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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

always down
as if he fell from the sky
the tragic clown with the funniest life
the perfect comedy in time

he always frowns, I tell no lie
sticks silver needles in his eye

looking on the bright side
every cloud's a lining

all he ever wanted
was the planets to align
across the vast expanse of time
he spent wishing for a diamond

eyes on the sky when
groundwork's how to find them

could have been mining
instead he was whining
sour grapes are to his taste
he's always fine dining

and when it's finally his time
I believe his final sigh
will be released
with sweet relief
at not needing to try

tried to make the jump from complainer to poet
but all I can seem to do is complain
I'll give you one guess where this thing is going
it's quite the frustration, let me explain

Upon drinking the whiskey and smoking the ****
all I got was drunk and addicted
I've spanked the frisky and choked the slags
all it left me was feeling conflicted

I've ripped through the prompts, copied the greats
I've read all the books and done all the time
I must have lost a ton of weight
from the sweat I've poured in a thousand lines

so now I just sit here, too thin and smelly
maybe I'll take up berating the telly

standing at the bottom
of a crystal palace staircase

toes barely over the edge

so inviting, you might even die
to get inside

but you haven't acquired the nerve

so sacred a place
one could only disgrace
but the will
will overpower

and the cost of a tarry
is to wait forevermore
for the chance

and be devoured.

come, look
see painted walls

see crime
see heart
see the last light fall
on abandoned halls

hear the running still
of a silvery river
through slivers
of a stricken city

time rushed away

run your fingers
up the rusted rails
flanking gate and chain
and with the same disdain
they show you

climb steady

taste the silt
stand
with wilted pillars
drunk on verdant shores

breathe a new sound
feel the stifled air
of a cloudless night
languish in your lungs

come, look
fresh walls to paint

less travelled
well worn

all roads lead home

she likes sausage for breakfast
but we don't cook the eggs
then it's on to the next one as she's checking her texts
she's vegetarian and always late
from a generation that just couldn't wait
to not be sober and now they're older;
a body count that could outrank soldiers
storming the frontlines, nobody told her
be still for a minute and let someone hold her
so it's on to the exodus, on to the next one
never sticking around like Teflon
if you've a big one, you might share a shower
but best believe she'll be dust in an hour

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.

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

the butterfly
flitting vivid in the garden
kissing the prettiest flowers
with abandon

and the watchful eyes
waiting on high
to gobble it up at random

the slinky tail
prowling the grass
dancing with light
between shadows it cast

steps with intention
alive in the night
not a single tomorrow in sight

I want the intimacy
the bird has
with the duty-bound bee
dining on their innards
in the red oak tree

To stand tall
as the proud branch
the squirrel calls its home
welcomed in red-carpet-leaves
stripping bark to bone

I want the bite
of the patient snake
to shed the weary skin I've fashioned
to lie awake on sleepy hill
no chance of dinner passing

in view of the kitchen window at night
ruffled voiles billow softly inside
I want to know the voice
that raises living light
behind closed doors

to be the warm comfort
a cup of tea pours

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

my battery would be quite low
incessantly in need of charge
we'd go wherever you go

my software would be so secure
a little out of date
the oldies are the goodiest
I think that's what they say

your face would be the only thing
to ever light my screen
the pictures we could take together
places we'd be seen

selfies in the bathroom
selfies on the beach
holding me at arms length
always within reach

you'd tell me your favourite things
and all your darkest secrets
I'd give you a couple rings
if you would only keep them

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.

I don't need you
to want me
I only care
when I'm lonely

I don't need you to be
nice
let me give you
some advice

I don't care
if you need me
I only want
what I can't take

lay your hands
freely on me
feel there's nothing
left to break

I don't care
if you take me
I have nothing
left to give

just don't dare
try and make me
admit
I made a mistake

I don't want you
to want me
I don't need you
to care

just as long
as we're on me
and I get
to feel you stare

O life, my life! Once written with aplomb

The skies were clear, the rain was light, I marched towards the dawn

My footsteps echoed evermore
and though the road was long

I stepped with head held high as flight, always looking on

But life! life! strife!
and fear
The ink is running dry
This passage is amended
Before the last goodbye

O life! my life!
What wicked whispers want

I silence them by light of day,
though in the night, they taunt

They shadow me, my marching quelled, they meld in to the morn

I haven't strength, my will bereft,
I rest with them in scorn

For life, my life! of weeping pines
and fear
The ink has all tipped over
And the message is quite clear

O life, a life! unending in aplomb

The skies are light, the rain is gone,
the spirit carries on

No steps that echo, still, so fleet,
the road won't seem so long

So march
and be united with your love before the dawn

For life, O
life,
is a smile
through a cry
This passage cannot be amended
No need for goodbye

Do fish get thirsty
for a drop of air?
Do horses wish
to comb their hair?
Do birds want hands
for someone to hold?
Is all that glitters
not some kind of gold?

Do dogs need lyrics
when they want to sing?
Do cats crave makeup
right before a fling?
Do fish get thirsty
for a drop of air?
Does a river run
to escape its cares?

Do flowers ever want
to leave their beds?
Do green grapes whine
that they aren't red?
Does the sun still shine
when you aren't there?
Do fish get thirsty
for a drop of air?

I am my lust incarnate
full moon piercing howl
I am the rage of gods
as they breach their final hour

I am my burning envy
blackened from within
I am the slightest odds
of a life steered clear of sin

I am the barren hillside
a stairway to the grave
I am the preying madness
waiting, wanton and depraved

I am the ****** garden
ringing around the rose
I am the unheard pardon
of matters never broached

I am the pills I swallow
I am the victim's cost
I am the vacant hollow
I am all that I have lost