keep turning me red
begging me
to make the blood beautiful

people drawing on pictures they've seen
choosing a side like football teams
the weirdest thing, to me
it seems we all believe our screens

talk to me with your hips
breathe the smoke from my lips

lie to me

the way I like it
tell me how tonight
it's only me

and this red light
brings out your eyes

let loose the demons
that hide in your hair
I won't care

you're so ugly
when you're honest

tell me lies
let your tongue
bleed terze rime

**** me in
to your sacred dark
and force me
to eat you

while you look
at what I made you do

knew I should have lied
when she looked me in the eyes
and asked, "who's it about?"
I could have made her doubt
now everything is different
and everything's a mess
I should have been indifferent
like primary school tests
but I just had to tell her
and now she screams and shouts
about the man who sold the world
over a couple of pounds.

and if I reply
in just the right way
then maybe you'll like
what I have to say

and we'll talk until
the night meets the sun
and almost forget
we both were someone's

I'll go back to yours
and you'll say you're mine
then we'll both get lost
in soft skin and time

they'll call it love
and we'll both agree
'til we've had enough
of what they believe

then we'll say goodbye
and you'll walk away
as if I replied
in just the right way

the night moves in time
with your hips
and the rhyme on your lips
is my reason to tip

let me taste it
I won't waste it
exhaling your soul on these pages

can you fake it
while I make it
put a show on
forget where the stage is

you're now alive
thanks to me
shedding skin
so I can feel

the way the night moves
under a dark moon
the cost to put out
the light in a back room

I know you taste it
bittersweet
anathemic
lust worth the fee

just come with me
and don't forget to breathe

you're not alive
thanks to who?
shedding skin among the darkness

and I'll survive
thanks to you
worshipping a godless goddess

we worship the same open sky
some of us asking why
some think of how
some wonder who
but me
my thoughts are clouded by you

dreams of an obsession
restless
shifting underground
I could be your island
love me with your
wrists unbound

rising like a siren
conjuring the jealous sea
dripping lust and violence
beckoned in a reverie
whispered call
to pauper or crown
love me
and I'll watch you drown

bathed in your reflection
conquered in your finest hour
dream of sweet perfection
love me
breathless
wrists unbound

up on Gray hill
an old ash tree grows
just who planted it?
nobody knows

some eat the fruit
some kick the leaves
some sit quietly
minding the breeze

up on Gray Hill
where an old ash tree grows
come rain in summer
or springtime snow

where fairies are crowned
and eagles have fallen
where children run
until Mother comes calling

where lovers have carved their names in the bark
as starlight kept the night from its dark
up on Gray Hill
the old ash tree grows

just who planted it?
well
nobody knows

in a minute
I'll be down on my knees
lost in a prayer to your hips

I don't even notice
that the honesty is free
making for the blood on your lips

let me taste this
while you show off
in this space we made
nobody knows of

come and fake it
let me go off
to another place
you make it so

so pretty
when I inhale you
consume your faithless body

compelled to feed these
ugly thoughts
awakened when I'm honest

If the perfect storm was never enough
what can blow us away?
Can't tell the difference between lovers' love
and a love for lust anyway

something in the way we stare?
Open souls are laid to bare
weigh the difference
between lovers' lust
and a longing for love and care

Connections seem few and
far between
when we exchange our hands for screens
affection expressed through
likes and memes
projecting the best of our lives
in dreams

Something new
in the way we all stare
digital pinnacle
obsolete miracle
there's something to
how you look in the glare
something mythical
infinitely kissable

Swipe right
just to see see how you're doing
don't want your number, we just need a room
polycarbonate amorous gloom
the future resembles the present's doom

How many times can you save yourself
before you lose fidelity?
How many matches are made
to melt a heart of insincerity?

People gawking
at people talking
about people talking
about people walking.

Celestial ocean

Arms outstretched

We sail beneath the light



Calamitous wave

Rising in the dark

To subjugate the night



Watch the stars fall

A drop of wishful

Our faithful will provide



Warm premonitions

In pale embracement

As fostered fates collide

I can hold your fragile heart
And we can tear apart
All the pretty, little things
That made us feel complete

After all the pieces fall
We'll both see eye to eye
Separate our minds and rest
Our bones beside the pile

Suffer through the rising heat
That longs to leave our veins
Race across the creaking floor
In glistening crimson

Taste the burning afterglow
Resolved between your lips
Drunk on ghosts and
Comely phantoms

Let the
bottle
tip.

