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.

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

I once had vanity
searching for my likeness
in shop windows
looking for my place in the world
a glimpse of what others saw
in shaving mirrors
every morning
willing unwilling hair to grow
prove my manhood
see what I'd become

my gaze is focused earthward now
unshaven face unruly hair
no longer need for bathroom encounters
although reflected in mans shiny surfaces
a vampiric absence is all I witness
I looked too deep into that empty space
I occupied within my race
no longer seeking to fit in
I've become an outlaw mortal sin

Ronnie our biggest pup
hates car journeys
making her throw up
I hoped it was something
she would get used to
but my daughter said
perhaps its because
she associates it with
the last time she ever saw her mother
I never thought of that

If I ever make it
these books will burn
I don’t want anyone to know
how I suffered to make
the good stuff glow
like a photographer
shooting a thousand frames
for a keeper
I want people to think
it flowed
here to entertain
not the sympathy vote

as I lay down my head
my phone next to me
on the bed
your text
vibrates across the mattress springs
like a technological tinnitus
inside my ear
my consciousness
you want to talk
but not like that
just to make an unarguable point
guilt ridden acronyms
miss-spelt accusations
and inappropriate emojis
convey your emotions
with a twisted sarcastic humour
interlinked with your vent
you know that from the safety of 4G
it aggravates me
I’m bored with it all
too much to even reply
it would make more sense
if you weren’t
abusing me from the spare room

I offer my prayer
to the ancient Gods
of sun and wind and rain
for they are the only ones left
when all the others have failed

an intimately vast space
spread out in small pockets
where once a treed horizon
dared to peek out into view
now walls enclose the square feet
so precious to the privileged few
real estate, though nothing real
about it at all, built on dreams
and promises unfulfilled
you can plan your OXO lifestyle
advertised on billboards
of temptation on the roadside
that passes what looks
like a battlefield, nature making
one last stand of liquid mud
to repel all boarders, but to no avail
tarmac veins snake and harden
making new arteries to a future
braver infantile world
of possession and greed

We walk
In glow of silver screen,
We talk
In acronyms and SMS slang,
The star
Of an everyday movie
Camera man, script writer, director
Floating in the ether
Weaving our tapestries,
Between radio masts
Life on earth, live on earth
Spaceman, time traveller
On a voyage of discovery,
Walking and talking to ourselves
Without noticing the outside world,
Only interested in our own
Biographies;
Time for another selfie…………….

I looked up
and saw the meteors
in my daddies eyes
fiery dreams
that had been held up
by a wish and a prayer
I saw his disappointment
that the show ended too soon
but perhaps one day
there'll be a time
for us to shoot the moon

Speed king

Stolen car
Tyre scream
Rush, adrenalin

Forget cops,
Don’t stop
In flight
Across night

Take your fill
Ride the thrill
Like a wave
Surfing on danger
Pushing limits
Better than any pill

Evidence
Cauterized
Charred remains
In the countryside

Someone’s pride and joy
Will be announced dead
On a doorstep
In the morning.

I pour endless cups of tea
down the sink
we don't have time to drink
made for each other
like love notes we never wrote
always on the run
to or from something
a micro world of you and me
thrashing in the pond of life
with none of the finesse
of a swan paddling underneath
where are we going??
never stopping long enough
to think

a fish was attracted to land
went to the trouble to grow
lungs, crawl panting on a sandy
beach, to use newly developed feet
so we could follow our own journey
back to foamy shores
to look out at our old home
on holidays and weekends
wondering why we bothered
to leave in the first place

a pause
designed to create an awkwardness
a storm
brews from a cloudless sky to touch terra firma
a rage
all consuming emotion projected outwards
the eye
a calm central refuge surrounded by weather and hate
time
to prepare for the inevitable stand ground or escape
all that anger out there in the world
waiting to express itself
perhaps the clouds above us catch our wrath
projecting it back with the power of our hatred

so many places
I have never been
and never seen
yet they are all here
the world visits me
in my ineptitude
screened
a movie
a moving mirage
expanding like the universe
further and further
away from me
making spaces
leaving traces
my mind fills in
the world becomes picture
framed
Hitachi, Sharp, Sony
so many meetings
greetings
but none of them mine
I am alone
as a polar bear
on an ice cap
a Native American
in his own land
populations explode
and interact
to become lonely souls
the last of their kind
waiting on a final chapter
an end to the movie

