why do we care
who follows us
narcissistic popularity
with faceless friends
who we have no hope
of ever catching up with
they’re not coming round
for tea and cake
you’re not cooking dinner
opening the wine
laying the table just right
none of them really give a ****
because like you
they want your likes
like for like
liking you living your best life
in the two second spotlight
of their stream
these are new friends
avatars on a screen
edited to oblivion
so you can barely see
where the cracks begin
we live in the moment
and report every movement
hoping someone will love us
so we can lead them on

bathed in light
I can almost touch
it feels alive around me
enveloping
I feel my ancestors fear
and respect
as I capture it
on digital SD card

Never allowed to grow
Beyond ornamental,
Small perfect leaves
On small well pruned branches;
To please the eye
Of miniature torturers.


Cramped in a micro life,
Roots restrained
Within un-natural boundaries.
The promise of a tree
Never really fulfilled,
Beyond a whisper.


Fussed over relentlessly,
Like an O.C.D.
Perfect shape and form,
Trained from natural beauty,
To sit on a shelf
Hidden from reality.

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.

second sight alternate mind
sliding down the slippery *****
chasing a rabbit into fantasyland
the world is the same but changed
this drink is full of laughter
this drink makes everything strange
and why am I here you may ask
as I refill my already refilled glass
to find myself of course
I've looked everywhere else
and this is the only place I exist
at the bottom of a bottle
recycling  the abyss
I am alive tingling inside
and I know he is waiting
on the hangover side, but
I'll let him deal with it **** it up
while I just crawl away to Hyde
until he is again enticed
to walk away from his Jekyllite life
we're all inmates so what's your poison
prisoners here in alcoholism

all that sits and waits
for him at home
is one lousy mangy dog
and the man thinks
that it is his
like some jealous lover
keeping a mistress

he doesn't understand
that the dog will never leave

an unconditional love

unlike all the women
he has ever tried to own

I smell on your clothes
the reek of addiction
yellowed fingers betray
your burning passion

never too near a vein
the pills
left where they can be found
and always someone on hand
to save the day
your silent shout
heard by distant crowds
who want to help
but don't know how
one day you have to realise
just how ******* mundane
life is
then you can join in
with the rest of us

somewhere there's a party
you're not invited to
but the little red dress
will gate-crash the venue
desperately trying to cover
more than it reveals
it will have a better time
than ever you can imagine
until disappointment reveals
it clothes a mere mortal
not some Hellenic goddess
a mirage of alcohol
a signal of distress
somewhere there's a party
you shouldn't be invited to
full of danger, anguish
and an end to innocence

I wish I still smoked
**** yeah
It's the ritual
the need to make time
to die a little
opening a new pack
shiny cellophane
the lid flipped back
paper seal for freshness
pulled out to reveal
20 happy moments spent
inhaling, coughing, thinking
the soft packets
where you flicked the
cigarettes out like movie
stars and the Marlboro man
who are all dead now
roll ups, kit form bronchitis
liquorice flavour papers
combining childhood flavours
with adult life takers
the smell clinging to clothes
and hair dragon breath
but we all looked so ****** cool
so adult so grown up
so ****** clueless, *******
on our manly pacifiers
I wish I still smoked
**** yeah
just don't have the courage
some how

if you want to find me
I am slightly left of centre
at the back, a different colour
more drab, grey even
quite unnoticeable
an extra in a street scene
there to make the numbers up
a voice in a choir drowned out
by those around me
probably mouthing the words
half remembered
a shadow on a sunlit street
where everyone is having
a good time, or on the beach
sitting staring out to sea
no small talk, not even hello

my mind is shooting
gathering experience
like tracer fire
target secured

the cherry blossom blooms brightly
nature smiles on deserted streets
leaving a carpet of pink to colour
the desolate lonely landscape
it's like an empty welcome home
begging for the normality of children
playing among the flowers, commuters
enjoying the colour of a bright spring
morning on their way to work where
work is no longer an option
the trees will fruit from the poison earth
only the birds will enjoy their bounty
man no longer a part of what was once
a home, a life, a sanctuary

The waves hold secrets
of fishermen's lives
fishermen's wives

buried at sea
sacrificed
giving life
to the ones they love
left on the shore, looking out
to an endless horizon
praying for God's mercy, love

safe return
for the fishermen
and the fisherman's friends
who left port
with bravado, confidence
they could conquer Neptune's wrath
sail between heaven and hell
bringing home the catch
from the depths

celebrate another day of life
snatched from the precipice
of a watery grave

these are my coward shoes
we have walked many a mile
leaving trouble behind
unafraid to lose

they are comfortable and warm
with a slight smell of deceit
to be a coward you lie
keeping your happy feet

