I’d like a black poets’ suit
single breasted
poets’ uniform
a suit
& where would I acquire
the suit
I now desire?

Is there a specialist tailor
dressing
the bards of our nation
so similarly
selecting incorrectly
the size skilfully
artfully adding angst ridden
creases

Around the thighs
Shaping bulging pockets
As if a tome of verse
Had just been removed
and ensuring that the sleeves
Were roll-upable
For pub gigs

I’d like a poets suit
in black
well weathered from
earnest waiting
nay celebrating
rail sides in winter
& the last train home

I’d like some Doctor Martens
black & comfortable
for performing in
and neutral fashion wise
in the eyes
of those that look
beyond the book

And I’ll wear them
With my poets suit
My white(ish) shirt
& splendid spectacles
& not only
Will I look like a 'poet'
But I'll feel like one too

I’ll meet you
in the elipse
between
and joining
our separate lives

In the shaded area
the convenient space
mostly unoccupied
that is both of us
yet neither

At the intersection
of our spheres
where we can share
our unique combination
in the world

So there’s this English Patient
cave set up
Cold, quiet and dying
Alone
and a sense of properly sad sadness
A deep and thorough sadness
not just dropped my ice-cream sadness
But dying alone and cold sadness
Could bring you to tears thinking about it
I expect
That kind of sadness

So the candle is flickering out
And no-one is coming for you
You realised that hours ago but never stopped hoping
And the end of your life is there – shadowing against the cave wall
Flickering in and out of view
Ethereal and unreal
And you laugh a little at the ridiculousness
Of your plight
And you trace your own fingers around your face
Your thirst is irrelevant
And you start thinking about what you have been
Where you have loved
And who
Pictures begin to come to mind of beauty and ecstasy
And then you fall into satisfied eternity

The young will know what to do
They always do
with their inate sense
of now
to act, react or start again
As needed

The young will speak up soon
They always did
permissions irrelevant
finding new angles
clearly seeing
that there is more to life than

Gods and Tigers
but not that much
They will set the new tempo
carve themselves some sense
from our nonsensical inheritance
In them I trust

They whistled
Walking early with their pals
because the deep cold black coal face

They whistled
Shining hard their Sunday shoes
because their boots could not be clean

They whistled
Reading close their Daily News
because the lock-less outhouse door  

They whistled
Climbing up the muddy *****
because the spiteful  Maxim's fire  

They whistle
When again they think of that
because the screams
because the screams

Losing credibility
like the film star,
kissed
too many times,
by too many,
to be ever again
believably
in love

I am next to you
on the kerb side
about to happen
I’m in your sleep
latent and patient,
inevitable
I am in the water
about you
waiting to envelop
rinse and silence you
I am the bullet
anonymous and inert
until decisive
And I am the spark
the word
the reason
the consequence
Undiagnosed
and undetected
I'm not your nemesis
don’t expect me
But I will be
So don’t predict me
or hate me

Thickening
Softening
Growing wisdom
From painful
Periods of reflection
Slowing and quickening
Deep deep breaths
Lost significance
And drift

Are you a male or a female?
Farm Boy

Describe yourself:
The Milkman of Human Kindness

How do you feel?
A Change is Gonna Come

Describe where you currently live:
Island of No Return

If you could go anywhere, where would you go:
A New England

Your favourite form of transportation:
My Flying Saucer

What’s the weather like:
Same again

Favourite time of day:
When the roses bloom again

Your relationships:
The warmest room

Your fear:
Right wing rant

What is the best advice you have to give:  
Don't mourn, organise

If you could change your name, you would change it to:
Danny Rose

My soul’s present condition:
Accident waiting to happen

Out in the night
Young
among
the raging masses
Feeling heroic
without reason
Seeking sensation
without knowing
what to feel
Making it all up
as I went along
Learning the language
of love
in a vicarious
hilarious
wondrous stupor
of righteous alcohol
fermenting bright-eyed
hormones
Spinning on my axis
broken glass
disco ball
fly-eyed
superman

Wisdom imparted
from an angled
grand grey person
to young me
as they seated
themselves
pained

I never dwelt
at the time
on its meaning
Was it licence to
be a hedonist
to burn bright
and short?

