What gives you the right
To try to shine so bright among stars
That climbed into the mantle of heaven,
With drug addled bodies
And the voices of angels.
How can you sit in constellations
That foretell the future
And the state of the nation.
Glitter and glow
For the evening show
And take a bow as an unknown sensation.

Unabashed by sexuality
Untied by chains
Of commerce;

Such a shame
The line stops here,
Queen of soul;

No young prince
To claim your throne,
A talent entombed
In your own,
Strange Love.

We have spoken many times today
Unheard,
We have touched a thousand memories
Without words;
I can be with you anywhere
We have been, or yearn to go;
You fit,
Like the cliched jigsaw piece
I was born without,
Not just my other half
Another part of my life.
Friend, lover, soul mate
No matter where
No matter what,
You are always in my thoughts.

There is a voice that’s very clear
Talking to me on the verge of freedom
Its sound is warm and reassuring
Stating simple obvious facts
But danger lies within such sentiments
Fear and anger have no place
Like,
Walking on the cracks in the pavement.

“Come in and sit down”
said the celluloid voice,
smooth as silk.
Cautiously I stepped
through the TV screen,
to take my place.


“I will show you a world”
it continued,
“That bears no relation
to what you consider as
REALITY.”


The air around electrified,
as the set was powered to life.


Beautiful bodies playing on a beach,
running into the foaming sea;
sun ripening skin, bleaching hair;
Then, from nowhere a can appears,
elixir of every surfer, sun worshipper.


Somewhere in the distance
a distinctive throaty roar,
the romantic throb of a Harley;
ridden by a pair of jeans
giving identity to,
some muscular male *****;
A dream of America
and freedom.


Slow moody blues solo
hangs in the air;
a guitar talking to a journeyman,
familiar but not remembered.
Every note sustained, holding breath,
then carried by a riff
from a bottle of bourbon.


Outside the set
beautiful bodies are burning up,
through a hole in the ozone.
(Too many limousines and Harleys)
The alcoholic looks on, wide eyed,
trying to see a way in,
really believing there is one.

I love you ferociously
With the anger of protection
The heart of a lion
The soul of a unicorn
Indulged your every fantasy
Secrets kept between you and me.

From far away they come
hard men all,
mercenaries under a foreign sun

oblivious to its rays they
bare all, turning puce red
or peel, under hard hats,

cut down jeans, working boots,
tool belts, like desert rats
fighting for a new horizon

Scouse, Manc, Paddy
nicknamed and framed
by the mockery of their peers

shouting language across green lawns
not yet laid, that most definitely
won’t be heard in the select circles

that will inhabit these modern homes
castles one and all, individually the same
oh no, they won’t be welcome

lowering the neighbourhood tone,
four wheel drive and pick-up
replaced by Mercedes and BMW

Nature settles in again, to frame
like the scar around a wound
healed but never quite the same

So they move on, soldiers of fortune,
mercenaries under a foreign sun
building new structures to change our futures.

I can feel the purr
in his throat
as my fingers pass
across a trusting exposed neck

He lies, Panther like
across my branch leg limb
where we demonstrate
our approximation of love
between two species

Lost in translation sometimes
a little nip to remind me who's boss

We look into each other's eyes
I blink
He blinks
we have our connection.

I am shadow
An unnoticed consequence of light
Tracing footsteps, oh so bright
They blind with their gift
Of brilliance, illuminating
Out shining those of my like.
They don’t want my darkness, my pain
It disturbs their spark with its melancholy,
They know me as soon as see me,
One worth kicking back into touch
Into the darkness of my mood,
Even though I mimic their form
I am un-appreciated, not the same.
Just a little love please, people
Without me you have no outline
Something to define you, give shape
Contrast against your heavenly form
You need me, I make you look good
Following so you can plunder every
Weakness I have.