"What do you want"
she said

the will to carry on
a reason for my existence
some sort of direction
in my life

but she was only going to the shops
so
pizza and beer again

I'm going through a quiet patch
the voices have lost their urgency
turning to annoying whispers
sometimes they give me a line
and I ignore it, try to remember
then regret not writing it down
it's almost nice, the quiet
I still have the urge, but not
the spark to carry it out
like an old dog that lies
on the step in the sun dreaming
that once he could've herded sheep
but it's beyond him now
so dreaming is all he has left
but the sun is warm on his back
and there's always tomorrow

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.

here to play with
the stick of my emotions
gnaw at the bone
for the marrow of my soul
blacker than night
darker than sorrow
loping along
disguised as my shadow
hiding where no one can tell
but me
the smell of the graveyard
the dead of the sea
friends become enemies
make me a mockery
home isn't home
just a strange place to be
with my canine obsession
darkest depression
you don't need to ask me
that one stupid question
you don't need to tell me
how much you care
you need to just leave me
alone with our memories
so I can still find me
when the hound has returned
back to it's hell hole
so I can be free

Small triangles of lycra
cover heaven
in this tanned landscape
of flesh

basking like beached seals
under the god sun
worshipped for its power
through the protection of lotions
and creams, keeping
cancerous skin at bay

grains of sand
smashed from rock
innocently hide nature's power
all around

bodies dipped into an ocean
already polluted
by greed and the impurity
of this impossible dream

the tide plays with them
like a cat with a mouse
knowing full well with one pounce
all would perish

the earth tolerates our blindness for now
but before you dip a toe in the water
know this
you will be washed away like the
castles you make, pretending
you have dominion
over this sleeping monster.

fruit flies
fly
around my head
in front of the computer screen
like some interrupting
audience member
late to their seat
at the cinema
large coke and popcorn
I take a sip of my wine
to find one drowned
floating in the top of the liquid
perhaps I'll leave it for them
at least they'll die happy

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

Black rain falls
ice cold
emotionless

desolate tarmac roads
puddles of ugliness form
devouring light
drawing in the world
dark matter
the abyss lies beyond
headlight's reach

reflected buildings distort
as cars spin
aquaplaning tyres
across mirrored
mercurial surfaces

downdraught suppresses
exhaust fumes
as dragon automobiles
slither their hissing way
neon lit fire breathing
monsters of road and byway

home is measured
by the length of the next queue
rather than miles per hour

she wants to find the
source of my unhappiness
as though it is a thing
we can search for like
a talisman and destroy

she wants to find the
source of my unhappiness
as though it’s a place
we can move from and
just not go there anymore

not even I understand
why it is I feel so sad
among my loved ones
my tribe, but every new
day there is always rain

They are still here
recorded in peeling paint
cracked plaster and bare floors
as though only just left, momentarily
a life suspended

nature has forgotten the boundaries
where once walls protected
creepers, moss and mould
add their colour to the decor
lit by the same sun, life here

continues behind a veil
pictures still adorn the walls
faces of our fallen heroes
blindly stare as a photographer
records the passing of an era.

you can see the forward
in my eyes
skin lined with the people
to so far thank for the ride
if you delve into the chapters
there's a need to sit down
this is no fiction nobody's clown
the story will end
right in front of your eyes
where I am standing
without my disguise

A wilderness is untamed,
nature bursts forth in all its glory;
without the guidance and destruction of
man.
It is beautiful,
a place where the soul is free,
although it may be in danger.


A wilderness is here.


Concrete slabs put upright
with windows;
facing more concrete.
Trees are sparse and trained,
grass short and restrained;
people reign.
An empty kingdom
of blank angry emotion,
called civilisation;
where the soul is definitely in danger.


