A jet-ski, jetty bound, disturbs the waves,
While not too far away, on the seabed
Lies the hungry blacktip and hammerhead,
As a nurse explores the undersea caves.

Harvey wouldn’t capture Marlin here,
Just a glance of turtle, seaweed green,
Gasping at the stuffy air, marine,
Gazing at a sunset he should fear.

The sharks hunt for prey in mere hours.
A flock of ching-chings squawk away,
As mosquitoes come out to play,
Darting between darkening flowers.

Through mosquito nets I take a peek,
In oasis that I realise,
Snuggled in a palm tree lies
A curled green parrot, sound asleep.

A dull, white cupboard,
It brings bland to an already boring room.
Just opened to grab a shirt,
Unusually unaware of its artistic values.
An unnatural breeze brings the brightness
And an arm, fluttering in the wind, escapes,
Its feeble body left behind.
Who would have thought lifeless limbs could bring life
To a dying bedroom?
A blue shirt on a clean canvas,
That first drop of paint sprayed yellow on its sleeve.
A sunlight stream breaking the blue sky
And piercing the eyes,
Or perhaps it’s the mosquito plane
Heading towards his outstretched palm,
Surrounded only by a blue abyss
And the whitewashed walls of heaven.
Only a higher power could create such beauty by
Breathing a blue sky into the clouds of heaven.
This is but a true masterpiece of God’s creation
-A blue shirt, trapped helplessly, in my crafty cupboard door.

Waiting,
For the right time,
To tell you that I am,
Sick, sick and tired of always,
Waiting.

Between wild swearing and flailing kicks
A dark dog dreams,
And a tear is shed.
This doesn’t come from puppy-dog eyes,
For they have been aged by the worlds evil,
Scarred by an owner
Who isn’t anybody’s best friend.
Constantly hungry, those black iron bars
Block his only chance of freedom.
If only he could jump.
If only he could fly.
He wouldn’t have to limp on broken legs then,
Or choke on broken ribs,
And he could finally come to food,
For food never comes to him.
Tonight is a special night though,
Tonight he gets some scraps before bed,
And dreams he wasn’t trapped, and had wings instead.

Dead, burnt alive.
Your face crushed by brute metal force,
Smashed, black eyes look like they’re crying,
Innards vomited out on impact- corpses,
****** through your shattered forehead,
Turned to pulp by the asphalts grisly smile.
A curb has never been so twisted.
Teeth and bones show that these were once people,
Instead of just the red tape left behind.
Now you’re stopped by the feeble yellow kind,
Sunshine yellow that scars a grey sky-
Teeth and bones last longer
And teeth and bones are stronger
But not as strong as a boy,
Going faster than control.
All he needed was one hand too far,
And Satins red and black sprayed their clothes,
Igniting more than petrol when it explodes,
Killing you- his life, his love, his car.

Summer’s Sunday morning trickles into life
As the sun shimmers through the tired trees.

Dew drips from the waking grass
Onto the course crust of the loamy soil.

The crisp sound of the swelling tides is eased
By the tiresome swish of a lazy breeze.

Sweat slides down a flustered face
While the scorching sun stifles the pores.

Ice crackles in a glassy cage
As refreshing fruit juice flows into life.

And deckchair viewers watch while runners scythe
A grassy field as a goal tickles an empty net.

Film forms fast on a grainy screen
For pictures flicker from projector’s beam.

“So long, partner” through tears I see.
You know you’ll always have a friend in me.

Anarchy, insanity, beyond belief –
The death of a human, the rise of a Chief.

Nerves, a name, a limp and a fear
That the infamous Söze will soon disappear.

A dream within a dream within a dream on the screen?
That Nolan’s a mind-blowing genius machine!

Ants, an eye, and an awful lot of thinking
About what the hell that Buñuel was drinking!

Don’t stand beside my grave crying. Walk away.
Wipe away those tears from your eyes.
I will always be near, I am here to stay.
Wherever you go I’ll hear your cries.

You will keep my memory alive,
For what your brain can’t, your heart will,
And it’s there that my spirit will thrive,
For after eternity I’ll be with you still.