I saw him that day

Not when he woke, like
Any other morning, next to
The warm naked body of his girlfriend
Still muzzy with sleep, half open eyes
Searching to see his face, unbeknown
To her for the very last time,

That sweet smile,

Not as he kissed her on the doorstep
She, wearing his T shirt baggy on her small
Frame, hiding slim undulating form,
After a breakfast of toast and Marmite
Which he loved, but she had always hated  
The taste could still be detected

On his moist lips,

Not when his bike exploded to life
Fireblade thunder, exhausts spitting
Wrath and fury, the voice of an engine
Wanting to go, go, go, like wind
As though the Devil gave chase
To his helmeted head, full faced

Soon hiding death mask grimace,

Not then, but later,
From a motorway bridge, wondering
Why all the traffic had stopped
Checking for my return journey,
He and the bike lay across the lanes
A little way apart, neither going home,

Next week she’ll move back with her mum.

You have them where you want them
Arms long enough to keep the distance
Measured in limbs rather than miles,
But really it's an attitude, state of mind
That you kid yourself you are someone else
Have grown beyond the childhood jibes
You are your own person, though damaged
The scars are easier to hide

Then they go and die on you
There is sadness and tears, but really
What I am crying for is me, for the life
I was denied. She never said she loved me
Was never proud of what I did or who I was
A source of disappointment even down to
Being a boy, I say the words I should have
Spoken, over and over in my mind.

Painted red lips
Blusher'd rosy cheeks,
Make pallid complexions
Bleed.
Life’s source courses
Through hot veins;
We are all vampires
Attracted to circulation.

There is a girl
With flaming red hair
And tattoos that talk to me
As I follow them inside her shirt,
Everything about her screams
Look at me, look at me!
So I do
Then she creeps into my head
And undresses.

Never had an object
Been imbued with such faith,
Spinning in the air
From rifled barrel, towards
It's target, aimed and released
To the freedom of atmosphere,
A short flight, where it was
Just a piece of metal
Until deadly intention was found out,
Sinking into warm flesh
Momentum gradually lost,
In skin and internal organs
To rest, job done
Inside a victim of circumstance.

We sit in manicured silence
A sterile, germ free environment
But still we share the air
In this room,
Breathing and rebreathing
Our own and each other's fumes.
I can smell your eau de cologne
With a hint of toothpaste,
Though not enough to disguise
The lingering fug of cigarettes
In hair and on clothes,
Unchanged since yesterday, telling
Of that drink on the way home in the pub,
Your hands shake a little, yellowed fingers
Giving away your nicotine addiction;

So doc how's the state of my health.

There are shadows along our city streets
That hold the shape of life,
They wander for the sake of going
Seeking our brightness out;
To cast themselves on our emotions
Sympathy and sorrow, a little guilt perhaps
That we carry our light into our homes,
Not to a bed of cardboard and rags
Where shadows can hide among shadows.

This year clothes me like an old coat
Worn at the elbows, with saggy shoulders
A smell that suggests more wears than washes,
***** tissues and receipts filling pockets
A tear in the lining from a drunken fall,
A tear of pain from an emotional fool
Wiped on a sleeve to preserve my masculinity.

I need to shed this year like a skin
As a spider, a lobster, a snake in the sun
To outgrow and move on from restrictive tissue,
Embrace the world as new again,
Fool myself on New Year’s Eve
I emerge like the butterfly from its cocoon
Reveal my flamboyant new wings,
To kid myself I am reborn.

Lips that I had kissed
Are now denied, the look
That once would hold me,
Not for my eyes, those arms
That could embrace, capture
A moment of grace, body
Clasped against your breast
Your form so vibrant smelt
Like bliss, now hold another
As I ache to be the chosen,

Like watching a ship leave
Harbour, my ardour it's cargo
Like a faith denied, even though
I believed the gospel, I
Never felt at home, we rented
Space fixed in time, by contact
Then denying my crush, you broke
A clause in the contract, what
We shared was no longer us
Turned emotions unrequited.