a silver lining
only shines after the rain
the clouds are a gift

I overfill the kettle
scoop the overpriced instant
into an oversized mug
clinking the teaspoon around
no sugar
it's not really my thing.
I light up half a joint
waiting for the coffee to cool
and think about what's to come
what's today
I'll likely see her there
I'll likely sit down next to her
making small talk, a likely excuse
to study the lines of her face
she'll tell me about the fields she's rambled
about the mountains she's climbed
I'll tell her how I do still write
sometimes
she'll say, "it was good to see you".
and I'll tell her the same
before we part ways
no sugar for me
it's not really my thing.

take me to your hidden stream,
your shortcut through the trees
to the place where
a bird might flutter and land on your hand,
chirping in some ultra violet scene
about dreams and schemes.
take me to your street,
through concrete plans, past unwashed windows,
to the house that was never a home,
to the garden where innocence danced
and the bedroom it still haunts.
take me
to your favourite coffee place,
the one where the coffee isn't quite as good
but they have the long wooden stirrers
and you refuse to use the plastic kind
because you can't help trying to save the world,
take me with a look, take me
for a fool
take me with your fingertips,
your collarbones, your well-versed lips
and whisper to me
of secret things.

How to dress well (and that I'd rather dress comfortably.)
How to hide the laces in my shoes.
That it's apparently "learnt".
How to walk with a limp,
when to walk away.

How to look mean while avoiding eye contact.
Where to find the best coffee.
How to write a bad sonnet.
How to kiss the right way.
Where to find the wrong girls.

How to sing sad songs.
How to roll a decent joint.
How easily a wasted day
can become a wasted life.
How to hold my liquor,
when to hold my tongue,
not to hold my breath.

When enough is enough.
When enough is too much.
When to hold the door open.
How to set a deadline with no intention of adhering to it.
How to feel alone in a packed out club (and where to find the smoking bit).

That time heals nothing
but memories fade.
How long a piece of string is.
That no matter how bad a day you're having, tomorrow can always be worse.

Tomorrow can always be better.

There are those who understand how it is
to see their mother beaten (down and up)
to see their young brother cheating
to spend the winter weeks with no heating
to be resourceful enough to put MacGyver to shame
to be racked with guilt but none of the blame
to jump any time the doorbell rings
to wonder about looping round with the swings
to undertake the first mission to Mars
to spend far too much time in cars
to listen to the music of Gary Numan
to put up with the voice of Gary Numan
to be unable to recognise the difference between bare truths and pretty little fictions
to look in the mirror and see only problems
to cut their flesh up into silicone quadrants
to be free (like William Wallace)
to look at a beer and see a three day ******
to give in to fear
to be a pretender
to be half way through a sentence and forget what it was you were saying
to pray to anything that might answer
to feel helpless
to feel hopeless
to be lost

and those who don't.

A man tired from the waking day
hangs his keys on the beaded hook,
lets the hat off his grateful head.
He places himself in front of the table
where he laid down his papers,
his skins and his skin.
He put on the table, the day's characters,
mulled them over in the electronic hum of Aleph and coffee flavoured eyes,
rolled them up tight with tomorrow's fears
and set them alight.
He put there a glass ashtray to catch the embers of regret.
He put on the table his dear friend, Old Man Wibble,
the bedlamite seer,
drunken oracle,
"liquid Jesus, straight from the bottle"
and longed for a glass to raise.
He put there the smoke from his exasperated lungs
and the wistful music of his tired throat,
he put there every last syllable and every letter left lingering on a lost lovers lips.
He put hope on the table,
for the weight might crush him as he sat
but not the table,
solid under this load,
to bear weight is what a table must do
and tomorrow will always bring another pile.

Such pretentious pretense presumes a plethora of personal pejoratives,
please pay the predicament proper attention previous to persevering with proposed promises of placation.

charming, isn't she
that spider you decided
to sit down beside

she'll love you to death
spin you a glorious web
and leave you for dead

I brought her to the water by the moon,
To share with her, the shade beside the sea,
I gave to her my eyes, that she might see,
and sang to her the most afflicted tune.

I prayed of her what she might ever do,
When faced with all the mightiest would fear,
She whispered, through a solitary tear,
A crystal verse to stay her last adieu.

When fires of gold have shed their morning light,
When embers fade and only ash remains,
When enemies of old are at the gates,

Do not embrace the darkness of that night,
Or think upon those ashes with disdain,
For all that might remain will share our fate.

after "The Walkers" by John Glenday


In those final moments,
I walked with them
unattached,
no longer one with what is,

a sudden finality ****** upon me,
like so many waves of fire
lapping at a paper boat;

I would never cross this river.

