Don't get me wrong,
I am glad he came back,
I just didn't expect it, that's
all, what with me being
dead and that. I've not had
many other boyfriends. I think
you might be right. He always seemed
more keen on his singing than hanging
out with me. It was always "here's another
song I've written". Of course it was flattering,
at first, when he wrote songs for me.
But now it's like he doesn't even want
to know me. He won't even look round, he just marches off in front all the time...

love led blind, through barren paths
ever stepping back towards
a singularity of fear
to question makes
it disappear
can someone believe
without questions
without answers
that's not what lovers
in hungered trances
can pretend - it's not enough
even Gods aren't made
of stuff that tough

yes - it's me, don't be afraid
let me guide you
towards the light

you'll feel yourself again
once we're oustside
under the sky

I so want to touch
you but i can't
promises, I

watch, there's a gap here
stay close
won't

I tried to look but
shouldn't, I knew
but I couldn't

follow me, do not fear
please believe me and stay near

walk behind, all the way
I'm alive, so cannot stay

I will sing, once outside
you'll be with me, at my side

make a sound - are you there?
for a moment, I dispaired

when you left, my world died
thinking of you, trapped inside

almost there now, can you see?
I can't believe, you'll soon be free

I can't hear - are you there?
just a shadow, fleeting where

the dark and groaning dead
treading silent without end

Sifting our old photos
has left me feeling
uneasy - robbed,
perhaps.
Why are these fragile
moments scattered so
carelessly across our
lives? Like a necklace
whose thread has snapped.
Beads rolling,
some slow,
some fast,
until eventually -
all the beads stop.
And in that breathless
pause,
left stood,
******* helplessly,
the neck left bare.

If you keep spreading butter
On hot toast,
Then at some point,
You can see the butter.
And at some point later,
You can't see the toast.

After all the spin is done
And news is fully crumpled
A simmering will linger on
On lonely stoves
Where kinship brews
In kitchens often humble

Those who engineered our fate
Half blind to all but power
A swelling symphony of hate
What deafness fears
The masses hear
Once sweet now sounding sour

And in their places standing
Stones or setting suns, old Gods
Not silent to those listening
When shadows long
Our rights, their wrongs
Should never be at odds

"On this site!" -
didn't you know?
Nothing to see here now.
The dust of past civilisations
blows along the pavement
crowd surfing
empty crisp packets.
Should we marvel at how
latitude and longitude
can briefly connect us?
Or are we being dared to peer
deeper, beneath
those ancient feet?
Hobnailed soles.
Decorative embroidery.
Fashionable, in their day.
The rhythms of routine,
echoes around us with
each unsteady step.
Is it history or the sign writers
that makes us feel so futile?

PSSSST!
Yeah, man, I mean you!!
Are you looking to score some ... poetry?
I got some of the good **** here.
Uncut.
Just in.
Here, smell this ... what you think?
Lover's tears?
Wistful reminisces?
Distant zephyrs, tinged with cardamon?
Man, I told you this **** was good.
You sure?
Okay, but take it easy, start with a little.
I might be a dealer of poems,
but there are some things
I don't want on my conscience.
Smoke it, snort it.
Hell, some people even like to read it!
Yeah, it's been a pleasure.
You know where to find me next time.

YOU BOUGHT WHAT?
Did you even THINK about
HOW this stuff gets made?
Yes, tears are shed.
Yes, hearts are broken.
I think of it like this;
it's probably someone poor,
in some far off land,
scraping through any number of
Emotionally
Challenging
Real Life
Experiences.
Of course, that's how it works -
- the more raw the emotion
- the more raw the poem.
Well. You've got it now.
The damage has already been done.
So.
What does it say?

tell me about love!
the contour of skin
shallow breaths
and midriff curves
rising, falling
pure caressing
backs of fingers
touching games
around the parts
that have no name
but tell me about love!
i wish i could, why
is it here? clasped
behind a naked thigh
a fragrant sweet
a slow unmasking
slightly clammy
hot beneath
the white seams of
a single sheet
but what of love?
we came without promises
connected without lies
held secrets in our arms
and lay there undisguised
there isn't shame
to love and leave
perhaps the rest
is make believe

We've surely trodden
all the directions
around our house -
methodically, at times,
drunkenly, at others.