It's all for a laugh
Why the long face horse's ****,
Put a lightbulb where the sun don't shine
And lighten the **** up
This is a roller coaster, baby
I don't know where it stops
But it's all for the crack
You can stumble as much as you want
Fall if you need to
My hysteria will see the funny
Sunny side of the street
Make a dance for happy feet
So don't be sad
Come laugh it up with the lads
You're one of the boys
Toys that is
We can play all night
But I,
Not so nicely with the other kids.

I am tired;
As a man on a journey
Whose only home is carried on his back,
As a poet who has nothing
But an empty mind and a page that is blank,
As a child born into poverty
With no future and no going back.

It grips me, weighing me
Like a puppy in a sack,
The dark river beckons
Ready to devour,
The cold grip of death
From a breath,
I cannot quite catch.

I am tired
That no rest can cure,
No sleep can quench
No meal can nourish,
No vista uplift,
Tired of existence
To the core of my being.

Holidays are a falsehood we must endure
Lulling us into a sense of freedom that
We can never own, like the soldier from
His barracks or the prisoner his cell,
We are all afraid of our liberty, needing
Monotony in our lives to occupy the hours
Between waking and finally coming to rest
Again, yearning for the courage to escape
But lacking energy or initiative to act,
If ever our chains are cut we become unemployed
We lose our identity pulled down by responsibility
For rent, food, bills, our social commitments,
Turn tail and run, from the very door that
We are so afraid to open.

A window seat at the end of the universe;
To watch planets collide, stars die
Black holes swallow light
Until nothing is left but a darkness,
Darker than the darkest night
Where not even a man made bulb, can penetrate.


While we sip champagne and fine wines
Dine on the tenderest meats of the earth,
Music worthy of the show outside plays
But still we can talk, almost telepathically.


So many times we had thought
We were at the end of our universe,
As our worlds collided, two stars died
Our light swallowed into a black hole
Where not even our love could penetrate.


No sweet music accompanied us
But there was the constant din of life,
Which always prevented us talking
Distracting us from our love of each other
Leaving nothing to talk about.


So before we die, when we are old
And have survived all this world,
Can throw at us;
I want to book a table for two
At the end of the universe.

Said the girl who sleeps ‘till noon
Long past ****’s crow,
Through dawn’s chorus
Rush hour, breakfast news
Until the lengthening of shadows;
“You need to live a little”
On the edge, close to the perimeter
Blade of a knife, cutting life
Do the drugs, drink the alcohol
Put the time in, whenever you can
Then sleep ‘till noon
Long past ****’s crow,
Through dawn’s chorus
Rush hour, breakfast news
Until the lengthening of shadows;
Night is where it’s at
Out with vampires,
Following the werewolf’s howl
Where creatures of darkness prowl,
You don’t need light
Darkening skin and bleaching hair,
Ageing you beyond repair;
Here you can party
‘Till there’s nothing left to party for.

You are so cold
My breath steams

Wraith
Come to haunt my soul

Goosebumped skin

Peripheral vision
Glimpses your true form

Though you hide among the shadows
Behind lies and laughter
That cackles.

Out of place
In a displaced world,
There is a frailty in your touch
A dampness in your kiss
Childlike gestures belie your years
Alice through the Looking Glass
An ****** dream, beset with innocence
Lost many years ago
You are out of your face
In this displaced world
Whirling around my head, spinning
Sliding down the stairs
Laughing at the silliest things
All I want to do
Is *******.

I walked and watched the seasons change
Through the winter cold and rain,
My coat zipped up to my chin
Hands gloved with woolen mittens,
I saw my breath like steam escaping

I walked and watched the seasons change
Saw spring wave it’s magic wand,
Bringing life to trees and plants
A fantasia of riotous foliage and colour,
I felt alive, my stomach fluttered.

I walked and watched the seasons change
In summers warmth the spreading shade,
Gave welcome relief under treed avenue
Where I grew each day and never knew
I headed towards this present day.

