slowly I process them
like tracks on a record
giving nature a helping hand
to enhance the music of light
and as I sit and look at them
they sing to me of memories
of Welsh hills lit by God
brought home as a moment
I can play over and over
until they become the soundtrack
that always makes me feel
I'm alive

How can there be a space left
That was never filled,
Except with expectation.
The wonder of a face
Setting eyes on this place,
For the very first time.
A name waiting to be uttered
An identity ready to be claimed.


You lay in starched sheets
Surrounded by cheerful pink walls,
Waiting to be discharged;
After a labour that brought forth
The remnants of a life.
While at home I waited
Wanting to know your pain
To share what was still ours;
Our son lay laughing in bed
Unaware of his own small loss.


Then, like a pilot
Over the radio, as the plane
Leaves its fragile flight,
Last words of someone already dead;
The sound of an infants cry
Came across the airwaves
Of our baby monitor;
I know a trick of frequency
Picked up from a nearby house,
But never heard before
Or since, such coincidence;
As though to say goodbye.

From one
Many will come.
Like an echo
Continued in time;
Unique in their likeness
Universally the same;
Standing together, alone
Waving in unison,
As flags at the sun.
Life and colour
Is all they have,
That they share.

we climb
higher and higher
in our ivory towers
land is at a premium
a square foot a king's ransom
so we dwell among the clouds
eye to eye with the birds
though never know their freedom
we are with the stars
though we burn out
their celestial light
we can whisper in God's ear
though above the clatter
he may never hear us

work robs me of my life
without paying enough
to compensate
for the crime
I wasn't made for the
nine till five
corporate passion
is not my style
I'm for the weekends
the holidays
work to live
not the other way round
I want the time back
to sit and stare
for boredom
drinking
self indulgent dreams
never fulfilled

I have stretched my skin
Around an appetite I cannot quench.
A hunger to blot out the pain
With calorific gain;
Soon the life I was running from
Caught up with me,
I became consumed
By the size of my own sorrow
My unhappiness evident
By my bulging torso.

I can no longer run from the agony
I have become it.

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.

I see
the impermanence of it all
the stuff we can't take with us
that we hoard
in second hand shops
car boot sales
charity shop windows
end of childhood
end of relationships
end of fashion
the end of lives
set out for a new generation
to claim ownership of
who will buy my memories
when I'm gone

I have finally found you
In St. Enodoc Church;
Home is where your heart rests
Not your place of birth.
Summoned by the three o’clock bell
A pilgrim across the eleventh fairway,
Towards a crooked spire that protrudes
Like a drowning swimmer,
Signalling to be rescued from the dunes.


As I enter through the gate
Your headstone greets me with a shout;
A marvel of the stonemason’s art
Explosive script from marbles cold darkness,
Radiates your humour and warmth.
I am not humbled, sad nor afraid
This place is fitting to rest your phrase;
Looking down at where you lie
I try to imagine that lived-in face.


Archibald lies at your head
Old and trusted, faithful ted;
So much heard, but nothing said
All through the years of pressured steps,
To follow where your father led;
But you had other plans and instead
Were drawn to words with rhythmic thread,
That made you Poet Lauriat, a knight
Who finally has found some peace.

I'm listening to records
not heard for thirty years
I've carried this collection
gathering dust on my shelves
needle scrapes across vinyl
music to my ears
an old friend not seen
for a while, but it
feels like yesterday
my kids look on in awe
even with their MP4
as I spin the black circle
I'll make collectors of them all
and I'm not old just retro
and it's still rock 'n' roll

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.

put this in the old thought engine
to mince
what if this isn't the right pen
the perfect paper
a location worthy
of provocation

a lie all this time
when somewhere there is truth
I thought already found
interlaced in these words
that eludes me
and I've never had the gumption
to look

content to carry on
a thought pattern
already designed
a mind set
already plundered

a hard cold fact
that chills me to the marrow

There's a ******* the checkout
With long blond hair
Restrained in a scrunchie
At the back of her head
Scanning scanning, far away
Smile, looking past groceries
To a future self

I see a dream under that uniform
I see a freedom in that face
She knows there is a future
But it's not held in this space
Uncloned and unchained, one day
She will fly, on the wings of a voice
With stardoms far cry

A till away sits her broken dream
She's about forty, slightly grey
Last week on a warning for being
Late, her dreams have succumbed
To a different fate, she had wished once
For a chance to be free, but now
Has become part of the corporate machine

I am sitting in the living room of my parent’s house;
If only these walls could talk they would tell tales
Of an open fire glowing in a darkened room, where
Curtains covered the windows, drawn against
The winter cold, chairs arranged around the grate
To capture the heat and if you left the circle
The air was icy against your face, but your body
Carried the memory of the warmth of naked flame.

And toast, cooked on the end of a toasting fork
That had a long handle, but was made of metal
So it heated up and burnt your fingers, but the
Flavour, melted butter and a slight taste of the
Coals, nothing like it can be reproduced, not even
On a gas stove (I know I’ve done it) trying to capture
Memories for my children to savour before TV,
iPads and central heating are all I can pass on.

