we put on our road face
grill mask to intimidate
motorway warriors
"make way, make way"
weaving in and out of lanes
twin exhausts show our power
important tints
"you can't see me now"
travelling in the same direction
to all our different destinations
individuals on our journeys
through time and space
this is the human race

she bought me more pens
from zoos and amusement
parks than I’ll ever need
for miles of thoughts
I’ve no time to travel
envisaged a desert of
white paper waiting
for the sky to rain
words turned to pros
and verse, you are a
writer dad she said
in need of inspiration
and this is all I have
to give your fertile mind
but she is wrong so wrong
my inspiration is her
my reason to carry on
belief in what I do
all the ink in the world
could not express just
how much I love her

he said he had a bad back
(the front wasn't too hot either!)
playing for my sympathy
looking for a pity party
trying to be the bigger man
struggling on through
the storm of pain

I hurt every day
because I'm supposed to
it's how I know I'm still alive
I didn't tell him
he might've cried

I held the door open
for the man who let me in
but he decided to stay
and grace us with his presence
for at least a while longer
a chance
to get to know who is
inside the armour
a putting down of the shield
hidden behind for so long
even after great personal loss
he gripped my hand
with affection rather than
hanging on for dear life
and every time I leave him
alone in his hospital bed
I feel a slice of the great loss
I very nearly experienced

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.

she wears a t-shirt
two hands printed
exactly where I want to put mine
jeans must be sprayed on
so impossibly tight
hugging a figure
I can only describe
as voluptuous
but those eyes
I cannot meet as they stare
right into my soul
piercing through me
defying my inappropriate thoughts
though for all the world
she invites them
thankfully the bus came
and I left her
advertising whatever it was
I hadn't noticed in the first place

falling falling
through space
that is only mine
this is my tragedy
you're not welcome here
the husk of my life
thrown to the wind
wherever I land
is where fate intended
me to be
take your understanding
your emotions are your own
I am falling falling
destiny my home

Incubus Drive
is when me and the neighbours fall out
it's not just the volume
furniture moving bass
but I have to sing
full shout
I know all the words
you see
cos I played it
so many ******* times
it's ingrained on my beer brain
all my inhibitions
blown out
I'm on stage
in front of the microphone
air guitar
I'm no Brandon Boyd
but by Christ I'm on fire tonight

I set this train a' rolling
down tracks with no stations
knowing a wreck inevitable
of this wild and ridiculous ride
wind in my hair taut expression
flesh stretched across a face
expecting the outcome

I occupy this space
unconquered
unclaimed
just a matter of existence

this is where I shall begin
in this pool of life
displaced by so many others
until it is overflowing

I am beyond the gates of birth
released to a wild horizon
don't tame me
I'm exactly who I should be

I left my soul here somewhere
have you seen it?
black leather cover
some blank pages
but most scribbled
with illegible fountain pen ink
a desperate hand
searching for meaning out
of the darkness of light
it's not that important really
I just can't live without it

will I enter the kingdom of heaven
through pearly gates
or a crack
in the garden fence
will I take a stairway
Led Zeppelin like
or an overgrown path
that's hard to trace
will there be anyone waiting
to welcome my earthly trace
or will I have to find
my own imperfect space

or perhaps there is a highway
that leads to a warmer place

my daughter
left a bath bomb
on the windowsill
of our bathroom
it looks like the moon
has crashed to earth
breaking into pieces
I watch it disintegrate
in the moisture in the air
every day more and more
and as I watch
I miss her

Deliciously bored
Staring from a window, alone
Midwinter, sunday afternoon
Trees bare their skeletal form to the rain
That runs in rivulets down glass
Scientifically designed to keep the draft out,
Nowhere to be, so I may as well be here
Deliciously bored as I was when a child
Though then I wanted it all to happen,
The world to rush at me, engulf me so
I could drink it in, experience, digest, evaluate
But now it just passes me by, time to waste
Rather than worrying about wasted time
So for now I will enjoy this feeling
Nose pressed against a window pane
Leaving breath patterns on the glass
That is scientifically made to keep the draft out.