To me now it's always autumn there
Along the road I knew so well
Colours fading into golden brown
The walk is over, the mystery gone
My winter of discontent will follow.

Your muse sits on the draining board
Swinging her legs like a child
A quizzical look on her face
As you make yourself a coffee
Eyes follow you round the room,
You haven't spoken in a while

Pen and paper lay where you left them
Since the last time you were inspired
Writing words to shake the world
Simile and metaphor straight from your
Soul, but even though she whispers, nudges
And cajoles, you continue to ignore her

There are other poets in the world
Screaming out for inspiration
Begging for the right word to guide them
Bring them to the ****** of creation
Don't leave the door too long open
She may slip away without you noticing.

I push the revolving glass door
Shuffling almost reverently with it's turn
A pilgrim to the written word, I am entering
The church of human consciousness.
The greatest minds sit here with some
That came in through the back door of
Specialist interest or just plain bizarre.

Alphabetical order belies the years that separate
These authors, some rubbing shoulders with giants
Who have barely been alive long enough to tell
Of real experience, then there are those who have
Stood the test of time, decorating bookshelves
In homes that have never read them, they just
Fulfil their reputation as if by osmosis bringing
An intellectual vibe to the coffee table and
Into the very fabric of the space occupied.

They are all here hiding behind their spines
Luring you with interesting fonts, bright colours
Like jpegs on a contact sheet waiting judgement,
Wanting be taken down and become your big picture
"We have made it, our voices have been heard,
All it takes is imagination to release us within the mind
Your images our words, we can make a movie together."

But I have been spotted, "Whatcha looking at punk
Think you've got what it takes to sit with the likes of us,
Don't go reading me and plagiarizing my well worn
Extensively researched mumbo jumbo clap trap,
So you can call me one of your influences on your CV,
Using my name to make you seem intellectual
Look around, how many do you think didn't make it."

I have gazed too long into the abyss and the abyss
Has gazed back into me, how can I claim to have
Any more to say than the greatest minds on earth
And yet, with pure heart my trembling hand hovers
Over the letters of my qwerty keyboard, pressing
The shift key as if in defiance, identical words,
Just not necessarily with the same meaning.

The piano in the corner is silent
Now Johnny’s gone, shot down over France
And the bar is so much quieter
After Toby died with some Fokker up his ****;
The reality of war has now hit us
The next scramble could be your last,
So let’s have one for the road, boys
Because outside its dark and its cold
The wind sounds hungry to take us
To places we’d rather not go.

The man we all know as “Red Leader”
A *******, but a ****** good laugh
Now dreams each night he is burning
His screams voicing all of our fears,
But we’ll still put a brave face on it
Stiff upper lip and all of that jazz,
Although it feels like we are waiting
For the very last call to arms;
But the bottle on the bar isn’t empty
And death still stands in the wings.

The drone of a “Doodlebug” overhead
On its way to London Town;
How much more can the poor buggers take
With another street blown to hell?
Today, I believe, is Good Friday
So let’s raise our glasses to a man
Who sacrificed life for all our sakes
As we may lose ours for our freedom:
But there’s still some feeling in my body
And time for a few glasses more.

A young kid, just arrived yesterday
Looks at these haggard faces in awe,
To him, this room is full of heroes
Not the ones who have so far survived;
Trained for half the time needed
He is willing to go to war
Only nineteen, but by this time tomorrow
He’ll have aged about ten years more.
So let’s drink to you, young fool
May you live to see a better day.