I see your inside outside
smiling at me
topography of your personality

this is a poor mans heaven
rooms lit by a golden glow
as the sun shines for a moment
to illuminate it's kingdom
before dipping behind a horizon
where only memories can light
the way to a promised land
it is fleeting moments like this
that feed my soul and elevate me
spiritually to a kind of epiphany
the same sun man has worshipped
since his beginning of time

I have built this temple
I have mounted this throne
made myself ruler
of a cold empty world
passed my own laws
that I flout everyday
for mine is the glory
of my special way
I have been left deprived
of love and affection
now I give myself
everything never left wanting
you can enter this realm
maybe sit yourself down
I need someone to polish
my oversized crown

emotional kata
series of strokes
against the resistance
of canvas
a picture evolves
almost like nature
becoming organic
an extension of emotion
battle conquering calamity
the brush talks
even shouts some passages
poem based in
pigment and oil
at the end
everyone is exhausted
something happened
beyond the reasonable
control of evolution

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 bought some Dr. Martens
a leather jacket to go with
T-shirts, logo'd
Nirvana, *** Pistols, Incubus

but what I wanted to buy
was the swagger
the intense feeling
of not giving a ****
I'm going to live forever
and there's nothing you can do
about it
invincible
with attitude
spitting in the street

I used to watch The ******
Motorhead
Conflict

I was there as the Police
went in ******* horseback

but the only attitude I found
was the young kid serving
looking me up and down

thinking

midlife crisis
you fat, balding
grey haired old ***.

you are venomous
I said
she smirked
and gave a little hiss
we are washed up
on snake island
a one bed flat
where a monstrous building
has been converted
into lamentable
living spaces
for lonesome souls à deux
neighbours plague us
through paper thin walls
but we have found our own
strange happiness
in our serpent coils

I will scratch that itch
and she will devour my anger

in a room dimly lit
we play back half a relationship
like it's something we deserve
or even dare to understand

he brought in cakes and out of
politeness I had to ask
how old he was,
just twenty two
I've got T' shirts older than you
I can't even remember the stupidity
the freedom and immortality
of days that just escaped me
tossing them aside as though
they were in endless supply

you wait until every precious
moment is a gift
sunsets mark an inevitable end
and the days are dark
when you neither laugh nor cry

he runs across the floor
eight legged little beastie
one of nature's nightmare tools
a necessary evil, clean-up module
I leave him alone, as much right as I
to this lonely landing in moonlight

the clatter of machinery
invades my bedroom
as rotors defeat gravity
for as long as fuel allows
someone's on the run
headed for the woods
at the back of my house
why do they think the
darkness of trees and
undergrowth will hide
them from infrared's
all seeing eye, their
journey to freedom
is about to end dramatically
under spotlight
I've got to get up for work
in under four hours

you always buy a ticket
got to be in it to win it
life is a lottery
a game of chance loss or gain
betting on a horse that’s lame
always loaded to the dealer’s hand

wake up
wake up

from the dream
tomorrow is another day
because you see it that way
the moment is now
never before lived
the place may be familiar
but take in the landscape

forgive yourself the pain
bad decisions flawed refrain
your future is here and now
step through the door
take a bow

waiting for the miracle

burning candles at both ends
on the alter of time
hanging out with false friends
the blind leading the blind
enraptured by belief
that we all have our chance
dreaming through existence
that some may call a life

waiting for the miracle

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.

Bread from waxed paper packet
a childhood memory of mum making tea
snow white, thick sliced
fringed with a brown crust
comfortingly heavy, ****** smelling
the butter pleases me
covered under the tub lid
with a coated paper peeled back
to reveal a thick golden slab of
churned cream easily spread, cold
straight from the fridge onto waiting
fibrous surface, allowing it to sink in
cheese in a yellow block, related to
the butter in so many ways, dairy
a long lost brother, sliced thick with
a proper knife with the pointed curved
tip, designed to ***** and pick up
each slice, placing carefully on the bed
prepared for it to rest, ready for the final
ochre coloured element, mustard, from
a glass jar using a teaspoon, to dollop
before resting a second buttered slice
on top to make a creation, a taste sensation

there are days
when even your own phone
doesn't recognise you

stranger face

it's when you find out
who your real friends are

the ones who make an effort
to talk to you

rain illuminates
the pathway
by virtue of street lights
iridescent
in the vapour
past the drug dealers house
to the dark shadows
of conifers
whose outline hides
the shape of potential
muggers lying in wait
I watch through the arrow slit
of the bathroom transom window
of my fortress home
cleaning my teeth
while my ring doorbell's
paranoid cyclops eye
keeps vigil

the cracks in the mirror
start to show
makeup morning
                              clown
becomes the show
unrecognisable face
made up to be
someone you know
still laughing
just not sure at what anymore

