This is nothing,
no inclination of like,
no spike or turn,
no bridges burnt
no lessons learnt,
no yearn or thirst
or rivers' burst,
no magpies or butterflies,
no omens, signs,
no reading mime.

No building dreams with plasticine,
no schemes
or seams
to pick apart,
nothing to start.

Don't prepare
waves
to engulf
and subdue starts.
You are welcome,
like the light rain.
Be fair:
nourish with flourish
and care.

So quick to make you gone,
although you will go
soon
but,
for now,
you could brighten a waking
with made days
under easy sun,
the simple
with aplomb,
being all you are;
assured with here.

After tiny explosions of green,
settlers rest,
far from frost.
Arrival untouched
by inevitable eviction
but knowing they will tumble
and become brittle,
crunched on ground
made splendid in their shadow.
Not cowering,
this time is greeted as their time,
finite and towering.

Obviously
you lit a fire in me.
Not the kind that requires
frantic calling
when out of control
and at the least decimating
in strong wind,
or turning cinders
when ignored,
spitting threats of consume
to all
with every rose,
no, not those.
This is contained,
filling my space
with the heat
of you;
obviously,
you lit a fire in me.



.

One last sting I have in me
before the last leaf leaves the tree,
one last kiss you have in you,
before routine runs you through.
In the summer at full strength
I terrorised the giants as they drank,
in the spring when you began,
you skipped and danced and ran.
The cold gets to us all ;
ask
the October wasp
and love in frost.

Now on days at my desk
I think of you
and your brilliant blue.

I miss you,
you don't
exist,
anymore:
street signs disappear,
the road smooth,
and
bump less,
and then nothing.

Leaves stay on trees
throughout every season,
and forms
and rules
meld
into
one crying pattern
of loss:
please come back,
I miss you.

I'm glad when I dispensed with toys
I preferred girls
to boys,
not to say there would have been anything wrong
with skipping down Canal Street  singing a song, with hunky blokes as far as the eye can see,
it's okay for others
just not for me.
If the caprice of sexuality swayed the other way
I believe I may not have woke with you today,
our hand holds lost
in a flurry of men
all giving a toss;
but rather then know a cockatoo I know you, another bird;
my intimate hit,
bringing peace of kit,
a tantalising fit.

Don't go cat,
who will eat Go Cat
and lap
a tiny bowl.
A brittle arc in spring sun,
after running's done.
Lame in lazy thoughts,
strident paws
reach for chirping,
when you were fast;
in summer grass
you leap again

As you walk over
what you have done
and where you have been
presents
itself,
in instant glory.
Oh all the places you have roamed,
all the houses you've made your home;
good old Twist
may we always greet,
every time
I see this street.

Sans communique
thrown asunder,
for ages now you've enabled wonder;
I'll miss you sat in my hand easily lit,
my starry ace,
my ace conduit.

You make me smile,
and the far sun hotter,
add rhythm to my potter.
Your dance in slumber out numbers all other,
my present tense that opens spaces;
I feel the sunshine on my face,
I feel your sunshine on my face.

Once forgot
what a lot
this is.
Not it is not
enough to last
but invisible and indelible,
impacts,
then pass.
No star
to reach for;
here and gone,
at once.

Its hard to deny the thought
you won't always be here,
because you won't.
One day I'll post if people want to mark your passing
they should get to a place
where your gone leaves that dreaded space.
But not right now:
now we can laugh
and you can hold my hand with love
as I'm getting off the bus,
we can argue about the merits of giving titbits
to that little tabby ****.
We can arrange to meet for dinner
in a greasy spoon
and after our fill of calories part with the words "I'll see you soon."
We can chat about football and how City win supreme,
you can peck my head
about if I'm keeping my flat clean.
Of all this I want more
but for the now
I'll be glad
that when people ask what I did last night
I'll reply that I went for drinks with my Mum and Dad.

Although I love summer
and would happily spend
eternity
under it's clear
azure skies
I prefer the blue
that's in
your eyes.
They make me as warm
as a full flush
of
spectacular bright;
you make my days fantastic,
never let me out of your sight.