Or sage instruction
to refuse
time and pain
any influence
or maybe to go
find a cause
a war adventure

to take me early
just as their friends
had been
flaxen haired smiling
innocent of
everything
and never old

Some places have more history
More echoes of things past
Than here
Some places are where gods were
Passing through
Leaving traces
Some places evoke and provoke
A sense of substance
Substantial moments
Ripples in the plane
That resonate

Some places are marked
By mans hand
Names and dates and hearts and truths
And some places feel right
Feel comfortable
Appropriate
And some places
Keep close their secrets
In the depth of dust
Some places even possess you
Calling you back for more
Making you remember
Their history

She was intricately
deliberate
with textures
& attitudes
& colours
combined

Conciously
random
when bathing benignly
in media
materials
& moments

Strong
yet so vulnerable
in just the right
measure
ethereal
but grounded

Beautiful
blue wide eyes
opening
to order
& closing
to sleep

For Sheri and Russ


the thing about love is
that you cannot plan it
or describe it
or put it into words

the thing about love is
that you cannot own it
or possess it
or keep it for yourself

the thing about love is
that you can’t predict it
or restrict it
or make it play to rules

the thing about love is
that you cannot seek it
or borrow it
or put it in a cage

the thing about love is
that you cannot paint it
or write it
or describe it in a verse

the thing about love is
that you can’t demand it
or supply it
or find it in a dream

the thing about love is
that you can’t practice it
or teach it
or know it inside out

the thing about love is
you cannot master it
or limit it
or make it sit quite still

the thing about love is
that you can’t ignore it
or expect it
or deserve its warm embrace

the thing about love is
that you can’t bottle it
or label it
or place it on a shelf

the thing about love is
that when you find it
you'll know it
and you’ll recognise its face

I don’t care
About your perception of my
Saccharin sentimentality
But I know
That on the day
That humanity kills the last Tiger
That the beauty in the world
Will have gone
Our science-fiction
Will start to be fact
And magnificence
Will be only ours to create
Melancholy though it will be
If we are to be Gods
And make this world our concrete
Functional costed playground
Then the poetry will need
to be **** good
The music  
Better
And we will need to
Reconnect with something
That will make it all
bearable  
forgiveable
and worthwhile

Think about it
The breadth
Depth
And length of it
This human condition
All of the buried skulls
Had smiles
All of the powdered hearts
Loved
We haven’t invented anything human
Any new thoughts
Something close to your every line
Has been said before
Many times
In many languages
We flatter ourselves
Many fold

I envy
The simplicity of the dog;
Thirsty,
drink puddle
Itchy,
scratch ear
Frustrated,
just bark
Bark!
Bark!

And when tired
sleep

The fascination
is again immediate
it stops me dead
Automaton emotion
sympathy washing over
a feeling of something
out of reach
of privilege
of loss
It's something like
a girl friend I once nearly had
a song I had forgotten
a line from a song
that I always get wrong
a night that I want again
We are stupid
And we'll die
I never reached
an uneasy understanding
Something I cannot describe easily
It feels like a real future
somehow
Dystopian broken and flawed
of course
but even then...
Absolute beauty
the unknown
and dignity in death
dignity and poetry in death
light streaming through
and rain
of course there's rain
there's always rain
huge silences
and behind it all
that music
that music that makes
the future seem now
whatever that means
Doll
Robot
but still pain
still the knowledge
of what the end means
from learned
and invested
memories
so human
more human than possible
already dead
but able to share
the most delicate
honest
and fragile moments
that create guilt
in me
somehow
from somewhere
the link
is the sepia prints
on the piano
and the very essence
the thing that drives
the fascination
is The dove
and those lines
spoken like a king
like a saint
with a wonderful warm heart
full of all of my sadness
somehow
and
The unicorn
reminding me
that it was all
fabricated
by the hand
of man