We're Minotaurs,
trapped inside.
Hooves poised,
compass needle
wavering under our
magnetic indecision.

Our walks along
the railway cutting -
a city's scar, threaded
under bridges, over bridges -
an old straight track or
urban ley line, perhaps -
is the only place
we briefly, freely,
realise how trapped
we are in this labyrinth.

I remember, as a child,
stepping off the tube
in a new station and realising,
with utter indignation,
that left and right had
cheated me.

Every city, its corners
pinned down by maps,
keeps turning if you
stand still - there is
no easier way to be lost.

Empty flowerpots, their soil crusted
Insides clue us to once precious
Clasped bouquets. Will they hold
And love again some tender stem?
Discarded with the half-bricks,
Where the millipede roams, his
Thousand miniscule feet implore,
Beating the whispered rhythms of night.
By degrees, with each passing season,
The gathered moss gently mutes,
A glorious world of commerce,
Erupting between the little things.
Imperceptibly, away from brash
Petalled beauty they find
Steady destiny. Outside
Expectations and away
From where we see.

Bach takes a theme.
And Bach takes another theme.
Below, the first theme Bach takes.
Above, together, the themes all make,
A joyous celebration of the theme.
And finally the many voices cadence.
But then. The theme, but in
Another key. Again, the theme
But awkwardly, diminished and
Augmented. The fugal dance,
Around it wraps, until,
A flourishing.
A cadence.
Because when Bach takes a theme.
Bach takes a theme.
And plays it.

Young, bold, reckless love,
Breaking hearts and mending.
Spilling silky words in minds,
Regretted after sending.

Peer inside the blackened ***,
Where witches boil their potions.
Born from stirring body parts,
These spells for false devotions.

Give me love that's grown old,
Through wrinkled hands held fast.
Carried high on effervescing
Bubbles from the past.

after the velvet blackness
made born blinking fur
plucked out, top hat
the metal lights
trance white beams
from a high bolted rig
suspended perilously above
the painted plywood stage
illuminating the magician's rabbit
held scruff by his silk gloves
ta-dahs us into startled
appreciation and for a moment
we grin marvel at this thing
we knew was coming
we knew was fake
we knew would
startle us like a pop gun
before basking briefly
in the fleeting
incomprehension
before we turn
hop away, hop away

It used to be quite unusual
to leave pound coins
in the money jar
and ever see them again.
Apparently, in my son's eyes,
each one could be
a Greggs sausage roll token,
to treasure after school.
I couldn't tell you when
I first knew about these silent
transformations happening.
In the beginning,
as now, the pound coins
just lay; untouched.
That's why, whenever
I see them lying there still,
I feel a little pang of sadness
at his budding independence
being robbed.

My waking, sleeping journey,
turns thoughts onto their side.
The falling words of consciousness,
untangling like lies.
I feel a rising otherness.
Misting up;
rolling patterns,
haphazard phases.
Observe too keenly
and they fade.
Watch sideways
and they grow,
into a twisted cadence
of heavy silence.
Ticking over,
before the drive into dreams.

when our bold new era
first stood up
a painted face
on a makeshift stage
and flickered into life
with the rhythmic certainty
of stuttering florescence
we all applauded
enthusiastically
you recall
men of science
were there beside us
and soon our folk memories
of war and plague
scuttled off like rats
to hide inside the taboo
and now the interval bell
compels us back
but we've forgotten
what we're to do

harlequin green
halfway to yellow
you'll be my queen
on a seat made for one

winterbourne water
flows freely in springtime
when all of my colours
fix fast to the page

dancing at dawn
rolling in wonder
the sweetness of dew
still kissing the ground

starlight's a perfume
soaked in a handkerchief
snapdragons roar
when the wind's in their cheeks

ribbons a-flutter
stand up the maypole
pigtails and dresses
the tune is a round

spun from a world away
land in the distance
once a day yesterday
viewed from the mast