I stop at the bank,
to weigh my worth
and wait,

just downstream of a soldier
flicking his cigarette,
directionless,
one final hiss,
in surrender to the stream.

He couldn't see us
but knew his role,
and a shiver sent him packing
all the same.

I wait,
watching the walkers
gradual dissipation,
each ebbing more
slowly
than the last.

I see them fly
far above the tallest peaks,
lost to my vision
and the insatiable sky,
their light -
scarce as it is,
consumed by the silent stars.

I hear their final cries,
the longing hopeful,
the needy and desperate,
the triumphant and the downtrodden,

I listen to their pleas,
their anguish
and their resolve,
that we might yet heal the world.

Still, I wait
without grief,
and ask only of this humbling river,
how to mend something
that was never whole?

Every bar looks the same
when you live in a cage,
every round rounds out
with a shot and dry snout.

A cold night out
without snow on the pavement,
as truth slowly trickles through the fickle adoration,
and the empty, impatient crowd
is waiting.

The spotlight hits
a white tie on white shirt,
his smile is perfection,
perfected from dirt
through years of tears and blood and lies,
pompous prattle pasteurised.

The spotlight lingers like cheap perfume
from the back of the room
on a white tie and shirt,
handsome as a groom,
he talks with his hands,
his nails, neatly clipped,
are still lined with dirt.

He holds on to hope
for something like bliss,
not quite convinced it even exists,
outside of an incidental kiss,
but the build-up is crucial
to a master crafter,
and the crowd is rapt,
from the floor to the rafters
awaiting their happily ever after.

you don't get me
+
I don't get you

A willing captive
gripped tight by her eyes,
steely, grey
and sparkling bright
in love
I watch her talk,
a loquacious fluence,
and study her lips like
a foreign language

your attention is slipping.

not at all.

well, she said
haven't you ever been in love?

I must have been
surely, I think
or something more akin
to time standing still,
the sands sculpting a moment
of a thousand lifetimes.

of course I have.

where is your love now?

right here, I think
chronic and immutable,
boxed into lines,
safeguarded and sound
in dreams and reflections,
vicarious,
a farce of mimicry.

well travelled,
I would say.

like blood from a stone.
well, she said
I'm glad you came,
will you come again?

and she went,
leaving me
with a pocketful of sand.

of course I will.

In the mirror lies
an unidentified twin,
eyeing dark lines
in light of the past.

Entwined in the finite
shedding of skin,
a reticent shadow
with shackles to cast.

As black and hollow
as ink over glass,
a lingering flame
slowly flickers and dies.

Shattering twilight
reveals at the last,
a birth to dust
from which we rise.

I tried

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there are no jumping cows.

no fields where trees
grow upside down.

they sprout from dead leaves

rising to meet the tired old moon
as it hangs
from an indifferent sky.

it melts away
like rain on snow

for the tiger tooth chaffinch
to make its home
among gnarled ebony
and shattered bones.

and even though I'm
wicked as sin
with a view
to excess vagaries

they tell me
I should pray to god
I'm not sure what for.

A view obscured in clarity
Overlooked in surety
Determined by a nation
Inclined

I look at you and see my undoing,
a picture I paint from a memory.
It looks like you know what you're doing,
deceiving, as many looks tend to be

Flowers will always sing beautifully,
fearless and blooming in throes of a fall,
a lost language, ringing out truthfully
yours is the song I hear loudest of all

Devil-may-care, a lamb to the slaughter,
awaken the beast from a dreamless sleep.
Your petals fall to greet the still water,
a gentle sigh breaking through to the deep.

I hear your call and I feel so alive
I touch you and fall through an empty sky

I. The False Mirror

that's how it starts
dull and creeping.
shadows in the back of your mind.
reassuring you that the smoke
from their furious fire
is only temporary.
"Look away
lest the Light claim your eyes!".
the thing with shadows is
the more you look away
the further in
they close.
as flames roar
the only sound you hear
is a soothing song
of dominion.
until your world
is a vision
of black alabaster
where you can't tell the difference
between shadow and caster.


II. Portrait of An Owner

we take the medicine
that consumes us.
leaks through the cracks
in our spine.
dripping
we make moves in the dark.
tripping
over useless pieces
of used-to-be heart.
they say
the road less travelled
doesn't go our way.
they say
many have been led astray.
so we wait
in fear.
with bated breath
for the next hit
to keep us in place.