Headlights, LED's, burning bright
Into my retinas, reflected in rear view
And side mirrors, a radiator grill just
Visible, almost the outline of a person
Behind the wheel, androgynous ghost,
Mad Max or just mad, determined
To drive to wherever, faster than
Anyone else, cocooned in black leather
Heads up display laid out across sweeping
Digital dashboard, vying to pass me;
But what of the queue plainly ahead
Stretching to far horizon, vanishing point,

Perhaps it is supernatural, absorbing traffic
Clearing the way by passing through it,
An alien craft with technology far
Advanced from our slow turning wheels
Selfishly driving alone in our home from
Home interiors, gathering subjects
For an out of this world experience
Or maybe a time machine
Like Back to the Future powered by flux
Capacitor, it will disappear and turn up
Ahead of all of us, or maybe my imagination
Has run riot and it's just another impatient
Idiot.

It had an unbridled joy
Screaming guitars, weeping
As the current flowed through
Pickups, feedback and tremolo
Arm distortion, a cacophony of
Chords, played by would be
Rock stars, accompanied by
Thundering drums and a base
Turned up to number eleven,

It wasn't about the music, it
Was about the noise, the energy
Generated by hundreds of sweaty
Bodies out for blood, out with
The boys, nothing pleasant here
An outpouring of emotion, beyond
The pale, it exists in us all, but
Only some could tap the source, for
A chance to be a three minute hero.

Commercialisation won in the end
Bringing the ugly monster to its
Knees begging for fortune, craving
More fame, as soon as the track was
Recorded punk died on a mixing desk,
Some kept a little kudos, pretending
Not to play the game, some died trying
To be an eternal flame, some are there
Still, banging out the good old days.

I love lighthouses;
Lonely, desolate, cold
Grown out of rocky outcrops
Designed by monolithic architects,
Where only ascetic souls can call home
Their light, a beacon in the darkness
To protect sailors from the smouldering sea,
And all her whiles and trickery
One lonely light, that shines out
Like faith, like hope, like love
So mariners will not plot a course
Into the shallow depths of death,
Book a room in Davy Jones’ Locker.

Where, oh where has this money been?
It's been up to London to buy me a woman.
When you'd had your pleasure, what else did you there?
Took in a live show, some sights to enjoy.
When you had seen, what did you then?
Went home to the wife, a yarn to spin.
Did you not waste such hard-earned cash?
I need the excitement, the seedy thrill.

Where, oh where has this money been?
Changed hands in a back street for needle and syringe.
What was then done to inject some feeling?
A little ******, just to keep me going.
But what about AIDS and ***?
It's one of those things that won't happen to me.
How do you finance such expensive tastes?
Sell stuff to kids at the going rate.

Where, oh where has this money been?
It bought me a meal and a little something to drink.
How did you earn this financial gain?
Begged it off some geezer down the Embankment.
Why are you out here sleeping so rough?
It's a long tale of women, gambling and drink.
What of these others with whom you share this door?
Just poor bleeding kids with no ******* jobs.

Where, oh where has this money been?
It bought me a contract with a few back handers.
And who did you bribe for their deceit?
Oh, it wasn't bribery, just a little commercial grease.
What will you build to make your mark?
Another block of flats, fully air-conditioned.
On what in the past is your empire built?
Prostitution, gambling, and a few tons of drugs.

They had a scent
That filled her room,
Tempting fate, that
Pretty soon she’d fall.

Bold and bright
They caught the light,
From an otherwise empty
Shelf in her life.

Severed stems, like
Severed limbs flounder
In murky water,
Still in shock;

They don’t even know
They’re dead yet.
A glorious sacrifice
At a moderate price.

How long will he stay,
Before the murky night
Covers his severed love,
Leaving dead flowers in a vase?

You could see the scars
where coloured ink sank deep,
making patterns in his flesh;
deeper than a love
which prompted the first cut,
one drunken night on shore leave
in some long forgotten port;
when Stacy was his girl,
decorated with a rose.


Then a panther leapt to mind,
embedding its image into the skin
of his back;
a dark shadow to protect him
from danger of surprise attack.
But its blind eyes
never saw the knife,
when he lost his life
in a bar room brawl.


