There are no right answers.
The sky rejects the birds, turns them
over to gravity,
embedding them in the concrete and dirt.
The grit refuses to become a pearl,
just as the wound refuses to heal
and the flesh eats itself.
The market sees a sudden spike in
sales of Champagne and cyanide.
Coordinated efforts seek and fail
to curtail the rising tide of violence
in the nation's dreaming.
You realise that this crude, barbaric language
that you can't understand
is your own.
Beauty glitches and pixelates.
Frightened, furtive confessions of love
are unheard over proud, visceral
proclamations of hate.
Tongues divorce mouths.
Every now and then, a voice
inside your head says,
'Thud.'
The measures of sanity become
more quantifiable and
totally arbitrary.
The horizon
tightens
like
a noose.

It doesn't matter if this is wrong.
There are no right answers.

One day,
I'll look back at you,
And wonder why I have to look back.

You are a month of new beginnings.
You carry snow on your back and cannot
let go of the frustrating challenges you lay upon us.
You can be irritable at times but know how to
make up for the bad memories.
Your as bitter as black ice but as sweet as
the sparkling snow I mistake for sugar.
Promise me one thing, be sure to make each day
last, because soon enough you will disappear
behind another season. Behind another day.

My heels clip on
London concrete.
My hamstrings strain
To increase my stride.
I slalom around
Pavement zombies,
Phone junkies,
Loitering monkeys.

Don’t they see?
I’m late for a meeting
With a client of grandeur.
A key player.
A major money man.
(I can’t drop the name
Due to a
Signed NDA).

It was suppose to be
A blue sky meeting
On a grey winters morning.
But I slept too long,
And the tube
Went wrong,
And now I’ve
Got the dreads.

If I’m late,
My rep will be tarnished.
I’ll never secure
Another meeting again.
Because in this town,
Time is a diamond
We can’t possess.
But we know it exists;
Out there on the outskirts,
Out there in the sticks.

It’s below freezing but I’m
Working a sweat;
A pavement cardio,
A sidewalk rodeo,
A street athletics show.
There’s no way I am going
To be on time.
It’s curtains for me;
I’ve sealed my P45.

Finally I arrive.
I collapse at the entrance,
My power-walk ending
In a muted reception.
I approach the desk.
‘Yes?’
Glared a future
X-factor entrant.

‘Good morning.
I’m here to see
The top brass.
The big cheese.
The head honcho.
I was delayed, but please,
Pass my humblest regrets,
I am spinning a lie
Which I hope he accepts.’

‘I’m sorry, sir,’
The young lady chewed.
‘The Great Man is away,
Tanning on a beach.
You’ll need to reschedule;
He returns in two weeks.’

Before it tastes like a savory.
But for some reason, it started to taste as what it’s supposed to be.
Sweet, creamy and lovely in every bite.

It was never my favorite in coffee shops.
It was never that tasty enough.
I couldn’t even imagine finishing a piece of this pastry.

I wonder what caused this sudden change of flavor.
I wonder why I have this urge to save it for later.
Perhaps, it was the person who gave and made it taste better.

January blues are bittersweet,
Red berries stand resistant to the mourning frost.
death lingers amongst the trees, reigning over a white paradise.
A delicate green **** blows like a flag in the snow, refusing to surrender.

A paradise lays amongst the remains for those willing to see.
cradled in the arms of a great oak, under a blanket of a thousand stars.

You've gone through years
Passing by, intending changes
Did you expect a new sunrise?
A new world to wake up to?

Every eve nights to countdown
The seconds to spare for a reason
We will change, we will manage
Oh years, we behold resolutions

Are the januaries holding you back
From taking steps for your life?
Or is it just you, being too lame?
Let it be tomorrow, but oh friend!
Tomorrows never wait for you

January with Blanket and Book

Dark weeks of wind and clouds and rain have passed
Into the east where wild storms go to die
While in the west above the woods the moon
A glowing curve of cold reigns over the sky

Now close the door after a lingering look
Upon silence and frost this January night
And dream by the fire, with blanket and book,
Sweet images of spring in the flickering light

And sunlight tomorrow - the frost won’t last
Long weeks of wind and clouds and rain have passed

Six

       He died and was buried in the hard ground
                         Of a January ice storm
The few people who came stood with a rigor vivis
                       Not wishing to be there
                    But having no ready excuse
                        For being elsewhere
                          On a day like this
                       Or for a man like that.

I                                nights.
am                        cold   Snow
  born                  and         flakes
    In                 snow            fall
    the               of                   in
     winter      time                 shape        
      month   The                the  of snow  shaping
          January.             pure    white                gloves,
                           ­   white        stars,                     warm                      
                         colour.           shining                     and                                  
                      I am                    bright                      clothes        ­                        
                   born                          In                   Thick                        
                 In                                   the           light.                                
             Capricorn.                               street