At dusk, as the air stills
And the solitary bat tosses zigzags
Over neat rows of back gardens,
I can find a pause for my day.
The soft chill from the greying sky
Excites my skin with goosebumps
And ****** me into stupefied vigilance.
Venus overhead, puncturing the ether,
A single grain before the steady stream.
This same air, grasped and gasped
As we first arrive, now smothers me
Into bold passivity. Gradually I recall,
Something beyond my daytime scratchings,
A solemn profundity that earths
Me back into this ancient ground.

endless meetings
using screens
built with a disregard
for eye contact
increases my
sense of isolation

All my songs are love songs
Perhaps you cannot hear
The words are woven from the strands
Of lovers’ ashen hair

My melodies are whispered
There’s barely any tune
The rise and fall perceptible
In phrases of the moon

My chords are jarring, hollow sounds
All glocke without the spiel
An empty rib cage rattling
Beneath the Catherine wheel

My rhythm’s mostly regular
A symphony of clocks
It lacks a beating human heart
Just ticks without the tocks

All my songs are love songs
For lovers to find peace
You’ll hear them in sea shells
When all the waves have ceased

A half inflated football
Thuds against pebbledash
Garage door thunderclap
Announces childhood
Attention spans
Across the cul-de-sacs
Estate to estate
Squeezed between the tip
Of the town planner's 2H pencil
And the flick of a syringe
Stupified by sunshine
Half baked by boredom
The grubby kids
With their snot soaked sleeves
Kicking out in the dusty leaves

I miss my paved paradise
I’d even pay the $20 admission for the tree museum
If it were still there

he loaded all the cups
into the dishwasher
very neatly
the right way up
as I opened it
and saw them all filled
with tepid grey water
I knew it would be
difficult to tell him
why it was wrong
without it making him feel
squashed
I would
praise his initiative for wanting to do it and
praise the neatness with which he did it
but still I knew it would sound
chastising
and his desire to please
and be accepted in the world
would shrink a little afterwards
so I tipped the grey tepid water into the sink
and reloaded the dishwasher again
with the cups upside down
he could unload it later
sometimes it's better to think
you're going a little mad
if it means you get to keep
what's good inside
a little longer

I feel it turn persistent
your change of tone
like a chill in the air
I'd been trying to ignore
and then I realise you're far away
unreachable
you'll soon sound sad
Cinderella without your prince
somewhere reasoning cannot reach
leaning forlorn on a broomstick
I used to think it was selfishness
your depression
perhaps that gave a kind of comfort to you
because showing I accept it
would make you think I've I given up
and if I don't still try and reason
then am I unreasonable?
I know we'll both feel lonely
I know you know
I love you
I just want you back again

my soul barely sings
it rasps uneasily
like geese slowly lifting up
across murky water
webbed feet pedalling
on a wind rippled lake

hidden in the dark
folds of the city
nature squeezed
between concrete slabs
peeping out as weeds
or a scavenging ginger fox

beyond the disposable
plastic landfill routine
life thirsts and splutters
a ****** straw
in an empty pastic cup
rattling the final drops

in my dreams I have heard
celestial choirs
fanfares for men
framed in golden wreaths
too high for my grasping
hands to reach

She loves me not
My future settled
Among the sprinkled
Roulette petals

Chance decides
The course I take
I’ll still my heart
Not for her sake

And when my own
Free will expires
I’ll germinate
More wildflowers

"Hello, Mr Magpie
How's your wife and kids?"
He turns, head to one side
And quizzical ever
Silver seeking eye
Spies my empty superstitions.
"They're qute well,
Thank you.
My son found four spoons
My daughter, several bottle tops
My wife has built a new nest
But I feel solitary
Happily spreading sorrows"

you can recognise
true kindness
because it comes
hesitantly
and humbly
it'll be embarrassed easily
so don't question it too deeply
but acknowledge it gracefully
and bask in the afterglow