when I first tried it
on the world
it was a loud incomprehensible
yell
but they came running
pandering to my every need
though sleep deprived and ragged
I was the centre of their life
but as I grew they stopped listening
despite the advancement
of language skills
I became dismissed
an irritant
so it got quieter
reduced to a whisper

depicted on her arm
hieroglyphs and pictorial charm
tattoo sleeve deep dive
into an ocean of everything
she finds so hard to relate
left hanging in the air
but don't question it
like the elephant in the room
move right on stranger
it's not speaking to you
there is a cult of believers
a religion based on trust
if you need to ask the reason
non-believer you are lost
in a garden that's a secret
that's already cast you out
you'll never know her freedom
it's a dish you just can't taste

a knot of traffic
unravels
to reveal.... nothing
no reason for delay
no great drama
just
too many people
in too many cars
in one place
at one time
wanting to be in front
all more important
than everybody else

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.

a drug addled brain
wrote this refrain
I can relate
but never realise
the need to scratch the itch
where the needle went in
to release this vision
from a troubled soul
of pure thought
I will never know
the suffering it brought

I couldn't have made it
without you
from recognising a kindred spirit
to discovering a soulmate
beyond passion, beyond even love
you are part of me

tongues tied inside our mouths
eyes closed to the endorphin rush
from sensations of feel and touch
as we explore the possibilities
of just how far we want to go

tongues tied inside our mouths
from intimacy to strangers now
separated by fear and trust
the spell is broken magic dispelled
what's been seen can't be forgotten

if you were given a gun today
and told to fight for freedom
who would you shoot first

I'm sorry I'm so much like you
that you want to live through me
my alabaster features
from the same old block chipped
spitting of your image
if images could spit

I'm sorry I'm so much like you
because I wanted to be me
experience days, months, years
not a predestined journey
with footsteps I should follow
treading in your expectations

so that one day when I'm not
the dream you had for me
I become the disappointment
in your family tree

where shadows fall
another world ignites
flaming in my brain
monsters crawl
product of a fertile mind
and I run screaming
but I can never escape
because they are in me

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.

someday I'd like to sit
in my armchair
by the window
bathed with sunlight
book open at a portal
to drift off into storyland
like Alice
down the rabbit hole

I am sorry for the intermission
in your life that was me
do not adjust your set
normal service will be resumed
shortly

I was in love with love
immersed in a melancholy desire
for the affections of someone
who never existed I now realise
beyond my own stupid head

wrapped in imagination
tied with bows of fantasy
a present I could never open

anticipation
always more magical
than the actual event

this love was of my own creation
impossible for reality to measure up to
she's still up there somewhere
I visit when I can
in quiet moments of contemplation
the mistress of my brain

what scares me most
is the crazies could be right
the **** stirrers and cynics
could have a point
what if the non believers
have the truest religion of all
what if the doomers and gloomers
hold the light
and the true path is oblivion
into meaningless night

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.

the surprise attack
is always a great play
feigning love interest
like the pitbull never wags it's tail
all the time waiting for a fight
for no other reason
than to let it all go

I swat futilely at the moth
whose larvae happily eat
my bedroom carpet
here for my nightly ritual
antacid
teeth clean
bed
suddenly I wonder
at my own mortality
where is this all going
then I smell it again
odour of rancid sweat
only in one small area
but no mistake
it feels as though the moths
and someone have unfinished
business here
a carpet to eat
a life not long enough
to achieve everything
still hanging on
not quite ready to leave
so maybe we never have enough time
to be satisfied
still, no heartburn tonight
and my breath is minty fresh
(I can almost hear those buggers chewing
as I go to sleep)

I love the two wheeled demons
they are in my soul waiting
to let fly
all my inhibitions
I have studied them
coveted them
but the courage to be free
defeats me
as I see the smiling face of death
on the first hairpin bend

