Between me and her there were lots of fireworks
and that is to name but one of the lovely perks
we created and ran through by being together
feeling warm and secure, whatever the weather,
we felt heated and glowing in every single trot
but there is one day in particular we were both very hot.
We’d spent a lazy Sunday  watching the television
eradicating our hangovers after a ***** collision,
didn’t move from the sofa unless to go to the loo
lay in each other arms, we knew love was true,
looking into eyes with synchronicity’s kiss
knowing full well the meaning of bliss.
As time went on we started to feel lewd
but before those fleshy moves we thought  we’d get food.
I sauntered off to the takeaway with both our requests
for me kebab and chips for her fried chicken breast,
I was in a spicy mood as later I knew later we’d get course
so I asked for my meal to be smothered in strong chilli sauce.
When I got back we scoffed our purchases down fast
the thought of our steamy coupling already had me at half mast,
we dabbed away the remnants of our grub with serene care,
“right now you, get up them stairs!”
We tore off our clothes with the speed of a cheetah,
I licked my lips, I couldn’t wait to eat her,
down south I went and started lapping away
“baby are you in for a sweet treat today!”
My jaw was working hard, I had drool from jowls
when suddenly from her came a blood curdling howl,
she screamed, “have you poured lava on my ******, it’s burning like flames
If this carries on I’m going to go lame,
I’m all for red hot passion but this is too much
my ***** feels too volcanic to touch,
It’s like on a Bunsen burner I sit
I’ve got Mount Vesuvius bursting out of my ****.”
I thought what could be the cause of this fiery malaise,
I pondered and mused as in pain she was glazed,
then I found the root of the problem as she shouted her self horse,
I didn’t wash my mouth out after that hot chilli sauce!
I said, I’m sorry, I’m sorry we should have waited until the heat had died down!”
She writhed around and hit me with a furious frown,
“well think about that next time, you ******* clown!”
An hour later when her agony had subsided
we sat on the couch and stroked each other’s eyelids,
she said, “although that hurt, I suppose it’s quite apt.”
surprised I remarked, “how do you figure that?”
She looked and me and smiled thru her winning smirk,
“because between you and me baby always fireworks!”

When we both declared dehydrated
you gave us in an instant
your last radiator warmed Sprite;
oh how like you
to quench,
and share,
and be bright.

You marked fleet
with the casting
of summer,
wild tracks
that ran on their own;
adding drops
to
patter in now,
as giving rush
the cool wait of clarity.

That one petal fortitude
blasts through with try;
the grey sea moment
now full of sky.

This morning
frost settled
on petals,
two seasons shared space.
Neither tussled for recognition,
knowing of thaw
and thorn fall
when rose roots rot.
Resplendent in a perfect positioning.

Every time we part
I try not to miss you
and
the splendid fanfare in my head;
I simply smile, eat
and go to bed
with stomach whirling with what I can't quite put my finger on:
you
and your
winged aplomb.

Right now,
as you lay warm and blessed,
your possibities are endeless:

You could be a ballerina who discovers a fresh science of soar,
you could be a globetrotter who finds a new meaning of tour,
you could be a plumber who invents a tap,
you could be the voice that makes all your friends' clap,
you could be a hair dresser who is known for her perm,
you could adore reading and be a book worm,
you could be athletic and win at sports,
you could be the lawyer who wows all the courts.

But now is not the time for possibilty,
only certainty:

the certainty that the two people you see the most shine on you with all of love's beam,

and think you are the best
they have ever seen.

Anything
may
seem
a half life
after
such
rush,
so when the rescind is real
it is totally apparent,
nothing more
than a fade
of the full,
just because
the clear of the clarity that was;
the end of our tour,
our tour to source,
the simple end  
of a tour de force.

I'd queue for you
to get a seat for you.
I'd fill pools for you
then swim for you.
I'd rhyme with words for you,
i'll find worlds for you.
I'd search for you
and peer for you.
Hope for you,
when i spoke to you.
Navigate slopes for you,
part moats for you.
Split isotopes for you.
Wrote for you
by rote for you.
Discover routes for you,
root for you.

To be with you in your free house would be great,
I’d never dawdle to late,
I’d knock on the door ripe on time,
and, maybe, flowers flourish in rooms,
a start starts to bloom;
arms wide open as the ocean.