The world had gradually
coloured him in,
etching out a journey
from Far East to Babylon,
across all the oceans.
The devil sat at his shoulder
so he knew where to find him.
A dragon on his right arm,
snake and dagger on the left.
At night in fractured dreams, they’d fight,
breathing fire and spitting
reptilian venom.


It seemed a shame to bury him,
he really belonged in a gallery.
But the sea accepted
without any fuss,
the man whose imagination
was for all to see,
drawing attention to himself.

In nature
The colour black does not exist
Man himself invented it;
It pleased his eye
The density, its ability to swallow light,
Blacker than the blackest night
Darker than the darkest skin;
He made it evil
Made it sin
But always it attracted him,
The way it swallowed everything.

Tattoo'd songstress,
Contralto vocals from a
Broken heart, Cohen's bird
On a wire, exalting freedom
All the while tied to intoxication,
Those who loved her
Wished her well, but she was
Pressgang'd, harassed
Until she finally flew away,
Leaving only that voice
Her Spirit trapped in a CD case.

We go about ordered lives
No waves, ripples, just surging
Tide, not noticing undercurrents
Disturbing depths, interfering
With our status quo, dragging
Under, the unwary who are tugged,
To where disturbance manifests.

They swim, fools, against
All odds, knowing they'll drown
If they once show weakness
But something drives them,
Until they surface for breath
showing themselves, rebellious
Causing foaming surf.

Mexican waves follow, courage
In numbers, crowd not individual,
Becoming the storm that has always
Been Brewing, flooding into the comfort
zone, telling the truth becomes a
Revolutionary act, that we know in the
End brings still waters again.

A body in motion
Translating sound into
Action, stepping bowing
Then momentarily,
She flies.


A perfect, graceful sight
Muscles taut, try to keep
Pace with a mind, that
Not even gravity
Can corrupt.


Her torso sculpted by
Dedication, passion,
Anger and pain, so that
She may perhaps go on
To fly again.


Floating through the air like
Water, black and sombre;
But she dies in the end,
Old age clipping her wings
Into submission.

Our fragile souls
Mere wisps
Trapped in aging shells
That one day will no longer hold
Substance
Released, where do we go,
To dance among the stars in heaven
Take our place in it's mantle
With the constellations,
Or do we disappear as though
We never existed, mere dust
To blow across the earth
And never settle,
Reincarnated perhaps
To right the wrongs of previous
Existence.

When the night is long
And sleep evades me
I wonder
What fate awaits me.

Omnipresent
Voiceless, faceless  hatred
Unwillingly accepted
By data communication,
Even when you're not there
I feel you, words piercing
Through flesh, deeper
Than the love of family ties
Criticism, every little thing
Scrutinised.
I am left with one door open
Follow me if you dare.

I have denied you during my life
Blasphemed like a docker or soldier
But I know in the end you'll be with me
As the Devil looks over my shoulder.

Your poetry is like
Liquorice
Or
Pernod
Or
Absinthe
Believe me, I want it to be sweet
Get me drunk
Hallucinate
But that ****** bitter taste
Keeps coming up
All I can feel is nauseous
So, I put you back on the shelf
Waiting for the next
Charity shop run.

I would love to be a famous poet
Featured in literature, plagiarised,
Asked for comment, so and so
From somewhere (age) said
Verbatim, 'quotation marks'
To reveal a piece of myself,
Make known my stance on any
Subject, but I'm a van driver
From Essex, all I'm supposed
To talk about is football, which
I hate, though I look like Raffa
Which doesn't help (If you want
to see my face, look at him, my
Italian doppelganger)
I attract abuse,
People come up to me and call me
A ******
For some decision he made,
They're stupid but not actually stupid
Enough to believe Raffa works as a courier
In Essex, are they?
So I sit naked on my bed
Writing bad poetry
Wishing
I was someone else, instead
Of a Raffa alter ego,
A Poet
Who is quoted in literature, plagiarised
Asked for comment,
Someone who mattered and
Was listened to.

