I have bawled and shouted
stamped my feet
blamed God my mother
AND the universe
but I'm still here
spoilt petulant little spec
on a blue green planet
infinity never heard me
or gave a ****
about a small ape like creature
spinning around
and around
at a thousand miles an hour
going nowhere
it's time to take
the bitter little pill
and just get on with it

I have a theory
that when the world ends
for mankind
all that will be left
on a piece of wasteland
is a Coke machine
still lit
it will sum us up
perfectly

****** dropped bombs on him
It was nothing personal
There was just a war on
He came under the heading of enemy
Blew the ****** front door in
His mum got shot at by a Messerschmitt
In the middle of the street
So he had to do the shopping after
Its dangerous out there send the kid

Served his country in the Royal Fusiliers
Made it to sergeant teaching squaddies
How to read and do their sums
Posted to Germany as army of occupation
Did his bit as the saying goes
Then back on civvy street worked in the city
Steam train took him every day
From the market town where I was born
To smoke and smog and daily grind

Now I am teaching him the iPhone 6
At eighty seven he’s doing great
From a socially acceptable distance
Of course so we can keep in touch
Face to face and he won’t miss us
Now by himself rattling around
The big old house where I grew up
How times have changed
Still he should be used to queuing up

He gives her the butterfly as an act of beautification
Hoping nature can exemplify his feelings; A fragile life,
Balanced between death and existence in his fingers
Making sense of all the nonsense in his head.
He gives her the flowers in an act of affection
Even though they both know they are dead,
Only water prolonging the inevitable demise
Of colourful blooms returning to the earth
From where they once grew, like their love
Beautiful under the sun, natural and charming,
Until you told them that love is shown with silver
And gold, diamonds and pearls, chocolate and cards
High octane fast cars, exclusive meals in top restaurants
Theatre tickets and front row concerts, but the butterfly
***** it’s wings and somewhere in the world,
There is a hurricane.

I found you between the covers
Laid bare before me,
A beginning a middle and an end
All there for me to discover,
On white sheets, in among the small print
Along with accompanying photographs
A catalogue if you will
In chronological order, unchangeable
As this is now a past event.

But these aren’t your words
There are quotes I’ll give you that,
But not an autobiography, this truth
Belongs to someone else’s twisted opinion
Through research and interviews with also
Rans, so where are you really, not here
Not raw emotion, frustration, devotion
No one saw inside your head, plucked
Your thoughts and put it down on paper.

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.

I see the world
through the lens
of another mans eyes
shared experience
shot at 1/500th
of a second
f8
rainforest at sunset
a whole knowledge
of technical skill
expressed in an image
I can walk into
grateful
to be a part of it

A lonely soul, looking for inspiration;
Balanced on the edge of life.

Words penned from a dark mind,
With occasional flashes of light.

A loser in the end, but brilliantly -
And everyone missing the point.

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.

I follow the slow funeralistic parade
Too late to escape, warning came
On the radio, way past my last exit
I wonder who has died today?
Cars pass what were once shiny projectiles
Such as they, but are now soulless wrecks
Burnt out, like X-rays.


Who fell asleep at the wheel
Or made that last telephone call
That just couldn’t wait, while
Still chasing time in the fast lane,
To catch up with a schedule that now
Is as redundant as the chunk of metal
He was still trying to pay for.


Flashing lights mark the perimeter
Of some executive’s last stand
An accident? Perhaps, but maybe
Life just became that bit too quick
And caught up with him
An overdose of technology, leading to
A breakdown in human capacity.


We, the survivors, look on with grief
That could’ve been me! But not
Thankfully today, speeding on our way
Soon forgetting the graphic lesson
Someone gave their all to paint
But we have to look, just to see
If anyone has really died today.

eggs
jug, broken shells
in the sink
Radiohead wails OK Computer
from Alexa archive
Jack glugs from a freshly
unsealed present from my wife
am I hip like Motorhead
or just another tipsy old dad
I wonder what Urbex explorers
would discover if they
crawled through my letter box
into this mess of a kitchen
onion makes me cry
something I never did
as a child
cheese and ham
how much **** can I cram
into this frying pan
an alchemical cupboard
of herbs and spices pervades
my sense of smell
am I brave enough
should I have beans
I’ll only eat half a can
people are starving somewhere
out of date packets call
do you feel lucky punk
but sliced beef for **** sake
who can resist that
a forgotten sandwich
never made
the truth in the pan
unmixed ingredients
never mind says bourbon head
it’s all the same
gas ring ignites
north sea pipelines
fishermen risking their lives for
for Brexit quota lies
the fiery grill, another bourbon
once you pop
small one in a big glass
carnage of packet autopsy
for the morning after
waits

take up valuable real estate
live in their own ****
birthing in their own faeces
we call them vermin
and hate them
because they are so much like us

Sly looks and sly smiles
Sly remarks on points of style
A little slip, a little quip
And you could be the **** of it

Laughing behind hands, they stand
At the corner of the bar
Each victim carefully selected
Each remark perfectly directed
A ***** of a time
A little jealousy, a little crush
A little misplaced love and trust
You can almost feel the knife stab
And as you go down, they laugh

Sly looks and sly smiles
Behind each others back as well
Laughing behind hands
Looking out for trusting friends

sat on a park bench at noon
he dressed early charity shop
other people had already made
his fashion decisions for him
cast aside like they cast aside
his son, his visits less and less
frequent now, his name is
uttered as a mere whisper
except in anger and in war
he has less strength than when
faith supported his mental health
shouted from the fortress pulpit,
blending in on the seedy side
of life where the real people are
when asked about the second
coming, he said I gave you all
free will and look what you did
tell me, would you send your
only son to a God forsaken
place like this AGAIN.