I feel
I want to show you
my going home face,
my face would look like home
if, my home was your face;
or if your face feels home
on my face.

The good thing
I recks about being bi polar
is playing God
and
The Devil on your own mind controller,
and then letting them both fuse sugar with water to create benign Coca Cola.

Perfect prowling Poppet,
with the lives of nine;
I'm so glad that one of them
is being spent with mine.

Close to smattering
without wrong;
cease hurry,
and gallop.

Through a train window
I see a little pony
gallop
in
the winter sun light;
that's what
I
do,
gallop
to you.

Only places between us.
Narrow burrows,
furrowed rows,
and thick tracks,
and motorways.
They look small from above.
Slight interconnections
gathering for stride;
your eyes,
oh,
your eyes.

A letter
warning of a imminent  
house inspection
makes me sad.
Not because
there is much to do,
just a slight sprucing
up of nooks
and a polish of taps.
It’s because the last time I sought to make everything gleam
you were coming to visit
and the wish for pristine
wasn’t to pass a test;
every second of dusting brought you closer,
scrubbing ticking down to you;
the mundane becoming magnificent.
There was sparkle everywhere
when you arrived.

Wake in gloom sun,
an absence of one
who bore bright gifts,
seismic shift.
Obliterate landscapes;
purr morn go.

You promise green
&
then grow
with splendid aplomb.
Your fantastic encroachment
verdant & happy;
branching a reach
to beyond.

If not for
you
letters lessen tween
Mum and me.
No "just give her a bit of milk Simon"
occupying a space or
"she's in now, she's safe, she's by the fire place".
"No, don't give a cat bread"
unsaid.
Unsaid.
Thankfully we've feline fine
with purry lingo bopping;
I love you
and
love the sight
of engendered convergence
by tabby dynamite.

I attest
never anything less
than exemplariness
in your caress.

Moments fully lived
on grass
in sun
under leaves
with seasons to come.

You rumble gently,
slightly shifting
what was ground,
my feet on it, next to yours,
we tour debris of before,
no looking down at dust,
detritus, not now, not for us,
no time at this time,
for us.

Forgetting fortes
within this conglomerate;
fortified crumble

You halt stooping low,
put the stops on it;
foe by foe,
blow by blow,
diminished,
and
flurry
in finish.
All doubts called out;
you watch them wither
in calm mood
and tense,
speaking softly
to sense,
brightening dull
that forgot the joy
of
projection

I’ll wager,
if not for thee, I might not have set foot in Alsager,
it could have become another stop I passed through on the train,
in summer sun, or winter rain,
I’d have perhaps thought
“oh this seems a sweet area to reside”
and then forgot all about it and enjoyed the rest of the rail ride,
just a picturesque town of travelled through myth
like Newton Dale Halt or Chapel-en-le-Frith.
I may never have known the names of it’s streets
or what it’s parks are called or where’s a cool place to meet,
never found out where’s a good bang for buck eatery to dine
or which shop has the best deals on two bottles of wine,
never known what it’s like to approach one of it’s doors
and in my tummy feel wings and a soar.
As it is Alsager’s now up there with my most favourite station
I step on to it’s platform with gleeful anticipation,
knowing in 15 mins we’ll be beginning our start,
thank you for Haze for putting this place in my heart.

Talk of a flood
rises to the top,
and then
stops,
rescinding gently,
too much
ceased
with ease,
as thinking on
the sight
of those heights.

Auntie Viv,
vividly
you’ll always be.

When I miss someone a bit
I have the tendency to feel
a tad sad,
far from a toppling grief
adding a pall to all proceeding,
more nourished roots
missing the time of seeding;
every hop and skip
is still done
with swift
and sprightly,
every bus on time,
even the ones that run nightly;
but when the sun was full today it shone a little less brightly.

If ever there is a time you think you're not brilliant
think on
for a while;
everybody loves you
and
your smile.