Hours of moving around
and flitting
between
different spaces
always feels good,
things fall into place
as they should,
but lying next to you,
still,
means not a crave
for anything else,
as your wonderful self
is enough to bring a day
that's simply bright;
the close join of our eyes
making all of sight.

A path seemed bumpy
now knows no slight deviation;
smooth as the groove the run to your station.

Whatever happens
getting over you won't be a problem,
and that's not pre empting
bitter exclaim,
saying you meant nothing,
no,
you did,
you're wonderful.
Nor does it mean
I was immune to your charms
or the pangs or clangs
calling love to arms.
And not that I won't
be sad
for the stop
at promise
and what we may have missed,
just,
just because.
No,
it won't be a problem to get
over
because it means
there was joy to get over,
a joy that made days full
of time;
where all that was
was
at once.

You unforcefully cram
your particles
into every time
of loveliness,
seldom rocked
by
the
tick
tock;
minutes are just moments
that bring
all
your
joy.

You are passing, this is it,
the last of it.
Minutes you filled
in nights drawn in,
we're in.
You're fantastic,
near past it.

Die a perfect death,
imprint be erased
and dust disappear,
ceasing to exist,
never missed.
No weeds to remember
a blossoming splendor,
light, unsung.
Do not die a perfect death.

Missing a shapeless space
and preparing for a view
that moves closer,
slowly and sure
into vision.
Precision, timing,
a perfect arriving.
Now.

Some people say they don't like social networking
on mobile phones,
"it distances us from human connection"
they bleat and moan,
"takes us away from natural converging,
curtails face to face ties from emerging,
subdues us in a swamp of technology,
this engagement with messaging is surely a folly."
And as they depart they say,
“give me a person over a mobile msg anyday.”
Now don't get me wrong eye to eye communing is amazing
and it's not the last reserve of a luddite to prefer tactile phrasing
or to think sweet nothings into a there ear is best
but that doesn't mean there is nothing in mobile caress.
Because you can meet someone at a festival, and feel a sweet spark
that thunders through the roaming larks
and then when you part after a few days
think, "oh, that was awesome, I enjoyed their ways,
they made me laugh and gave me jumping smiles,
****, it's a pity between us there are miles and miles."
But when you arrive home and charged up a message pings
"you back now?" I see it and start to feel sing.
So we take our phones and chat all the next day,
getting to know each other in a happy appy way,
giggling at your words, beaming at the next
growing through lightning at each little text,
learning more in these screen chats;
you go to lots of BBQs and love dogs and cats,
you dye your hair and are calamity stricken
your top fajitas are finger lickin,
you know Mandarin and are ace at Catchphrase
and you have an inclination for New York days,  
you can analytically discuss scenes from C Street,
you can charm the customers at a store meet and greet,
you can decipher the nuance in The Bistro goss,
you can put up with **** from ****** at Argos.
You have a mate who picks up Mark Ronson's pooch,
you've saved a big crustacean when been on a mooch,
you can relate a song to Odysseus using sheep to save his men
and watch Mr G the musical over and over again,
you stay up/get up to watch the Super Bowl,
you type faster than a thought on a roll,
you've danced with Pete Barlow's ship mate from Corrie,
you can drive a car and a van, I recks you could handle a lorry!
You have loads of friends and often verge on more dislocation,
I want to be near you, whatever the location.
I want to pull you out of a hat
and see you stand on my welcome mat,
see, mobiles are good because it's good to feel that.
But if some quantum physicists are to be believed, after perusing their hefty tomes,
somewhere in infinite there is a place with no mobile phones,
and a boom of synchronicity has to be carried on by pen on paper
and there are days and days tween a tumbling heebie jeebie butterfly caper,
and then it's sent with a hope that it won't be lost in the post,
and be not read, like a bottled message uncorked by the coast.
Maybe a letter and no phones is better for starting a fizz
but right now mobiles make this what it is;
if not for them would I feel this close to you?
Or be writing this to you?
Right now I like feeling close to you,
and I like writing this to you,
to you Lou.