It is our wilderness.

lying supine in my bed
rhythm stealing my thoughts
we are alone in a dark house
neither of us can sleep
water finding it's way
via my bathroom sink
to the sea
a small child returning home
force of nature tamed
to one drop at a time
and I can't help thinking
of waves crashing on a beach

they are in the grass
beneath my feet
their fear distilled
into the trees
where the leaves
dance as their banners
and flags once did
in the cool breeze
a river of red where
they bled their last breath
now flows clear
no winners or losers here
the lush green foliage
tells the story of how
it is fertilised
by the bodies of men
who lost their lives
centuries ago
I can still feel them
in the landscape
they have grown

I witness the cruelty
I feel the beauty
what hurts me is
I'll never know
if you see it too
I hope you understand
how much I miss you
a life stolen from us
by the everyday events
that separate the way
we want to go
it feels as though we steal
the daylight we share sometimes
an almost guilty pleasure
not something we should
have a right to

he went down screaming
as most men do
relieved of his freedom
set free of his will
he wanted her badly
lustfully, madly
she would take him
and break him
on love's wheel

the air outside is still
as though the world
is a living room
and the trees furniture
shouts arousing fear
sound close at hand
aggressive threatening
as though directed at me
a tiny spider crawls
up the front of my shirt
one of those that makes
a web of your head
and itches all day
a car more noise than power
echoes it's exhaust sound
round the terraced houses
then
all becomes quiet
as though waves have
mellowed into a millpond
a bird sings
the most haunting beautiful
refrain,  lonely chanteuse
filling the airwaves
finally I sleep again

when time was something that passed

rather than to be grasped
finishing post in sight
chequered flag on the sat nav
telling you you've arrived

when time was acres of summer sunshine

not pollution coated air, holes in the ozone
worrying about global warming
but still building building building
for the future they say....

when time was your own to cherish

not jobs to do meetings to attend
places to visit but not really see
bills to pay questions to answer
a debt to honour for the ever after

when time just existed
it felt like forever
now there's no forever after

so I surrounded myself with stuff
it made me feel better
worthy, an achiever
bolstering my confidence
stuff came through the post
parcels to open everyday
it was like Christmas
stuff was in shops
where people were happy
to help spend my money
it was like they were jealous
wanting to live through me
getting the stuff they wanted
but I was paying
then I began to worship stuff
exclusive stuff
one of a kind stuff
then I woke up
literally opened my eyes
and saw all this ****
how I had coveted it
no friends, no relationship
no emotion, no soul
I was effectively dead
some Egyptian mummy
preserved in a living tomb
full of all all the ****
I'd need in the afterlife
because I had no time
to appreciate it all now
so I sold my ****
to people who were like me
and I looked at them
slavering over my old ****
and I hated them
like seeing my image in a mirror
they were so pleased
carrying off their prizes
not realising it was all cursed
they never owned anything
just stuff someone would
someday
prize from their cold dead fingers

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.

there is a shortage of fuel
is all they heard as they
ran to the door car keys in hand
we are all doomed
"how will I get to the shops
go and see auntie Doris
drive to the gym
get to my golf tournament"
so they ****** the pumps dry
despite advice not to panic
they panicked
we are just short of drivers
there is enough petrol
to power you through the week
worrying about pollution
and going green
and how will it affect me me me
so tonight when you wait
for the takeaway
your taxi
the police
an ambulance
or fire engine
just remember
that trip is waiting to be made
in your selfish fuel tank

A little pill
To enhance the night,
Relaxation
At its height,
Lights shining
A little too bright;
Dance crazed
Music is life.
Coming up
On a Mitsubishi,
Living life
In Ecstasy,
Popping no stopping
The party, until…..
Ten years on
I fried my brain,
Dancing still
All night long;
Between the sheets
Home, alone.

I want to go
Where the birds can go,
Escape these ***** streets
Escape in my wildest dreams,
From
Traffic ques and road rage
Constant din of the rat race,
A voyage of serendipity
Here to the deep blue sea.

a possibility the machine is broken
a pause, a stutter
a halt in locomotion
sometimes the parts wear out
not made for the harsh road
travelled
sometimes a weakness will shout
to demonstrate a need for slowing
but after all we've been through
to be betrayed
this far on the journey
I'd chop you in for a new one
if it weren't for the fact
I'm human

Inside this scaled down life
We move like goldfish
The pretence of an ocean
In four small rooms.
So many other lives swim
Within the same space
One upon another
Surrounded by the din
Of each other and the world
Passing by.


Is it any wonder
We have become insane
Looking for ways out
Expression through graffiti
Escape through drugs
Destroying the symmetry
Of our own environment
To mimic the bounty of nature
Destroying each other, for peace
And a chance to sleep alone.