“Love is always shaded
In vanity”, you said,
“At least, all my lovers
Have been vain
Pleasing me
Pleasing me
But in the end
Unconcerned about
Really touching me
That’s not to say
I’m not flattered by
Empty Romantic gestures
I am
But I don’t want to be
Wooed by some
Accepted idea
I just want to know
If two people
Can
Really
Connect
Or if eternal
Loneliness
Is our lot”
And then you looked up
Inquiringly
Coquettishly
Your eyes sparkling
Across the table
Past the candles
Past the wine glasses
Past the single red red rose
Past my lies
Past my gaze
Towards the tumbling
Infinite darkness
Of the night

Half raw truths
Dressed up as familiar tragedy
And swallowed bile-like
Between a drizzle of words
Familiar words
Soaking me
Waking memories
Indistinct figures
Move behind a frosted
Glass panelled door
Prisming their edges
Into ever diminishing
Stranded light and dark
My hesitant thoughts
Punctuate the gaps
With questions
About you
Stranger
My stories
Join yours
Whirl circles together
A dizzy hand holding
Look-into-my-eyes
Wheel of forbidden romance
Until our arms tire
And we let go

If I left a few minutes earlier
I would have made that tube
Perhaps if I hadn't taken so long
To brush my teeth
Or find my wallet
Or kiss my children goodbye
I might have walked up
Through the empty streets
With the golden glowing dawn
Caressing building tops
And weary bus stop
A little earlier
But then
If I had
I might not have written this either

you enticed me to show off a little
and hammed-up your surprise
even though you smiled nicely
it felt a little contrived

“You’re original!” she said
As she kicked a stone across the path
We didn’t look up
We barely looked down
It was late to be out in the town
I knew we were different
But some small connection had been made
I wanted to acknowledge it
Before the moment passed
But the pressure
Of silence
“Show me your hand!”
I held out my hand
I had nothing to hide
She looked at my palm, smiled
And ran away
I looked at my palm
My foot lent on its side
Beside an old railway arch
Alone, familiar, but comforted

Oi B! Don’t sink
To the bottom of the sea
Don’t drown, in your
Nights out on the town
Keep some air
In your lungs
Find some passion
Away from the crowd
Put the spring
Back in your step
Be the B
You always were to me
Regain some rhythm
Or don’t
But don’t
Be rolled over
Before
You have
Realised

We’re bare
Our words can
Chill each other
We’ll look
For every intent
Before settling on kindness meant
But when we settle
I can take joy from that instant
And slip away

I’m away without you
But I’m alone
If I’m not feeling alone
Then I’m not loyal
And if I’m not true
I’m never going to be happy

I don't want to be right or wrong
I just want to be held
I don't want to be grown up
I just want time to stop
In your arms
While you breathe in my ear
Until I fidget
But feel a little better
Afterwards

Step into the night!
Kiss your children tenderly
On the forehead
Pull your collars up behind your ears
It’s brave, fierce work
Out there, on the cutting edge
Of hedonism
I wish I could be there with you
When you awake
But I won’t be
I’ll be lamenting the passed night
Gnarling my teeth from side to side
I’ve decided
So don’t try to tell me otherwise
Or I’ll despise you for trying to curtail
My beautiful free spirit
You’ll thank me for returning whole
Then quickly **** my selfish soul

Resting weary
Post
Posting Christmas cards
Done with
Donning smiles
Resting hesitantly
Not quite believing
There isn’t another pipeline
In the pipe
You
Aren’t
Here
Constant companion
My interface to the worldly
Wakeful wanderers
Nothing seems so easy or
So tragic without your humour
Your thoughts touch me
Because I know they’re travelling this way
Not because I am the TV detector man