Please be immortal,
don't ever
go to a land
I don't
understand.

Don't ever drop
to a world
out of my control;
always be here,
always add to my whole.

You make my  two too;
my love is populated
because
of you.

When I used to be congested
I coughed
and spat
with all my might,
but at this moment
my plugged drains
with a flick
of your hair,
no more need for splutter chucks,
all types of plague run off
when you swish with
all of you.

As the light
goes more,
by a pond,
on my Mum's birthday,
ducks,
and geese
make noises to each other,
perhaps fighting the growing dark
with the call of
"are you okay?"
The same as you
taught me we
can
do,
everyday.

You flew in short May,
thriving in nest,
sore from birth
but soar earth with best.
With dreams fell wing;
but fly once, & sing.

Not knowing of the rat race
but races to catch rat,
only works when she wants to does
Poppet The Cat.
Content sat on clothes awaiting a iron,
the creased rest
of a little lion.
Scratching the sofa without care
while brilliantly breathing her tabby air;
see I love you,
I love you,
your running whiskers delight;
you're always
always
a beautiful sight.

3 year old girl attempting peekabo

Me - Ahh, that's good going! What I always do with peekaboo is do it round a door!

Goes behind door & does peekaboo

3 Year Old Girl - *laughs

Me - Ha ha! I always do peekaboo like this with My Cat, she loves it, she always says "meow" when I do it!

My Cat.

I love how our proprietorial just rolls off my tongue,
it makes me know
that we belong.

You've got softer these days.
When we met you were fiercer,
propensity to vicious in all your paws
and claws,
but,
now,
you relax in moments
and stretch out full, unafraid and happy in the sun;
love makes me feel secure too,
strong and lit,
ahh my less ferocious domesticated Poppet.

A sing of
super ace
amazing beyond measure;
little fantastic you
with all the drops of treasure.

You're practically a mantra now,
sans repetition
held soft
in a good dream;
I forget your name
in the bloom of now.

Presents from present,
not anticipating
gifts wrapped tightly
and stowed beyond reach ;
this moment to seek.

I can speak all day in tongues about Poppet!
Pop! Pop! Popsicle
you're making this time in my life,
the best discoveries towards you, may your joy be rife. When you purr it's nice.
You run to me when my voice does call you noise,
you arrive for our near,
excited for the happy times, I think that's pretty clear.
I never want to own you
as I know you wouldn't like that,
but please stay around
my stupendous tabby cat.

If I could do
the way you make me feel
I'd hunger with colour
and fall,
at sing,
with rainbow;
all in the much
of your touch.

When you went i expected rain,
a soft smattering slowly becoming a deluge
that would not wash this day away
but mark it
for others to know an absence
had started.
The clouds didn't defer,
they parted
and the stretching sun ran through
the first hours of loss
to show it goes on
as you will go on.

From quite far away
you make me spin on the spot,
and despite the miles engender
my trot:
see your reaching magnificent sends range
to my feet,
and us it is ours
the next time we meet.

Near a white room
i'm told,
there are days arranged
when i will miss you.
Cold, and reaching,
for shapes in space;
without home
to run back to.

Possibilities change
to what is
near you,
any reaching
suddenly gone
to constant wonder.
Hypothesis discarded
until tomorrow,
or longer;
as it's you, right now.

I'm lucky that up until now
my heart has beat ever day
but the past few months
it's been warmer
and as mornings grow
a tad colder
they also seem warmer,
the time when the year turns
colder
is warm;
for no other reason than you.

Although your red hair looks ace
any colour would flow well with your face;
sewage blonde speckled like an unwashed sink,
decayed purple, ***** pink,
sobbing violet, ***** brown,
snotty yellow on a unwashed frown,
manure sliver with a rotting hue,
***** orange, or suicide blue,
they'd all look good, look good on you.
And yes your scarlet locks shimmer with plush
but everything looks great next to your mush!

Words I associate with you
jump quickly
off the page,
a collection of letters
making soar my days.