Spindly &
light weight
in all but impact;
complex and vaguely French
visually

Lucidly liquid
wondrous explanations
of the prosaically usual
evoking
something essential

Revolving the silver ring
around her so
delicate finger
with her thumb
even that was enough

Summer print simple
red red lips
& unceasing eyes
the scent of taste
& the precision of an artist

He couldn’t imagine
how to love her
& so he very much liked
at the appropriate distance  
without regret

Collecting all of
the compliments,
the glances,
the well meaning
platitudes;
the want

Taking the pink
sticky pieces
of perceived value
pressing them,
thumb printed
and flattened
into your warm damp ball
of vanity
of gathered precious
feeling

Daily,
touching
pinching the surface
For a response
a reality check
& smoothing
smoothing it
like a being
an existing thing
a presence

Your need for value
outweighs
my words

Last night
I dreamt
I was a giant,
that I forgot
my favourite word;
that I refused
to have white teeth
and that I lost
my prize possession.  

Everyday
mixed up thoughts,
making no sense
and every sense

You misunderstood the remit
The toolkit for brilliant
You will never be
perfectly blond, brown or red

We are not cartoons
or icons
Ignore the urging
air brush big brand market

Unique is what you are
Celebrate your difference
Paint yourself your own colour

The night it stayed light
We closed our conversations
Ended them
Finished what we had to say
On the very same day
That we started them

There was no hour to leave
Or a time to arrive
Curtains remained un-drawn
We could see into everywhere
And it seemed that the sun hovered
Between the hills for hours

The night it stayed light
Your eyes stayed open
You never closed them
Not even a blink
I stared into them for an eternity
And meant it completely

There was no next day or today
To separate us
The **** crowed in mid-afternoon
And we drank hot chocolate
For breakfast like the French do,
We strange cosmopolitans

The night it stayed light
The owl never flew and the bats waited
Patient in barns
And I looked at you in pyjamas at noon
With sunlight on your hair
And I felt humble
For being allowed to love you
All that long day

Can I ask;  

Does life trouble you?
Because your eyes
Told me it might

Do you seek out smooth pebbles,
to touch and caress
absentmindedly?
Your finger tips shine like you do 

Is this journey one
that you sought to avoid?
Your toe tapping
white knuckle grip
on that letter
gave you away  

And yes
I am bothered
By what happens
next to you
Would a chat and coffee be of help
or just another presumption?

I gaze
at my shoes
because
your views
aren't mine
& we never talked
properly
about the big things
the things
that needed saying
and this eye contact
awkwardly brief
has no point
cos you don't
look back
at me
really
even in anger
& I have tattoos  
because your pallid arms
and creamy backs
are not mine
& I can't sing the blues
whatever they are
very well
or well enough
to make me rich

So there is this
Shadow
Whistling
Walking between dark places
Following
Tracking
But never connecting
A glance of his profile
Stirs a memory
But not a strong one
A summer hazed
Warm water
Recollection
Not damaging
Or spiteful

Paris June 18th 1940

Dear Mother,
Beauty surrounding us
daily
but never more than a
street away
from another wall
with bullet holes
and flowers

These places
so familiar
where we were
where we existed
in time
accumulating memories
leaving traces
& absorbing influences

This place
returning
a frozen evolution
recomplete
animated
by your presence
relevant again
to all of us

You’ll thicken her hips
Forsake her lips
And then **** on her chips
That’s what you’ll do

Her reddened eyes
reopened
it seemed
like she had been crying
but she hadn’t
Not a tear
But for that moment
as she refocused
approaching awake again
It seemed like sadness
burdened her
had surrounded her sleep
sending phantoms  
to populate her dreams

Summer dusk
Swifts
screaming
Carving elegant
impossible arcs
against the
marbled blue

I cushioned your first ecstasy,
blanketed your school-day sickness,
hosted your important conversations
and absorbed your mistakes.

I was your young boy bunker,
your teenager cave,
your safe haven from the elements
and your fantasy land.

I warmed your Christmas dreams
your sorrow filled hours,
your desert island
and your solitary confinement.