I sit and eat potato chips
on my couch in front of tv
I am a cannibal
sofa surfing
channel hopping
media crawling
it's the only exercise
I get these days
too busy observing
to join in
my critical critique
leaves me astounded
as to how absurd the world can be
missed penalties and opportunities
keep me ranting
panting in disbelief
reality isn't reality tv
everybody becomes an actor you see
they're just not famous
enough yet to be celebrity
one of these days I'll make the news
headline report with shocking footage
couch potato ate himself to death
binging on a 52 inch flat screen.

*******
as though still on the breast
mother nicotine brings her comfort
warm feelings of belonging,
coming home

just five minutes to **** myself
grabbing a moment from life
to lose it from the other end

not the courage for suicide
instead
dying by degrees

dancing with the darkness
I kid myself I live
on the edge
pushing the envelope

but I'm a sad sack
with yellow fingers
looking for an answer
as flimsy as the smoke
that pollutes my lungs

love is a fickle thing.

the line appears
confirming new life
an as yet unknown entity
taking it's first faltering steps
towards existence
in a hostile world

we already want it dead

I wrestle you out of the cupboard under the stairs
Every weekend
Scaring the ******* out of the cat
Who by now knows what is happening,
Perceived as a fight to the death
Filled with electric noise, until finally
I tame the monster and put it to bed
He elects to hide
In the kitchen, under the table.

We dance the waltz of cleanliness
Over carpet, lino, round litter trays
Up stairs and across bookcases
Just you and I, an odd couple
Locked in a battle against dirt and dust
The build up of bacteria (yuk!)
Cleaning away the footprint of a week
On the possessions of our life.

My wife doesn't know about us
You and me and our OCD
We share for an hour, or so, while she's out
Shopping, drinking coffee, with her mum
Ours is a secret affair
******* cat fur out of the crevices,
When I am done we part company
Hiding our passion behind closed doors
Until we meet again, next saturday

My love.

you dream the dream
of what's in their head
lost to the living
sacrificed to the dead
spirits rise within you
Ouija magic Ouija curse
they walk among us
hidden faces a veiled darkness
they walk among us
secrets half learnt

A Jet
In a clear blue sky
Leaving a faint vapour trail
Pure white across azure

Perfect summer day
People shopping, driving
Leaving the house with claims
Of “Be back soon”
Not knowing they’d never be fulfilled

A crowd, in anticipation
Packed like sardines
Around an arena, waiting to be awed
Wowed by the spectacle of flight
One man among the clouds
Mocking their gravitational prison

But today, worlds collide
Are destroyed
Man finds that fragile flight
Ends on a road at traffic lights
Not the spectacle expected
But no less dramatic, a ball of flame

The crowd take pictures for the press
Hoping for a mention on the news
And update facebook status
Under a sky of clear blue

I will float
somewhere between my dreams
and the darkness of reality
this space holds a truth
that only my blind eyes can see
if I cease to believe
I will no longer exist
lost in space
falling upwards
into the abyss

we are all anonymous now
not even a face in the crowd
defined by the mask we wear
rather than the one we hide behind
eyes open to the world
staying alert to danger
our breath filtered just in case
we’re the enemy everyone’s looking for
our smiles are silenced
our glares turned to frowns
friends become strangers
we are all clowns
family and allies
our new kind of tribe
supporting our bubble
that’s both strong and fragile
this is the aftermath fallout
where beauty and ugliness
stand side by side
walking in unison
stride for stride

my grandad on my mother's side
was a lamplighter
so sad that these memories should die
that in some small way
helped to make me

I watch the rat boys
trip the light fantastic
across once well manicured floors
of forests of wood and panel
lined walls graffitied with
the signature **** and *****
language that would not
have been tolerated in such
hallowed halls, falls easily
from lips accented with Yorkshire drawl
appreciating architecture they can
(like the rest of us)
only dream could be their pad
their crib, their humble abode
with a taste for the gothic
or art nouveau
they are lookers, explorers
nosey little toads fuelled by
an unquenchable curiosity
to see what's behind that fence
that hedge or garden wall
if you find them in your house
you are a ghost, for they hunger
only for the derelict, the abandoned
time stopped in a moment preserved