In the morning when you open your eyes,
I will be beside you, buttoning my shirt.
When you gaze up at the starry night skies,
I’ll be gazing back until it doesn’t hurt.

When the soft snow is fresh and it’s too cold,
I will be beside you, keeping you warm.
When the rain is strong and umbrella old,
I will be there, helping you ride the storm.

Never stand by my grave crying.
For I never liked it when you cried,
And when I was in my bed, dying,
It was you that never left my side,
And because you kept my memory breathing,
I will never be there, because I never died.

A volcano of anger erupts around you;
Tears sting as they stream down your face,
Filling each pore with a burning sensation -
White, life has left without a trace.

Furious screams spew up into the air,
Splatter the sky and melt away dreams.
While the molten rock will eventually cool,
The damage has been done, it seems.

A saddened look caught forever in time,
You stand there, frozen, forever hurt.
Scalded once for a sinful crime,
One touch of fire - forever burnt.

You’re but a shadow, coloured grey,
The same that paints a pained Pompeii.

Electricity is in the air.
Life without a care
Or stress heaved upon your feet?
One week.
A blur of late nights, early mornings
Moving, moving, rushing.
Drinking, lots of drinking,
Sleeping and overthinking,
Excitings mixed with borings,
Sweat and cider gushing.
Meeting loads of people,
Different lives and races,
(Forgetting countless faces.)
Continuous lack of sleep will
Bring about more madness!
Eyes and head are burning,
Difficulties with learning.
The blood inside is churning
As you find it hard to learn again.
Nostalgia brings about more sadness
And body's close to death
As you lie, trapped, with blood and pen,
Out of breath.

Today a blackbird gave me inspiration.
It floated casually towards the ledge.
Inches away, only a thin piece of glass between us.
It stared, looked me in the eyes,
Opened my soul with its piercing eyes.
Gouged away until it found some real meaning inside.
Twitched, no, that wasn’t a twitch,
It was a motion, a signal,
A glorious method of communication –
No pigeon could mimic that!
It ushered my eyes towards the beauty of the lake,
And away from its black and grey and blue
And (I’m sure many other coloured) body.
My eyes were dragged from this beautiful, overweight creature
To the forever-moving, forever-living lake,
Then to the fountain.
Six shoots of white water kept the sky where it belongs.
They held it – of course! The sky!
The blackbird had given me light.
The sky was alive, the clouds were rolling,
The sun was breaking through,
And as I re-adjusted my eyes to thank him,
The blackbird leapt from his perch,
Cawed a “you’re welcome”
And soared towards heaven.

You define what this life is worth.
Fame and fortune are irrelevant.
The brightest star gifted to Earth,
Higher than the lucky heaven-sent.

The glove that is a perfect fit,
I’d jump without a thought for you.
If you catch then so be it,
If you don’t then that suits too.

For you are a poem that captures wonder -
Unforgotten and kept close by.
You are romantic rolls of thunder
Shaking tears from the silent sky.

The dew that drips from morning lands,
The white foam of a waterfall,
The sunset by the Cayman sands,
The nightingale’s vibrant call.

You are the beautiful view of a cliff
From the edge as you watch the beauty below,
Before I fall off and think you are gone
But cling on to you tightly and never let go.

Comic relief can’t numb the pain within.
An indestructible toilet stands alone.
That lonely toilet made of white porcelain,
Is all that’s left of some poor man’s home.

Boredom, normal working day,
Normal person, bills to pay,
Sunny skies soon turn to grey -
Fiery explosion.

First a bang and then another.
Building shakes, he ducks for cover
Fear sets in, he starts to quiver –
Salt can cause erosion.

Quickly he begins to stumble
As his world begins to crumble,
Screaming soon becomes a mumble –
Miracle to conjure.

Building cannot help but shake,
Decision of how to die to make.
Fire or concrete which will take
The lifetime of the plunger.

He runs and jumps for all he’s worth,
Screaming like he was at birth
Seeing the toilet of the Earth
And the lifetime of the plunger.

The world, it seems, is crap sometimes.
You’ve just got to hope and pray:
For the poor souls who get the worst
And the hope that on another day
You are not the plunger.