I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite,
thankfully not in a medical way
I don't have to pop pills everyday
to keep an essence of danger under control
and to stop my head doing backward flips and forward rolls
to curtail bad thoughts and contain OCD
wake up and think "what's happening to me?"
but sometimes i'm full of mazy bomb blasts
and crazy contrasts…
Now I love animals and their brilliant ways
they brighten the world and add happy to my days,
I could be walking to work in that new spring sun
and spy a cat on a wall and think “ohh, how fun”,
I’ll bound over with a skip and say “hey you, how’s it going,
although it’s bright today your purr has really got things glowing!”
Or in a Saturday beer garden when I’m kicking back with relax
a dog strolls in his owner and my attention is instantly rapt,
I’ll exclaim “ohh, is your pooch friendly, please may I give him a pet?”
If the guy answers in the affirmative I’ll proclaim “hey big doggy I’m so glad we’ve met,
you’re a lovely doggy aren’t you, look at your slobbering face
and the way you wag your tail I think it’s pretty ace!”.
Or I may be having a saunter round the park taking in some stupendous views
and see a stretch of water and decide to have a peruse,
as I get closer I think “oh I can’t believe my luck
look at that raft of lots of lovely ducks!”.
So I nip to the shop round the corner and buy a loaf of bread
and think “ohh you top paddling guys you’re gonna get real fed!”!
So I chuck plentiful crumbs in the water making sure they all get their fill
of some luscious Warburtons down their chomping bill.
I do love other creatures though not just the ones who go meow, woof and quack,
even the tiny ones who fur and feathers they lack;
I could watch a ladybird for ten minutes and be allured by it’s spots
and then be wary around those minuscule red mites that look like little dots,
ensuring that I always check before I sit on a summer wall
so my plonking down doesn’t squash them all.
Or if I’m walking home down a dark passage way on a rainy night
i’ll get my phone out and use it’s shiny light
to see if there are any snails that have come out from under a bush
so I can daintily skip around them and avoid that awful shell crush.
As for spiders and moths in the house I never **** them I always put them out
And then do a Usain Bolt stance in the living room with a “I love you insects” pout.
However one Thursday when I was off work on a day in lieu
and thought “ahh I’ll venture out as the sky is blue,
I can have a wander with some music and then go see Mum and Dad
but before I do all that there is a shower to be had.”
I stroll into the bathroom anticipating a lovely clean
but am greeted by a sight that is less than serene,
walking on the ceramics are about 14 microscopic flies,
I had to squint to view them, they were almost invisible to the naked eye.
I mused “hmm, how am I gonna solve this they are too flimsy to catch and put outside,
and what receptacle could I place them in to take on freedom’s ride?”
As I’m deciding what to do I see more of them coming out of a hole in the tile
and I say “look guys me you’re beginning to rile”,
then I glance some Dettol wipes lying next to my tooth brush
and in a instance obliterate the flies with a sweeping rush,
I chuck the death tissue in the bin and feel a swell of guilt,
“I thought of more understanding stuff I was surely built,
I got rid of them without compunction because they were disrupting my aqua blast
I hope this killing streak doesn’t last.”
Post shower I’m feeling better and believe my murderous bent has gone away far
pop my ear phones in, crank up the volume and saunter round to see Ma and Pa,
but it won’t just be Mum and Dad I’ll be pleased to see when my feet land on their welcome mat,
it will also be lovely Poppet the cat!
I like Poppet loads, she’s my whiskered friend
all my love to her I always send,
her wild meowing tones are one of my favourite sounds
it’s awesomely brill to have her around,
sometimes when I’m drunk her name slips off my tongue,
that’s how I know we defiantly belong,
I can be gleefully inebriated at a festival
and I’ll just say “Poppet!” and feel more happy full,
Pops Popsicle Poppet, I adore your tabby chest,
ahh Poppet, you’re simply the best!
I get to my parent’s house, call her and she comes running with that bounding feline whizz,
and I exclaim with joy, “ahh, there she is!”,
I give her lots of petting and start to feel all catty rich
but then I notice she seems to have a itch,
I say to my Mum, “is Poppet okay, she looks like she’s having too much of a scratch?”
she replies,  “yeah but I think she has fleas that are more than beginning to hatch”,
she continues, “I’ve got some flea treatment though so those little vamps we can quickly dismiss”,
I reply, “nar, it’s okay Mum, I’ll handle this.”
I say to the fleas, “come here guys” and take them and Poppet to one side,
and remark “look today I’ve already committed insecticide
and I really don’t want to do it again but you’re putting Poppet the cat in duress
and she seems distracted rather than purring in my soft strokey caress,
and I don’t want to deliver a ****** bomb of flea killing pollution,
it’s much better to find an amicable solution,
so if you could just jump off her now and end your inhibiting lease
I promise I won’t hover you up I’ll just let you go in peace.”
I give them a few minutes to mull it over but then see Poppet frantically biting her thigh,
“now that is ****** it, no more Mr Nice Guy!
right you little Dracula *****, you’re about to find out what really *****,
it’s being on the receiving end of my “you’re perturbing Poppet” wrath,
you’re about to take a real long Frontline bath!”
Without remorse I dowse them up and that is that,
“bye bye you tiny ******* Vlad The Impaler *****!”  
See I love all the animals, I really have to say,
just don’t cross me on a Thursday,
oh, and I eat meat way more than a bit,
i’m a schizophrenic hypocrite.