You dreamt fantastic colours
in my comforting embrace,
you fled from shadows
and awoke in sunlight.

I become the particular shape of you
moulded by your years of resting,
you made me into what I am
the same gift I've shared with you.

Dysfunctional
this is not functional

Functioning badly
at best
not clear why
of course
until after the
functioning has ceased
long after

Snow
Christmas
bridal gown
rare and pure
reality suspended
deep beneath

Snow
clean white
linen cloth
covering
a stained table
superficially pleasing

Snow
a fresh shroud
over a body
stiff with cold
frosted ground
crisp and even

Snow
rippled like sorbet
cleansing
refreshing
but always
just water

A spider
Still
Drinking the life
From a bee’s
Thorax cup
In sunlight
Between the dagger
Fronds
Of a palm
That I planted
Drinking tea
I watch

Mixey Kit
in the verging grass
sleek wild and still;
breathing too hard
for young lungs,
black leaking eyes
and nose

Patiently waiting
for the inevitable
midnight fox;
too new
to know
to cherish it's last
sun dappled hours

When I was a cat
I slept too often
Walked away
And never really thanked you

When I was an orchid
I bloomed and faded
Promised much
And revelled in my rarity

When I was a wave
I broke hearts on the shore
Moved sand
And probably disappointed

When I was an apple
I ripened and then fell
Rotted slowly
And was never shared

When I was a candle
I burned bright and short
Lost form
And ended on your finger tip

And when I was a young man
I slept too often
Promised much
Probably disappointed
Was never shared
And ended on your finger tip

A summer evening
The thirsty dog is drinking
Making new music

This is where it will happen
I know
I can see it
There is something connecting
With me
Old
New
A deja vu
A you knew who
Steps are familiar
The light hits the floor in a way
That does not surprise me
Or fascinate me
Catching dust drifting

I knew you
in my dream
the scent of you
the sense of you

Unable to recognise you
across a crowded room
or know your voice
or even your perfume

But I knew you
In my dream
and shared
with you
a moment

As free as a paper bag
in the wind
As welcome as a sun rise
after night
As refreshing as a wave
breaking cold
And as capitivating as a spider
making silk
That’s you

Mechanical love made
Breakfast consumed
In silence
Commute never commuted
To something tolerable
Suit creased
Like experienced skin
Tremor grasped
Into fist
And denied
Tired tired eyes
Hole in right shoe
MOT due
And years to go

Old Gent,
shoes immaculately bright,
walking in bursts of 5 yards,
shirt un-ironed
by her hand
long since
and a gravy stained tie
knotted modestly,
he found a smile
to light my day
and made me think

Me & you
And that last cigarette
And that awkward moment

Me & you
And that last bottle
And that whispered nothing

Me & you
In our t-shirt glory
And our damp hair flattened

Me & you
In our diamond moment
And our cold hands holding

Me & You
And me & you

Ageing gently
watering eyes
back dated tears
long dammed
seeping
through
the failing
seal
of tight lipped
kisses
and
learned
enforced
stoicism
such relief
at last
to cry

they said
take life
take first breath
take a big step
take a chance
don't take life
give it away

Burning a picture
On the lively fire
Of us
Two
Happy smiling
In sunlight,
It distorts
Into screaming
Dark
Monsters
Twists
And curls
Painfully
Bubbling with
Blackness
Into embers

Black confetti
Takes to
The air
And drifting
Down
In the lonely
Evening
Breeze
Takes to my
Hair
And
Shoulders
And then
Like you
Becomes one
With the night

And is gone

The cynic
sees rain coming
The optimist smiles
at the chance of
a rainbow
maybe
Sitting on the edge of a cloud
dry and expectant
across the street it's raining

I love moments like that,
when only a nod is needed.
When words would complicate
the essential understanding
that we both had,
of what can be left out,
what can be ignored;
when eyes talk to eyes
and understand
that the rest is just dressing
just unnecessary expression
beyond what is simple.

So simple that
the memory is stronger
when there are no words
to remember.

The last bird
in the last tree
will sing
What else
would he do?