A roar of suggestion
now as faint
as ancient pillars
holding up air,
majesty diminished
by time
but still rooted
in a ground that sparkled
with the start of bloom;
a run to fantastic
that never came soon.

Everytime
I walk past the window
where you were
I begin to wave,
but as I start the hello motion I remember
you're not there anymore,
just a empty seat
behind a full green door.
Oh Roy.
But at least there are still sinews
that move
in anticipation of you,
and muscles connected to bone
acknowledge
the space you left.
Now everytime I walk past your window and raise a hi
it's mixed with the love
of goodbye.

There is no thing
to be said
between us.
We could say i love you
but
i love you is known,
in binded tome.
Abstract metaphors seek
a form of us,
but it wasn't us,
i love you,
and us

If the world should cave in two
I don’t know what I’d do
as I’m not Doctor Who
so I guess I’d just save you.
If you’re scared at night
and
if you've have had a fright
would you let me put it right
by turning on the light?
If you graze your knee
I’d give you something on me
my last plaster for free:

all these things I say
are here to make you smile
so you won’t run a mile
and
stick around for a while.

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 mazey bomb blasts
and crazy contrasts,
I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite
I say work i'm not even gonna give 50% percent never mind double
but i'll stay just below the warning threshold so i don't really get in trouble,
i do see my sick days as extra days of annual leave
but my bums on my seat most of the year and at least one Eve.
I'm always ducking and diving, i hide and they seek,
but i hit my targets every week.
They can say put down your pens,
strip your pencils of lead,
you can't stop me writing in my head
But you'll sometimes dictate what time i go to bed.
I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite
Nearly every road i walk down i've got a ***** cat friend
there meowing never drives me round the bend
but if me owing then just a letter i'll send.
I’ll rescue  spiders from the bath, without any exception,
But I’ll clean their webs and evict them when I have a house inspection.
Giving up pork, on a parity with pigges at last
But then i broke my faste with bacon for breakfast
Watching lambs a gamboling there frolicking is fab,
but i'll see you on a plate later if i'm craving a kebab.
I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite.
Money and the capitalist structure baffles, no thanks, no ta
but before i go out a quick sub off Ma and Pa.
I'll pay for a taxi, i don't care about the amount,
while checking fervently the statement from my bank account.
Cash cannot be eaten it just gets you into Eton
but i'll rifle through my pockets for pennies to get an eat on
i don't adore you, i'll say your the means to an end
but then i spend some more and ask for a lend.
I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite.
I'll say anarchy  is everywhere, petition and abstain
then  read in the late edition who i think should take the reins.  
I scream smash the system without any regrets
but then start stubbing out where they deem no cigarettes.
I'll say **** big business they are always looting tons
while cutting out Asda coupons to get the soup with croutons.
i'll say **** materialism, to that i am adverse,
"ohh if you want to get me some trainers Mum can you make em Converse? "
I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite
One Saturday i found it hard to move
crying out for water, more than needing food,
stomach emptier than the packets in my pockets
Early winter scribble
spoiled by the ripple of rain,
deadened and dull
on a precious day,
the time I crave
passes through a husk
full of caves.
Each inhabitant curses
and burns
the stagnant soil under their feet,
I want something to eat.
I need to drink.
The cold slab of sink
lures flesh to rest,
unsatisfied
with retched offerings
flung from a scorched earth
so next Friday, a few beers and l I’ll hit the hay
Ten beers later, where’s the MDMA?
And my staunch resolutions go up my nose
Chatting through the night, striking a pose,
Music accentuated, stars sparkling hard
World’s discussed in magic back yards,
Focused and fraught in tumultuous thought
Ten cigs in an hour
An hours too short,
As the morning comes, I start feeling a mess
It slowly disintegrates the treasure in my chest,
Feelings of strength crumble to a feeble frame,