Curled around you
Wire around a gatepost
I squeeze slightly
And push a gentle note
From you lungs
Half sleeping hands
Twist knots from rippling fingers
In the night, from time,
Limbs once squashed, resurface
And buzz slightly
With the orange tranquillity
Of the lamppost outside your bedroom window
My dried kisses
The saliva of pavement slugs
Travelling across your shoulders
Your hair the brambles
That catch the side of my mouth
Sometimes needing a little puff to blow
To blow them on their way
I am with you listening to the darkness
Hills folded
An earwig bumbles wearily over your cheek
With such tiny, beautiful feet
Touching your every pore
The brow of your neck
Rests the dew
Beneath the tumbling dandelions
Tumbling seed
Breathe deeply
A sharp bracing
Toes that peep out
Under the bedclothes
With the yellow dawn

You stared, so much, intently
Prying, perhaps, believing an honest
Love with no dark motives
Parting the strands of cynicism
That dangle around my bald head
And he noticed but did not react
(forgive me if I have misled you!)
Even to appreciate your awe so deep
And full of naïve beauty
I might have said a couple more
Would do the trick
But hid behind an alien
Shell of tears perhaps not unlike
The condensation on your glasses
When you frowned and wrinkled me away
Three is freedom when anonymity
Crowds around the table
Lopsided amongst being both
Wanted and rejected by your
Secret lover’s code

The words trickled over your lips
A petrifying waterfall that sprayed
Phrase with icy shards
The words
I did not hear
Although
I know that malice this unkind
Springs from greater hidden pools
Out subterranean empty halls
That echo slightly with the drops

My sweetness
Thrupenny leisure
Gently worn down by fickle caresses
You come to me as my dream foretold
Awestruck fancy
Shamed by embarrassment
A lilting triplet conspires
Yet peeping out tentatively
Behind a woollen blanket of squares
You come to me for advice?
Don’t dream needless sterility
Vast architecture
Hemming the fabric of life
Unpicked and seldom preserved
Purely for the sake of beauty
Don’t **** on pleasure’s past opportunities
Awake but mystified by the simple
Humdrum that everything really does
Keep revolving around a single point

Hold the edge of my coat
If you like we could take
A little stroll through the park
Perhaps read the paper on a bench
By the pond
Quack quack
Those ducks
Really do make peculiar noises
Somehow they look
Like they should be
Smoking cigars
With shiny teeth
And dark glasses

I awoke from a dream of fishes
And realised the fish was I
He swam like all the other fish
With flapping gills and beady eye
His self was him and not me
But I remembered when it was not that way
My feet still twitched
The fin of me
And tears ran down towards my ears
As I lay and thought of floating
Far beneath the surface
Did he know I?
Above his house
Where wind was tide
A bird sang in my garden
Each note a bubble of air
Floating down in answer to the fish
Through me where I lay
On the reflection
Inside
Outside
And resting on my bed

You skidded
Sideways to a stop
Gravel sprayed
Like shooting stars
Looking round
Standing proud
Astride your bike
Grinning gurning
Wide eyed
Lights behind you
Along the coast
Reflected out to sea
We laughed and skidded
More recklessly
Until you planted your face
Into the ground
Too high to care too much
A calm concern blew us
Up to A&E
We laughed
A&E
That's what we'd had
You told the nurse
As she plucked
Gravel from your cheek
With tweezers
I left later
Tumbling down
Walking home
With a tale to tell
In the morning
Physically unscarred
But properly
Mentally mental

Love is a parallel line
Startled by an unexpected kiss
Love is your reflection in reverse
What others see, but you have missed
Love is prejudice sliced and diced
And served up as a humble dish
Love is shyness defeated
Reluctantly tried
Eagerly repeated
Love is a broken pattern
Broken dishes, broken hearts
Love is a crow foot tear
A silence closed off to words
Love is yearning learning growing
Old together forever
Love is submerged
Sunken treasure
Love is the echo
Of emptiness
In us