I have looked upon his face
so many times
on windows that he graced
pictures on pages of the pious kind
relied upon his mercy
when all else failed
while calling his name in vain
after some ill or painful wound
but I have never looked
him in the eye
for fear that true belief
might trespass in my mind

so he sits and waits
for the knock at the door
that isn’t a knock
the blindness of a light
brighter than the sun
that isn’t a light
an open pathway
that isn’t a road of any kind
for the man with the scythe
and the winning smile
who doesn’t exist
well not on this plain
he can feel the end is starting
with a new beginning
and death
whatever that is
has come to take his soul

now he knows the answer we all seek

she pirouettes on the edge of shadows
dancing in the light
danger lurks in dark corners
beauty unappreciated
the only colour in the room
seen only as a meal
begging for the trap
of silken ropes tied tight
around a beautiful body
so life can be snuffed out
I take my shower and watch
should I intervene
or let nature take it's course

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.

the human heart
is not made to endure loss
the human soul
is not made to endure loneliness
it takes from us
an irreplaceable piece
cast into the stardust
of the universe
from where it came
where one day
we may find it again

Geppetto didn't make me
God did
no matter how broken I am
he's not fixing me
any time soon
and I never was a real boy

I became hard
not like a man
but like a stone
impenetrable
camouflaged
a pebble on
the beach
able to blend
in with all the
other pebbles
and let the tide
wash over me

the dark brooding cloud
that hangs some way off
is the distance between us
supercell of anxiety
will it rain or just
dissipate
is the thunder threatening
or just the rumblings
of a fresh summer storm
after a heatwave

we both look at the forecast
for tomorrow
and with heavy hearts
see what the long range
predictions are
there may be some
patches of sunshine
in moments when we forgive and forget
the odd warm day
here and there
but we both know
winter is coming
and snow is on the horizon

her mind is chaos
thought after thought
chase each other around
a brain that never rests
half finished jobs
lie strewn across a kitchen
table where we cannot eat
and if she's lost something
watch out, better to let
the hurricane settle, for
storm winds to blow
themselves out than
disturb a train of memory
I have books and cd's
in alphabetical order
love the peace of our fish
swimming in their tanks
I am the eye where calm
persists and she sometimes
visits to rest her brain
I have learnt that love can
conquer so many differences
and this little ship we sail
has never threatened to sink yet

you had so much clay
to mould into
the perfect shape of existence
why did you punish so many
on their road to Damascus

no great ceremony for a Tuesday
it slips into the rest of the week
quietly jostling for position
giving Wednesday a shove
telling it to wait it's turn
pushing Monday out the way
which nobody liked and everyone dreaded
we start to forget to mourn the past weekend
even looking forward to the next
just like us it has every right to be here
perhaps even miracles can happen
perhaps this is where it all comes good

Henry Moore, the sculptor
has in his kitchen an original
Picasso
on the wall above the fridge
so every time he made a cuppa
he was reminded of his friend
not a fancy canvas in a frame
but a drawing on A4 sketch pad page
you can imagine the pair of them
discussing art and Henry giving
some small token to Pablo
of his work
and saying you know you should
paint some blue cows
it'll be good for you
you can invent the Emperor's new clothes
as often as you want
if you're a genius
and they would laugh over a glass
of whisky
Pablo went on to give life, of sorts
to his blue cows
oh, and I used to deliver whisky
to Henry Moore's house

I have seen them,
lost among the rows of Marble and Granite
quietly whispering conversations
left too late in life

tears flooding from ducts
that spontaneously leak with sorrow
emotion they have no control of
bursting from deep within

they lay flowers
and sometimes trinkets, imagining
somewhere
the person they are talking to
is watching over them

last weekend it was my turn
for the first time, laying my offering of roses
though I didn't know what to say
except,
"Happy birthday Mum"

your metre blackens the page
beautifully dancing fonts
caress the delicate surface
like skaters tracing their dance
across the ice in blades

an expression of genius perhaps

your gorgeous muse laughs
joyously titillating imagination
positively prostituting herself
to your phallus stylus *******
your fertile imagination
spawning verse birthing phrase

and I don’t understand
a single ******* thing you said

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.

even the dimmest light
on the darkest night
shines bright

I enter what I can only describe
as a waking dream
staring into the future
I see him, a hint of recognition
around his eyes
grey hair, no,  more silver
like the light has brought it
alive
far wiser than me
more forgiving
I realise that for all
my chasing
hunting the sunbeam
it has always been there
in the landscape, captured
by my photographic obsession
it never left me
I have always been a part of that light
and my future self
has been struck
ignited
like a lightening bolt