Spears in my head, WHOOPS I’VE DONE IT AGAIN.
You’ll stop this time, I curse and lecture,
Two bottles down next Friday etc etc,
I’m a schizophrenic hypocrite
I remember an uneventful Tuesday when i wasn't working
belly full of rice
and i saw you twice,
two times a day,
on a day in lieu,
time stood still,
smiling at you
i thought i'm gonna have to write about you,
so i park myself in a bar after a joint in Netto carpark
and start using words to build an arc
and if you you do wanna walk in two by two,
can i walk in with you?
Is it this green ride that's getting me high
or the regret i seen in the gleam of your eye
that as soon as we said hi we said bye,
as disappointed as the catcher when he dropped the rye.
If i may be so bold,
if you were cold
i wouldn't hail these stones
i'd pummel Jack Frost until he knows he's lost,
i'll leave all the lights on to hasten global warming
make Obama declare winter a season of mourning,
If you met an iceberg of Titanic  proportions
i'd cut through it quicker than the Ripper does back street abortions.
If you were in prism
i'd try to unrangle the science of triangles
so i could build you a pyramid with all the right angles,
my stomachs in knots;
the most tranquil of tangles.
Then i saw you get out of the lift
and i wanted to play you a rift
until you exposed your midriff
because you set me adrift from chains and shackles
my mind goes crazy and fills with cackles,
i crackle with lightning, my energy heightens
my heart tightens
and not cos of cholesterol
cos i think you're special
and celestial!
I got dreams from naught, my head feels taught,
i prised a lesson from your eyes,
love is the greatest prize.
But now that's gone, all things
pass evolution in transience
faces that were everything lost to balance
blue it merge
but seldom a residual surge
and your bark today was worst than your bite
it said something softly,
i sow the seeds for the sycamore trees
we can carve our names on next summer.
Under an endless stretching sky
you wrote you
and i wrote i,
the lights in our eyes don't lie
they are gateways to the suns inside,
our hearts couldn't hide from this brightening tide.
I'm a Schizophrenic hypocrite
I remember this guy from work, cooed to me
look at the **** on this page 3
he drooled over Nuts magazine like he belonged in a zoo
i bet he frequented strippers too.
He said seen this clip, it's ******* great,
it ad turn a couple of queers straight
it was these two twins with rouge lips being rude,
the way she chomped on her like food
and they defo loved it,there is  no doubt
it's just just ***** Eskimo ******* kissing snouts
and sharing with her sister the joy of getting licked out.
Wonder how they looked in the family car?
giggling about some exciting destination,
like all kids displaying a lack of patience,
“are we there yet” chorused with glee and duality,
dressed in the same clothes to ensure parity.
Ice cream for tea.
Maybe they might be way into drugs
or addled with addiction
lacking hugs
and sore from the friction.
Not liking the glare
feeling scared.
maybe?
He said nar they love it up them baby.
But then,
i have it
about 3 or 4 times a week
after the 5th time of hitting snooze,
or a heavy night on the *****,
or sometimes no beer,
even after a sonnet of Shakespeare
a sudden urge comes over me,
GET THE LAPTOP!
GET THE *******!
Then it's
Japanese teen lesbians spitting,
finger ******* wearing mittens,
****'s ******* Britions,
oap creampies
***** covered eyes
***** flicking,
extreme suction,
**** destruction,
Captain Birds Eye gobbing
Batman ******* Robin,
A ten inch plumber ******* in a kitchen sink drama
Robert de Niro unpeeling Bananarama
Marty doing the Doc
a gimped up Kirk whipping Spoc
Rita  ******* Norris
Gail licking Fizz
Sally doing Dev
and Kevin doing ki.............Kevin, get out of the room.
Back to
a **** doing a ******
a pre op pleasuring granny
two ***** one *****,
then i chuck my muck all over my tunic
flip over and continue reading The Female ******,
I'm a Schizophrenic Hypocrite,
i've gotta split.

Test tuby...

Scientifically,
when it's all broken down
you're
1. Brill.
2. Ace.
3. Warm.
4. Welcoming.
etc,
and more;
but all I know is i'm
happy
when you're stood on the floor, next to me,
you gilde my see,
and,
If I could pick moments to be in
most of them would be
with you.

As long as he was
encased in cold,
getting shorter all the time.
But,
in spite of the horribly havocking eyes of study
he grows
and burrows;
the best worm in the universe.