III. a bête noire

we were promised planes
but given straw wings
tethered to the shore.
they remind us
we can fly
but not to aim too high
or stray
too close to the light.
that we might see
what Icarus seen.
living isn't being
without a doubt
he would tell us
he didn't fly high enough.
so, for the spectacle
we'll gladly burn
alive.
belonging to none
severing ties.
that's how endings begin
bright and sprawling.

cynic
pedant
seer
believer

royal
peasant
meat
and cleaver

solicitor
enquirer
teacher
denier

conspirator
healer
pr­eacher
and liar

lover
fighter
bestower
detractor

reader
writer
audience
an­d actor

after Bukowski's "The Laughing Heart"

my life is your life
it was never mine.
omission of submission
leaves no way out.
what's an offer of forgiveness
to a promise of betrayal?
a lost shepherd leading the blind.
under a loaded sky
someone sang
"there is a light and it never goes out"
a marvellous truth that
has taken my heart.
there is light somewhere
but not in my eyes.
heaven can wait.
the gods will have to delight
in themselves
a little longer.

I'll make the beat
    you bring a little melody
We'll find the words
    fit in to it perfectly

All we could need
    written in a reverie
Nightingale songs
    inscribed inside memories

Time is the tale
    of pen's wish, eternally
Yet none remains
    time is uncertainty

Ours is the ail
    of branching eternity
Unhear our names
    to learn who we're meant to be

Find me
inhaling the smoke of summer dreams
blown in from somewhere far afield
breathe deep
exhale
deliberately
observing the mountains of ash
dust on the periphery
recently undisturbed
from the beasts ever lessening visits
once, they were ravenous
a force unbound
now bound by force
consummately conquered
intravenously consumed
tamed
with cold inattention

Find me
immovable, unmoving
as artificial flowers in spring
copy of a copy of a copy of
a
delusion of heart
where wistful winds
erase the path once tread
breathe deep
exhume
inexorably
the ghost of slanted seasons
here, in the autumn of all things
where the dead come to rest
you'll find me
still
and still

the tempest rages
a storm is all it can be
nature is absolved

vigorous willow
facing down a hurricane
the tallest tree sways

words are words are words
whether they uplift or curse

Look at the way she moves
I see her in my dreams
dancing with colours
painting shades of serene

The canvas she adorns
is layered with her screams
her name is dark here
but I see what it means

Her eyes have been tempered
through fire and deceit
to burn is the cost
of a lovers heartbeat

Her voice is a story
of violence unleashed
her words, allegory
cascade through me

When angels are fallen
only they grieve
baring their souls
they forfeit reprieve

Her blood is the reason
my veins are replete
she drowns in the flood
so I can still breathe

other people like                  you invite me to dance
making me feel                     like I shouldn't
clueless                                   if I want to
I know I never                       know a good time
even tried                               since last time
but I lost my step                  I gave it my all
stepped out of time              gave in to the fall
now I'm too tired                  to look up from the bottom
Autumn came                        just for the view
and left                                    I knew it well
the only proof                        of how a white flag
is the break in my back        a feeble tribute
and scattered leaves             shall never appease

It's all for the one's you'll never meet

a word
a system
a building
a philosophy

Their onus is ownership
intended or otherwise

what will you leave behind?

the taste of love
a bruise on your tongue
fading fast
made not to last

the sound of hearts
as they crash and burn
fall so quickly
ticking sickly

a look so silky
it can't be returned
a touch of sin
lost to the wind

etched into skin
a blank page, unturned
inked on a whim
just as sure to be burned

Without you, I'd die
you are the light of my life
lighter, I love you

I use my prescription note
as a bookmark
a milligram per page
a page for every breath

the breath of wolves
of swollen air
and dreams too real

it's not as if
I really know the difference

I think I like it like that

My heart lies with the ones
who play with fire
blackened fingers
complement my eyes

Keep the shadow near
by our desire
we don't need to sleep
if we don't rise

I can tell you want to
get much higher
I've got what you need
you know the price

Angel, tell me
how do you trust a liar?
Tears and prayers
caught between the skies

My heart lies ablaze
in Heaven's pyre
lonely ashes
lingering
they complement my eyes

I like a haiku
it doesn't need a title
it speaks for itself

I like a haiku
because it's simple to do
and not meant to rhyme!

I like a haiku
breaking rules from time to time
it's all part of life

I like a haiku
its complexities outshine
the simplicity

I like a haiku
it's always just the right thing
with just the right words

I like a haiku
it's a form like no other
beautiful and pure

I like a haiku
and I know you know it's true
but I like you more