Thankfully there are many days of the year I adore
that are gilded with flight and resplendent with soar,
even in the midst of supposed bleak mid winter frown
they’ll be a jive and a boogie at a dance in Town,
where it’s far from chilly in a huggy warming soothe
and all is fine in a January’s groove.
Any day in March could prove to be ace
with the appear of a friendly face,
as then chatting swirls with balletic gymnastic,
our rhetoric full of the pirouette of fantastic,
what was just another night of the 365
becomes made with the joy of being alive.
Spring usually blossoms with a sure run,
the unfurl of gentle, the know of hotter sun,
blooming naturally with the grace of the trequartista,
as well as the long weekend off for Easter.
Every morning gets brighter just a smidgen,
summer’s encroach feels fab to be lived in,
under verdant leaves clarities’s clear
and then tent is out because festival’s here;
“Hi my name’s Simon, what’s your name, how’s it going?”,
as music plays and vino is flowing,
“what you like Buffy too?  Ahh man it’s so great,
“yeah man it’s all about love and never leaving life too late!”.
And yeah when I get back I might be a comedown mess
but I love you festivals nevertheless!
Then September’s coming soon,
for fallen leaves the ground makes room,
what once was glistering in the green of the hour
curls to the gone of fading flower,
that’s okay though as that’s just the way it goes,
everything is transient, even great loves will someday part,
it all has an end, that amazing start,
it’s the bit in the middle that makes it serene,
the make of the moment believably supreme,
plus round the corner it’s Halloween;
where ghoulish attire can get “ohh, good call!” and a laugh
with a 31st deviation from the usual dress path.
Then in a few days booming lurks
in the here then disappear of fireworks,
as well, in November, there are frolics with friends
and those fireworks are yet to end.
Now as you can see all those other days of the year I marvel at their behest
but, if I had to say, I love you the best;
I start putting décor up in anticipation of your arrival
I feel festive butterflies begin to rise and spiral,
I get out the banners when I know you’re coming soon,
I throw tinsel all around my room,
as I want you to know that when you get here
my heart is full of splendid cheer,
you always make me smile with consummate ease
as welcome as July’s warming breeze;
as soon as my eyes open on your morning
I feel the effulgent skip of the dawning,
I rise to greet you with wide open arms,
“yeah, you got me, I fell for your charms!”,
every second with you is full of wondrous thrill,
you are top, you’re easily brill,
your magic tactility, the sing in your touch,
aww, I love you so much.
So yeah all the other days I don’t love you any less,
just you Christmas Day, you’re simply the best!

You smiled, and the whole world shone with you.

Delicate as a tadpole searching for hope in a raging sea,

precious the fledgling who scrambled to the top of the tree,

special the speck that thunders through time with right now brief,

important as the greening for the saddest lonely leaf:

an emerging butterfly

casting wing by a motorway,

you're amazing as the love that makes this day today.

However brief it was good to see you today,
may our next meeting
not be as fleeting.

It's not the length of the queue, it's the getting to the front in the end,
it's not the muddled blocks
it's the syncronicity of friends,
it's not the missed bus,
it's the one in the nick o' time,
it's not the clapperless bell,
it's the one with splendid chime.
It's not the laughter gone, or the last spilt drink,
it's the happy of the moment in the ones we sink;
it's not the toast that falls face down, it's the one that lands sunny side up,
it's not the day you lost, it's the day you won the cup.

Do not stop and ponder
a decay
but crush brittle curl
with a memory of yesterday,
when I was strong
and green
and could not fall
until this time,
after my time.