to be like us
stamped on, tortured, beaten to dust

a jealous rage that yells
at the gates of perceived equality

you want our world
then have it

you were beautiful
unique
mysterious

so welcome
now you're not

you reach out
but the journey is too far
and I have not the faith
to go the distance
the void between us
is a chasm I can't bridge
it's not you, it's me
all the old excuses
it is easier to be alone
than to try to share time
open some doors
push some boundaries
all this potential activity
is met with my weariness
of all the times
I've been let down before

can you see the girl
as she traverses the street
a world of hope
on heavily grounded feet
she walks in shadow
she walks in light
the hope of creation
the burden of love
where she is going
we can only guess
she can take us with her
for the want of a kiss
to get to know her
walk in her light
or follow behind
in the shadow she casts

if ever you wondered what purgatory
looked like, it's here
whatever these poor ******* did
they have paid
in spades
here on forgotten streets
among the flotsam and jetsam
drifting
from the higher echelons of society
this is Skid Row
the lowest you can go
doorway to hell
Skid Row is everywhere

the sun rises
birds sing
cars ignite into life
sky lightens with the dawn
could be rain could be shine
people populate streets
work calls
school and errands to run
a day like any other
except today is my birthday
when this whole miracle began
the sun rising
birds singing
cars revving
sky lightening
people to and froing
for the first time
in my existence
a long time ago
it is all still a miracle
just now I don't notice so much
because it is getting closer
to it's end

sometimes the prisons that hold us
have no walls ceiling or door
we are our own jailer
judge and jury
we’re the only ones
can set us free

as I left the theatre
she held the door open for me
the hint of a smile on lip-sticked lips
slipping into her leather jacket
to combat the cold night air
leaving an intoxicating trace of perfume
I'm just a face in the crowd
that she never noticed or will remember
" cheers " and an attempted smile
as we interacted for the only time
in our lives, but I miss her
she stole my lust
and a youth I never had

I miss the satisfaction
of that little lever
advancing cellulose
frame by frame
for an unseen exposure
until developer hits film
producing an image
clicked at 1/60th of a second
in time

I think you're gone
but there is inside me
that voice
disapproving, judging
I had celebrated my freedom
with a Budweiser
and some tears
not realising like
Steven King's
Lawnmower Man
you had been released
into my every nerve ending
my very being
part of my matrix
in life you had the strength
of an ark angel
and as I stumble
over these words
I am afraid retribution
is at hand
I am still scared of secrets
to let too much show
you once asked if I still
write poetry after dissing it
well I'd hardly call it that
this is my fear factory

I bought a Leica camera
someone said
it must take really great pictures
I sat and watched it
for over an hour
it never left my bag

how do you feel

the silence weighs heavy between us

gone the friendly how ya doin’
for which I had the stock
I’m fine how are you
now we’ve brought real emotion
now we’ve opened a door

I really haven’t a clue
I’m a little sad
because winter makes me feel that way
among the trees shedding leaves
something dies in me
there is the loneliness of Christmas
from when parents wanted the cuckoo
to leave the nest

I’m happy when the sun shines
casting smiles among the shadows
I’m afraid I’ll live this day
with the disappointment of any other
little achieved in too short a time

how am I
I feel like
a hurricane in a tunnel
a fall on a spiral stairway
a dark stain on a white carpet
an accident in a car park
a raindrop on the windshield
of a moving car, an unseen shooting star
a baby feeling hunger for the first time

I feel like I’m going to burst into tears
for no apparent reason

I feel the money for this hour was wasted
I’m leaving going nowhere

king of colour
a whisper
into the future
unheard in his time
died in the pursuit
of painting a world
in his head
visions of oil
on canvas windows
into his soul
sorry your work
is for the rich and famous
not for everyone
as it was made

flowers by the roadside
tell their tale
all things must end
prematurely sometimes
you move on to enjoy your day
a little lighter
a little brighter
sometime
it will be your flowers
your story
but not yet
now is time to celebrate life

they take my blood for their machines
to analyse
the very heart of me
laid bare to scrutiny

a diagnosis
of an ill I never realised
I needed a prescription for
just to survive
so nice of them
to save my life
but I feel fine

set a scene
to visit when you're alone
lets call it your happy place
it is waiting
somewhere in the trees
among the rushes by a stream
in flowering meadows
evergreen
permanent summer
caught in warm breeze
where you can rest
your ill at ease
visit as often as you can
feel it, taste it, soak it in
it is your freedom
beyond locked doors
isolation
the hatred of man

we build a bridge
one brick at a time
that will hold our weight

so we can run into
each others arms again

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.

in the end
every warzone looks the same
eyeless broken buildings
personal possessions strewn
across rubble scattered streets
the odd house
against all odds still standing
the sudden shock of a body
the husk of a life
where is the victory
where is the glory
why do men have to break so much
just to say they won