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.

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.

I'll bite and snarl at your wheels
rumbling past me up that hill
I know you'll never stop
leaving me stranded
a mad dog.

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.

the weather has changed
storm clouds overhead
while wars rage across the land
men women and children
indiscriminately die
for the cause of peace
that no one seems to find
the weather has changed
battle carried to the skies
we fight our own environment
all of us on the losing side

I lay me down
to rest
the words enter my head
pushing and shoving
like children in a lunch queue
tiny scary voices
with an utterance of an idea
I feel compelled to put
pen to paper
I've either written
some great words
or wasted a lot of trees
I'm still clueless
but the nightmares continue
and I keep talking
inside a head
as empty as a warehouse

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.

my constant companions
are worry
with her sister
fear
dark angels
that clip my wings
so I cannot fly
cannot believe
cannot rest
they can leave
any time I want
I just have to have the courage
to let them go
but how I would miss them
those soft doubting voices
whispering my imprisonment
with the very best
of intentions

Come and love me
I am out here on the periphery
writing poems
to the earth and sea

a ghost of a voice
barely audible
except on the breeze
if you listen carefully
you will hear it whispering
as sun touches sea
as rain starts to fall
as seasons change
as you lose your way

I am here
out on the periphery
listen carefully
I will not let you fall

driven by some unseen hand
the pen travels across 80 gsm
sometimes I manage to write things
even I don't understand.

Let us all rise for the birthing of Earth's new life
Stirrings from her womb bring forth daffodils,
To have intimate relations with buzzing bees
Stirring wooly heads from their winter cluster,
As the yellow heads Mexican wave with
A warm blustery scented breeze, birds sing with
Renewed gusto, dancing across the garden fence
Making nests, making plans 'cause they just can't
Help but feel born again, so lets have an ovation
Spring is sprung, give me more, encore, encore.

Afraid of our own shadow, but
yearning to be free, searching
for our utopian ideal

life's a beach
gravy, easy street

scared to loose the chains
with which we bind ourselves
break free from obligation

our 'destiny'

into chaos

open the door of our life cell
of order, routine
step through the veil
live the dream
but all we can do
is complain and complain

He walks the end of the pier, alone
No home to go to,
A ghost in ragged clothes
Passing among the crowds,
Unseen and unheard
But he always feeds the gulls,
Their noisy raucous squabbling
Over a few scraps of bread,
Reminds him of how unhappy
All these tourists really are,
Pretending to enjoy their holiday
Kidding themselves they are free.

hammer click
whip crack
cordite burn

God
the power to take
or spare life
in the palm of a hand
lay down the law
terrorise
oppress
destroy

no returns
no time to apologise
a decision made in haste
regretted for life

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.

she comes to me

with her chemical haze
dulling my senses
warming my veins
clouding my mind
with her seductive ways

she comes to me
to take me away

"I cannot help you
with this publication"
it said
a closed door
a full stop
even an exclamation mark
you are swimming with the sharks
trying to run
with the wrong pack
basically you're a loser
your work just doesn't cut it
I recede back into
my protective shell of defeat
enclosing me
with the force field
of self denial and hate
here I am safe
nowhere to go but down
failure such an easy road
I travel with the crowd
all rejects of the elite
unwelcome in their kingdom
worse than unbelievers
we are the unbelieved in

A train to the big city
Where the pavements are of gold
A job, a life, a future

A cardboard box in no-man’s land.

Why do they come? Refugees
From their own poverty
Here to share in ours.

There’s a boy in oblivion over there
A needle in his arm
And **** in his hair;
Sold to the dream of another world
Not here.

Some walk the streets you know
Teenagers, offering their bodies
Hoping to save their souls;
Pawning dignity for a take-away,
**** in sin city
For the rich and gay.

There is no gold here, you fools
Under the same sky you sleep
On the same wish you weep
Crying yourselves to sleep
Counting lambs to the slaughter.

Just because I wander alone
doesn't mean I'm lost
some of us don't want to be found
happy with a hermetic existence
along the sidelines of life

company means conversation
friends mean I have to try
make the effort to entertain them
keep up with their stupid lives
laugh and be engaging, for fear
the searching "Are you alright"
stay up late beyond my patience
waiting for them to ******* home
people dropping by to see me
when all I want is to be on my own

misery loves company
but I can be it by myself
loving the melancholy darkness
wallowing in self piteous baths
drinking alone just to be daring
inviting addiction and even worse
having fun dancing naked
or sitting around in my underpants

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.