I wish i was the compass you never used at school,
Or the land inside your head you never tried to rule.
I wish i was the alarm clock you always put on snooze,
Or the pillowcase you drool on, when you've had too much *****.
I wish i was that video, the one you watched until it broke,
Or the grub you gorge on when you've just had a smoke.
I wish i was the money you found when out of food,
Or your translator when your words are sadly misconstrued.
I wish I was the carpet when you are scrubbing out the stains,
Or your dreams of solitude in chirping country lanes.
I wish I was the bugle for when you play the horn,
Or the nurse that shouted push, when you were being born.
I wish I was the marker pen when you’ve run out of chalk,
Or the words you use when you decide to talk.
I wish I was the keyboard when you press down too hard,
Or the place you go to after you’ve been bared.
I wish I was the stones you wear around your neck,
Or the jagged rocks which upon, your ship you wreak.
I wish I was the water that is filling up your lungs,
Or the ladder that you find when you’ve run out of rungs,
I wish I was the horizon as your walking to the hill,
Or your softest blanket and your greatest thrill.
I’m wishing all was well,
with us.

An old tree
once adored in majestic decoration
watches
a cat get fat
from a wet garden.
It feeds at different houses
but no longer a home,
shying from strokes,
used to the cold
and
forgetting love.
Barer branches see
a sudden migration
in winter years
leave a street emptier;'
no more advice on hanging washing,
papers passed on or prescriptions dropped off.
Time and season
lost.

You join you,
once,
enough,
you can never do too much.
Union, you again,
fending and mending,
crash and lark;
your sight far.

Though old

and hands semi broken by time

fingers still cradled cigarettes and wine,

they spoke of you:

caught by age but vibrant enough to do the dance you wanted,

full of life as the shell was cracking,

talking with glorious yapping,

not allowing the beating of the clock to take its toll

with all that sunshine in your soul.



Empty seats emptier without you there,



I love you,



take care.

So I wake up & think,
"Ohh, a message on Whatsapp,
I'll check that baby later,
for that nourish I will cater,
hmm outside it looks mild,
take your time Si, punctuality is the last reserve of the boring, said Oscar Wilde.
But you don't want to get the "where have you been" glare & the "I've been sat here for ages" stare."
So I gather my sleepy head with all my power,
get my work game on & hit the shower.
As I cleanse my skin layer by layer I ponder,
"hmm, have I got enough juice in my MP3 player to see me through on the 192?"
I scrub quickly in a ******* sigh,
"oh oh oh fuckkkkk! Si, you've got shower gel in your eye!"
All my thoughts of enough walking music to hurl me up the road are lost in my optic feeling like it's going to explode.
"It hurts! It hurts! ******* vanilla & raspberry,
is the cyclopitic pain really necessary?".
I now don't have time for thoughts of on time hurry
if I'm going blind or not is now my greatest worry.
The stupid anxieties vanish
in minutes of strife,
like they do in real life,
I don't think I'll care that I haven't budgeted for pre payday weekend beer if I get a call saying
you're not here,
& from what I know you disappear.
Not to dwell on what grief does loom,
you & me right now sail through the future gloom;
you're the best of the best
never stop,
I love you
I love you
I love you lots.
This soapy grip on my eye starts to ease,
anxious not
in the July breeze.

Summer may be the death of you,
it's when you stretch sinew.
Do  joints wear in hot air,
when you chase every fly,
with all pounce,
with all ounce, of power;
in May may you reduce your hours.
But, not to suppose,
be breeze blows,
& free flows.

Like footsteps that tell of encroachment
you're never
a surprise;
until,
from still
you rise.

Not known,
you will go;
born with thought
and fury of last;
past.

Tucked on a wall
spots spread spring
in the changing.
Wings wet with waning winter
never beat
but signal retreat  
of a season.
It's summer lost;
colourful defiance  
covered in silence
and last frost.

We said a big farewell to you
on a sunny day,

it was sad but perfect
in nearly every single way,

inevitably the only thing  missing under the clear sky of blue

was the world you held

in all of amazing you.

Last summer
the fields near your house
were covered in butterflies
from the sky
to
the floor,
as the flutter of my excitment was
at your door.

Still
in splendid sun
dotted wings untouched
by frost to come;
bright
they flicker in light
and move no further
than the colour of today.

The spot where you fell now has the shadow of new you
beginning to start a reign,
autumn's decrepit form
forgot
in
this rise;
only for spring
are your eyes.