To some twas a majestic force,
Mysterious and beautiful,
Courageous and never full
From a vast, adventurous feast.
It roamed – a horn upon a horse,
A gallop one could never cull,
It thought itself invincible,
Yet to some it was a beast.

Its orchestra – a masterpiece
Assembled from around the Earth,
But labouring perfections birth
Was a harpist’s absent beat.
The pains of searching now could cease
As landing upon emerald berth,
The unicorn unearthed its serf
As sublimity filled that seat.

The harpist liked her homely scene,
Despite its audience so small.
She’d rather stay than leave it all
And face the unicorns stampede.
And so she suffered wrath obscene:
She was forced to attend the ball,
Waiting centuries for the call
To leave an orchestra based on greed.

In present day the harp is home,
Back to where it is meant to be,
Beauty played independently,
But the unicorn does not mourn,
For now both creatures often roam
To a ball outside of history
And play a peaceful melody:
“The Harpist and the Unicorn.”

Bus, man, world, waiting.
Orange, blue, sand, sea.
Home, dream, stop time -
Eyes just like life.
Pain finally away.

In 1995 when I was four
And watching films like all the other boys,
I heard great Tom and Tim and sat in awe,
As they told me a story about toys.

I met a boy (called Andy) just like me
Obsessed with cowboys, dinosaurs and war.
His toys, they came to life. He failed to see.
Their lives revolved around his closing door.

They soon became my friends and helped me grow.
I saw them once again in ninety nine.
Ole’ Buzz and Woody taught me all they know,
But failed to tell me when it would be time.

Now Andy’s off to college as am I
And to our childhoods we must say goodbye.

You define what this life is worth.
Fame and fortune are irrelevant.
The brightest star gifted to Earth,
Higher than the lucky heaven-sent.

The glove that is a perfect fit,
I’d jump without a thought for you.
If you catch then so be it,
If you don’t then that suits too.

For you are a poem that captures wonder -
Unforgotten and kept close by.
You are romantic rolls of thunder
Shaking tears from the silent sky.

The dew that drips from morning lands,
The white foam of a waterfall,
The sunset by the Cayman sands,
The nightingale’s vibrant call.

You are the beautiful view of a cliff
From the edge as you watch the beauty below,
Before I fall off and think you are gone
But cling on to you tightly and never let go.

I
The morning traffic settles down
When the smell of chips create a haze
By the arts block.
Squawking fills the passageways
And now a familiar face taps
Your weary back
While you are drowned by stomping feet
And despite the try your mind clots;
The name deletes
And you’re left thinking it is Scott,
While all this time his name is Pete.
He didn’t hear it through the stamps
And we sit lakeside by the lamps.

II
Morning: you arise from consciousness
And faint stale smells of beer
From the night on Dublin streets,
A night you won’t repeat, unless
The moon reclaims the lands.

And of course the Paddy’s day parades,
That, one naturally assumes.
Just thinks of all the hands
Raising pints by the spades
In a thousand bright green rooms.

III
You stretched your arms above your head
And yawned at a class you’ve never hated
You dozed, and watched the screen revealing
The thousand boring images
Of which World War II was constituted;
Their burning qualities weren’t appealing -
They stung until the world went black
But the light crept up between your shutters
And you heard the backgrounds snobbish tutters,
Despite meeting them on Grafton Street
Where you exchanged drunken demands.
You awoke and cringed as you were aware
Of the tuft sticking up about your hair,
But instead of a fix-trip, to save your feet,
You covered it with your hands.

IV
You stared up at the flawless skies
That fade behind the Newman block,
Or often watched insistent feet
At four and five and six o'clock,
Or watched the fountain-spewing pipes,
And watched the swans watch life’s disguise
While you recalled wild fantasies,
Of walking down a college street
And opening your eyes to receive the world.

And now my eyes have been unfurled
And I feel like a god, a king
For I have seen an infinitely mental,
Infinitely wonderful thing.

Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh;
And treat the worlds like you treat the women
And hopefully both will give you lots!

