
A passionless kiss.
But a story nonetheless
of the girl in the tight dress
who you managed to impress
at that birthday party.
You were both a bit of a mess,
but who even cares?
It's a part of growing up:
Tongue to tongue and have a ****
of his face.
Please enjoy, Lady Ace,
the sentiment and the grace
of the young 'innocence' that still dismays
the one who actually cared.
Who actually stared
into your eyes for something deeper.
Something warmer and true
Someone in love with you,
with a dream for every day
and an endless desire to play
with your hair as well as your *** -
who cares and shares in your sass,
with kisses born from more than a crass
lad with his Hollister shirt on
and a wallet stuffed with hopeful condoms.

A voice sings.
A bird flies whose wings have previously remained unscretched.
Its song grows stronger with each whistled lullaby.
A burden inside is lifted into the air.
Weightlessness encourages tears.
The heaviness flows from within, and the bird flies alongside its friends.
She weaves in and between them, flying beside and above and below, and always with them.
They care for each other
They love each other.
Flight is not for transportation unless the destination is another world; another realm; another peace of mind.
Pieces of mind, thrown like cards onto the table
Placed like a baby into a cradle.
Silence falls, for she is scared her next note might roll down her cheeks
Roll wetly down her cheeks and shivering down her spine.
Beauty invites a shiver down the spine.
It says "Come in. Be warm. Be touched."
Warm breath flows.
Open hearts invoke terror
If you think she sang beautifully, then tell her.