Had I not shaved my head
My hair would grow wildly
Directionless, as the wind blows
On wintry days, battering trees
Pushing branches to and fro
Without symmetry or sympathy,
I would look boyish from afar
A little disconcerting, my face
Framed with greying beard
A little desperate to hold onto
The passing years as my youth
Recedes into male pattern baldness,
(The genes don't lie), it would be
An extension of my personality
Unruly, childish, carefree, immature
This is how I could express myself
Had I not shaved my head
Wanting to keep it all inside.

I lie here, supine
Listening to sirens
Heading out towards the motorway
Somewhere, someone's evening
Has turned bad,
In the streets outside the echo
Of teens on mopeds
Reverberates between the
Terraced houses, squeezing
All they can out of a 125 engine
While squeezing all the joy that is left
Out of everyone's sunday night,
Before we all head meekly to work
On monday morning
Weekend warriors, tamed by
The restraints of finances,
Needing to earn the freedom
Of another fix next friday.
I lie here on my side
A pillow blocking at least some
Of the cacophony,
More sirens head out towards
The motorway, someone's life
Has turned into a disaster
All I wanted was an early night.

And while Notre Dame burns
Conspiracy theorists rewrite history
On their terms.

The air was different back then, somehow lighter, less heavy metals floating around and nuclear sunsets I suppose. I was born in the 60's but the 70's are my era, long hair, flares, large collars and music that still haunts today. What you need is children to amalgamate past, future, present. With their mp4's, downloads, (records and CD's old hats no one's wearing anymore ) tv box set binges, live pause, catch up, iPads, iPhones, igiveup. Technology speaks to them in so many different tongues and guises, the world has shrunk down to "someone is typing" messages from the other side of the world, nay the universe, friendships based on snapchat, facebook, twitter that don't even have the decency to start with a capital letter, Skype, facetime, with people you don't even have to 'know' coming round wanting tea and outstaying their welcome, instead hanging back in the ether waiting for the right moment the right meme to slot into the conversation. I sit and let it all wash over me, a tide ebbing and flowing long into the night, stretching time zones and bedtimes to the limit,  in fact talking beyond bed, those waves never sleeping always whispering, I share music and photographs that are things from my life, they will never understand beyond the boring stories I tell them, a fount of useless information that flows, analogue from the corner of the room, the old man, the old days, you never had it so good, I am in awe, everything new, all to discover, everything to play for, world  full of possibilities, not the same old 9-5 humdrum waiting for the weekend so we can pretend to be free again, it's all happening now. I enjoy these moments as an observer, no need to join in just sit and smile, with an occasional LOL or amusing emoji. My daughter bought Hotel California on vinyl the other day, I'm still in there, somewhere.

You make me feel awkward
Your beauty a weapon
Rendering me speechless and helpless
I am one of the waifs and strays
Standing in the shadows
Observing the game, looking for losers
Potential friends.

I want to go to bed but my daughter is in the bath again; we're gonna have to pay on a meter soon, (it seems it's a privilege not a right), so I wonder how much all those drops will cost, I'll just have to cough up, baths are an essential of a girl's life and I couldn't stand the whining if I said it's showers from now on; I don't get baths, immersed in hot water, gradually turning cold, swimming in all your own sweat, (human soup), "They help you relax" she says, RELAX! she's not the one paying the bills, stressing over where the next meal is coming from; all I'd think of is the things I could be doing instead of wallowing, old people die in baths, some even drown in them, some husbands take a bath with an electrical appliance (plugged in, courtesy of the wife), John Haigh dissolved his victims in the bath in sulphuric acid, showers every time for me, wash away the dirt down the drain, with all the stress of the day; bath bombs, what's that about, not some sort of terrorist threat, it's smelly stuff that sort of explodes when put in water, impregnating the skin with smells and potions, (human potpourri), I just want to go to bed, I'm tired and have work tomorrow, what the **** does she do in there for hours on end.