The tear duct is a feeble thing
For little girls who dance and sing.
A man is a superior beast
Who swears, fights bears and eats a feast
Of steak! He knows his wants and takes
Those wants and has no fear of snakes,
But now and then those ducts are used,
But not out of choice - they are abused!
For shame those times when man has cried –
One hopes they died or died inside!
Perhaps it's okay and not quite mad
If the duct, per say, was maybe stabbed –
An eyelash broke, or one could choke
On meat! The heat could get a bloke
To force a tear to stain his eye
But no, my friend, no excuses this time
Because, even in a crazy rhyme
Real men, who fight bears and steak dine, cry.

On my bed, giving life to the latest poem
And suddenly a soft sound scratches my ears.
Again, again, again, constant:
One, two, three and there it is again –
Frustration flicking my bedroom window,
Staining that sparkly pane with its insane irritation.
The pain sounds again.
A delightful butterfly struggles to contemplate
The gap between the glasses of my prison wall.
Beautiful; fluttering frantically; fragile.
My intentions are purer than the billion colours
That elegantly engulf those deceptive eyes.
I delicately, ever so delicately urge
That curious creature back to nature’s beauty,
Urge it away from the blandness of the bedroom,
But humanity has never, will never be so forgiving.
My little push is the destruction of such beauty:
Maimed for freedom, slaughtered for escape,
A victim of war, humanity’s war.
I feel guilt but more so regret,
That, although that poor creature
Suffered such an untimely demise,
He had achieved a life worth living:
A butterfly who freely fluttered
The bedrooms of the world,
And escaped the irony of being
More humane than man could ever dream.
I envy that poor, superior creature,
For I am just a butterfly breaker.
I am just an animal.

The most refreshing of breezes holds you,
And you utter a sigh of pure happiness.
The sound of water splashing the shore,
Sloppily fumbling into the pool-side drain.
The sprinkles on the cake sparkle -
Stars are just as sweet,
Little beams of hope escaping the banality of life,
Escaping chalk - a dull blackboard cannot retain it.
Even the artificial blinding of humanity
Cannot take away from such beauty.
Palm trees are at their most stunning
At twilight, dancing to the rhythm of nature -
Darkness is much more majestic
Than it has been given credit.
The moon is but a sliver,
A small rip in the pitch black fabric of the sky-
It is smiling, a smile of pure content.
Believe me, my good friend, the feeling is mutual.

A dark blue duvet delicately sown,
A patchwork of delicate squares,
It is here where I soundly sleep alone,
It is here where nobody cares.

Those carefully crafted covers were made
As a net to catch my dreams.
It is here within my sleep I wade,
Swimming my slumber streams.

I twist and turn but can’t escape
From the nightmares that I fear,
But when a beautiful dream I make
The net knows the end is near.

I panic as it dives beneath the sea
And I try to recapture it yet,
I fail and fall, but delicately
I am caught in the dream catchers net.

I open my blinds to a golden haze,
As the colour ironically blinds me.
A swift turn averts his burning gaze
And my favourite t-shirt finds me.
It says ‘Mr. Cool’! It’s find – a peach!
It does what it says it would do –
It cools me down on my favourite beach
Because it’s all blue.

The palm trees dance and the ching-chings caw
As the soft sand burns my feet,
But I bury them deeper in the flawless floor
‘Cause I cannot feel the heat.
A few fluffy clouds caress the sky
And pose for pictures new,
Then they gently drift slowly by
To leave the canvas blue.

I step into the Caribbean waves
And my troubles abandon me.
Perplexed by the corals sunburned maze
As I gently drift to sea.
The pain subsides like the weary surf
And I drift to pastures new.
The sea helps erode the purple hurt
Because it’s all blue.

My shirt, the sand and the sun-splashed sky:
They now engulf my world.
The sound of a seagull’s desperate cry
Is seen but can’t be heard.
This fuzzy grave is a safety net,
I know that much is true.
I’m leaving Earth but I’ll never forget
That it was all blue...

As we stare pointlessly at the skies
And sweat as we swallow the stuffy air
The wondering waves don’t realise
That we are even there.
Our bus stop thrones: an empty lair
Where we can safely hide.
While people think there’s nothing there
They still don’t dive inside.

No matter how hard our souls have tried
My good friend Mr. P and I
Have failed and wailed and often sighed
As cold, lonely air dampens eyes.

Sigh. Cry, cry and re-sigh.
Will it be noticed if we die?