I drink a perfect summer
fermented strawberry red
with a hint of liquorice aftertaste
from when the world was better
summers warmer and longer
and I wasn't even alive

Written after seeing the film of the same name, starring Robert De Niro.

I drive these lonely streets at night
Picking up shadows from under street lights
I'll take anyone, kooks, pushers, hookers
I'll travel any place, don't bother me
Not my business the hours these people keep.
The rain lashes down, blurring the bright lights
Like a watercolour painting, mixing, blending
Some day a great rain will come
And wash all the **** off the streets.

I feel inside me a change coming
Someone must somehow stop
The users and abusers of the innocent,
There must be one to make a stand.
I see young girls, fourteen or fifteen
Walking the sidewalk for the pleasure of creeps
Selling the dream of teenage ***;
What dreams do they have locked away
Washed into the gutter by the rain.

I see drug pushers selling people's lives
On the dream of a trip to the wild side
Everyone is trying to get out, escape
But the streets have a grip you cannot see,
You can buy a potion to get you high
But from this hell there is no easy exit.
Some come to this circus to trade
They need to live their life of lies
And I am the ferryman to the other side.

Some day a great rain will come
To wash away all of this ****,
Women will be able to walk safe, alone
Without looking over their shoulder;
I feel a change coming in me
I must be the one to make a stand,
These children of sin need a home
Somewhere to shelter from the storm,
Then maybe I can sleep nights again.

Gods will come and go
but the angels will always
walk among us
dazzled by the glow
of a finite life
lived with such
desperation
not wanting to miss a thing

A room devoid of life
no less bland
than a hole in the ground,
but with a little more light
functional, bed, chair, table
and an intangible fear
of something it has (in abundance)
time, and plenty of it

Until the knife is removed
the wound will never heal

my horoscope holds the truth
star predicted fateful path
governed by the alignment of planets
and the honesty of their course
I cannot escape fate
it's all been written
as an actor I take my part
lines written to the end
of the universe
even this poem is up there somewhere
if you look hard enough

We will come to you in the end
On our hands and knees,
To worship at the altar of nature.
When money has become worthless
Cars are chunks of useless rusting metal,
And all the technology in the world
Hasn't saved our sorry ***.

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.

condensation runs in rivulets
to form a puddle
at the foot of the glass
a barmaid's finger imprints
still show in their disturbed path
bubbles rise to the surface
to join the communion of froth
through amber liquid

grain hops yeast water
a quartet brewed to perfection
one of the oldest beverages of man
an innocent in our drug and adrenaline
fuelled world

going for a beer with the lads
do you fancy a pint?
just a quick one
social, classless, acceptable vice
five thousand years in the making

You pull me apart
Like petals from a flower,
Love me, love me not
Tearing at my very being,
Until my innards are exposed
For all the world to see,
But no beauty in my nakedness,
Just exposure
Of my anatomy.

out on the mudflats
washed up by an angry sea
a shell remains
parched by the sun
a little bright paint
to remind whoever bothers to look
of the colour they once had
hauntingly beautiful shapes at dusk
ghosts with shrouded faces

Silt
there to block the estuary
a danger to shipping
of no use to anyone
but foolish romantics who see
the glory days gone by
a little sense of history, reverence
to the way things used to be


when they're gone
another age will discard the waste
of lonely  forgotten souls on the shoreline

At first you will love me
With an honesty and truth,
Before you learn to use me
And abuse my love for you.


After a while you will hate me
Everything I do will be wrong,
And no kind words will touch you
Or cure the ills I’ve caused.


Then one day you’ll meet me
As an equal in life,
And find you never beat me
Or turned my love from you.


When you become a parent
You’ll understand such love,
Given without condition
And more than you can tell.

Nothing sadder
Than calling for a mate no longer there,
Last of a kind
Singing into the darkness.

Ousted by the human race;
One small light extinguished in a universe
Of satellites and jet powered aircraft
Metalled roads and all night diners,
High rise living, where we even invade
The skies to get a better view
Of our formidable world,
Lighting us into our own oblivion.

So how do you grade
The importance of a creature,
Not particularly colourful
With a dull song, not very loud,
That no one will really miss as it shuffles
Off the stage of the world,
No great eulogy, no curtain call
Never an encore
To join poor Dodo in the glass cased
Museums of what we have destroyed.

You make sense of words
that I cannot

you write phrases and synonyms
allegories and metaphors
that leave my heart empty
which makes you a poet
and I not

you are praised, applauded
eulogized, complemented
a voice of our times
though without rhyme
or reason in my eyes

you write to confuse me
to fool and bemuse me
but thats what makes you great
and I not.

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.

a butterflies wings
a child's laughter
a prayer for ever after
a day without sunshine
a tomorrow without hope
a **** on some bad dope
a door that's left open
a scream unspoken
a picture untaken
or a cup left
unwashed
on a draining board
next to a dishwasher

“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.