We sit upon our bus stop throne
And eternally wait for that bus ride home.

Waiting, staring, waiting,
Possibly debating
To do... nope.... more waiting.
Staring, blankly staring.
Looking, but not seeing
What passersby are wearing.
Not acting but just being
And certainly not caring.
Me and Mr. P
Simply letting life just be,
Simply watching and waiting,
While bus stop lives are living.
We’re not taking or giving,
But sadly staring, crying, waiting.






Movement. Finally he moves!
Uncovering such painful truths
That smash the usual daytime grooves
Of crying, eternal waiting,
Thoughts of dying and hating
Every second spent on a gum-ridden throne –
My secret the inevitable stone
****** into the pools of thought
And now that he knows he ought
To finally end that misery streak
As the traffic soon will meet its peak
And satisfaction he will seek.

Ten years ago this very day
He had such awful dreams
That his only friend was taken away
But a dream twas all it seems.

Now - an announcement of the truth
To put us both at peace.
A time we shared on Earth aloof
And now the pain will cease.

It was all too much - that fateful day
That came ten years ago
And to my friend, Mr. P’s dismay
I walked onto the road
And entered the usual bus
That together we’d usually get:
Dark blood splattered it and thus
Cooled the burning summers sweat.

Not much has changed since then,
We still haven’t gone very far.
We stayed at that stop: the men
Who were hopeless at driving a car.
Eternally we remain
As friends on our bus stop throne
But now, he too, has ended the pain
And we can take the same bus home.

He sprinkles this sugar on the world
Trying to make it a little bit sweeter.
Our response suggests he succeeds.

Each grain spinning like a hurricane,
Frozen droplets floating towards the earth
Until they kiss the frozen ground.

Confusion, as they aimlessly drift through the air.
Billions build up and coat the world
In a blanket of peace, hope and wild dreams.

Hugged plants are squeezed a new colour,
Rooftops too, are repainted white.
The bitter cold troubles no one.

This frozen sweetness engulfs the land,
And perfection is amongst a youthful world.
Perfection that thrives in the luminous dark.

But, nightfall slowly realises our fears,
And when weary eyes awaken to the morning sun,

All of Earths hopes and dreams
Have started to melt away.

My mother, the Caribbean Sea,
My father, exotic sand,
Amazing that they created me
Out of this tropical land.

Wave after wave caressing the shores,
Giving my father a smile.
Here, my being was put into course-
The soft beach of Seven Mile.

Here, where the soothing sand meets the sea,
The playground of Edward Teach.
This is the place that created me-
A big, fat son of a beach.

Sent to prison for killing Autumn,
I made the same mistake last year,
Each bar an icy steel column,
Separating me from summers cheer.

My feet are numb, my fingers frozen,
Kept from the world in my frosty pen.
I reflect on the lonesome path I’ve chosen,
But know I will do the same again.

This prison is hell, chilled to the bone.
The warden called Weather is rather glum,
Winter does that to a man starved of home,
Its freezing walls are fast to benumb.

I beg for pardon of my crime,
I feel remorse and true dismay.
I am defrosted just in time,
To be released on Christmas Day.

I reflect on Winter’s release of me,
And wonder what the future will bring?
The gloom defrosts inside of me,
As my heart is warmed by emerging Spring.

Here lies a calculator, once unstoppable,
Together we solved the world’s problems.
Your black buttons warmed my hands,
While my head was cooled by the solutions you created.
Stress relieving buttons,
How I often mistreated you,
Slamming my fingers into your soul,
Jabbing your rugged terrain.
My intelligence blossomed with you at my side,
But now you have shrivelled up,
Shedding your petals, one equation at a time,
Until you are planted in the grave you resemble.
I etched my name into you
At the start of our glorious friendship-
A sacred bond that would last forever.
Now, at the end, I engrave again.
This time there is no solution.

Waves beating the rugged rocks of the coast,
Rapidly eroding the soft susceptible sand,
Engulfing homes children have long since deserted,
Drowning a man eternally asleep, and
Neatly knocking down a carefully built wall.
Barrage after barrage attacking weekend achievements,
But it is Monday now and school beckons.
Nobody is here to remember the dead.
Alone, nature watches the sand funeral instead.