We played cards, Sevens and Rummy I think it was
To amuse ourselves until it was bedtime, when we
Climbed the stairs to freeze between the sheets
Until finally our body heat won and warmed them,
I fell into a deep sleep, while a night light illuminated
The ceiling as I was afraid of the dark and made
Faces out of the patterned wallpaper; but now
This season looms for my dad, alone in this house,

As a dark and troubled time, my brother and I
Have flown the nest and memories of my mother
Who has passed, lurk in those dark shadows,
Where curtains cover the windows against the
Icy blast of winters cold fingers, short days
Offer a tunnel where the hope of spring beckons
At the end, not even the bright lights of Christmas
Offer much refuge, we will visit of course but he will
Always have those moments when these walls
Will talk to him, of how lonely life has become.

on the sofa
binging on bargain bucket box set series
and copious volumes of alcohol
warm in our shared delusion
that the end of the week
requires celebration

you have to have some belief
in yourself
without arrogance
hold yourself against the hurricane of life
lean into it
but try to make it natural
when asked about your achievements
speak quietly succinctly
don’t waste your words
on mindless fantasies be honest
but at the same time be a little proud
mention the good points
leave out the embarrassing bits
talk about the struggle
they like that
to see you’ve suffered
earned it
be a voice in a room
not a face in the crowd
be remembered when you walk away
let the wind carry you
under your tiny wings

She sits
Watching tv
Omnipresent being
Glasses on the end of her nose
Eyes closed

Sometimes
Lost in a book
A bit of a thriller
She could always detect a lie
Bad vibes

Dab hand
In the kitchen
Always something cooking
We’re the recipe for children
She made

Mother
Always at home
Waiting for our return
To hear news of great adventures, the
Nest flown

Our lives
Are souvenirs
She collects our memories
Travelling with us through our days
From home

post war baby boomer
born of Blitz lottery survivors
sixties influenced music head
mixed bad taste seventies
girly long hair and dress sense
brought new life into space age
travellers seeking new worlds
while trying to rescue the one
we messed up in the first place

Barbed silk strands, like
Deadly Ghent lace, spun
To support an ugly
Bulbous body, poised
Demonic deformed hand
Somehow camouflaged
With ninja stillness,
Unseen in plain sight

I carry my son
Past this unwalled prison,
Where new inmates wait
To be sentenced, death
By misadventure
It’s beauty beckons
Shimmering like fire,
Belying murderous intention

His hand reaches out
Wanting to touch, explore
I cannot persuade
His eyes to see, anything
But beauty, mystery
Anymore than I
Can warn the spiders
Next prey to beware.

There is nothing lonelier than wanting to be alone
They are queuing at my door to tell me
About my latest work
Asking what I'm doing now
For advice on what to write
What's hip or in Vogue
As if I'd know, I've been talking
About myself for years

But the beer in the fridge has
More to say to me then any of them
It speaks of the quiet of loneliness
Seeping into bones numbing
Brain cells
I can feel it wash over me
It tastes of stale breath and smells of bo
It wears a shirt unbuttoned down the front
Trousers with the fly open
Sitting listening to Sibelius
Smoking cigarettes

It's like the ***** that just won't leave
You're tired of all the talking
But you know you want to do it
One more time while you can

Words tumble,
Like a box of nails
Spilling erratically
Onto the floor, stabbing
In all directions;
When they were made
To hold things together.


Just time to react,
But I’ve hit
My **** thumb again,
Instead of a nail on the head;
Trying to seal another
Pandora’s Box full of evil
Secrets and recriminations.


Blindly on, through the redness
Of anger, hit and run;
Blow parry, blow
So many things remembered
Like a diary of our lives,
Every occasion
I forgot, didn’t notice, ******* up.


Then silence; but not calm
A creeping space between us;
We will split
Like a piece of timber
Once useful, now driftwood
Two halves needing each other
Needing words to hold us together.

The pen scratches across 80gsm
whiteness polluted by thoughts
translated into ink stains

guided by some unseen hand
I sometimes write things
even I don't understand

I have worn this shroud
For long enough;
The darkness of death
Has clipped my wings,
Weighing down pasty white flesh
Cold, prodding like fingers
Kneading, massaging skin
Into shivering numbness.


I would hibernate
Sleep until the warmth of spring
Brings life and colour again;
But I am not allowed escape
I must suffer a polar landscape
Inside nature’s fridge;
Live through this cleansing freeze
Dull and lifeless like the trees.

I remember Sundays when it rained
my father
downstairs playing the piano
and me
up in my room staring out the window
wondering where all this time was going
I wanted to be there
discovering whatever you discovered
outside the back door, over the fence
past my school to the main road
people were busy going places
rushing noisily, getting in each other's’ way
shouting obscenities, gesticulating
everything so important
they had to arrive when it happened
my father played on into the afternoon
as mum baked cakes and complained
there were a thousand and one jobs
he’d promised to do
only now I realise that he
lost in music, was trying to escape
all those people rushing nowhere, shouting
getting in each other's’ way
he had been out there and understood
just how futile life could be.

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.

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.

She is moving away:
Not in any sense of going,
It is a spiritual thing
A space between us,
Like there has never been.
She sometimes looks at me
And I don’t recognise her at all
But still see how she once was,
Recounting stories of childhood
Which always starts a row.
For all this space between us
I feel she needs me more,
To bridge the gap that teenagers
Feel as they move away;
Not in any sense of going
It is a spiritual thing,
I must take the slack up
And see her as a woman.
But I can’t help always finding
That little girl inside,
And want to reach and hug her
Tell her everything’s alright.
But I am not supposed to do that,
Because the space is there
To prove she is a woman,
Who can survive without her dad.
If she keeps on moving
But not in any sense of going,
My spirit will be broken
And my heart full of such pain;
I love her as I always have
To me she hasn’t changed,
She’ll always be my little girl;
Here comes that row again.

everywhere I go
there is time
on my computer
via internet
on the radio marked
hour by hour
by DJ’s with nothing better
to do than spin three minute tunes
on my alarm clock
on all the clocks
in all the rooms in my house
on the cooker
in my car
on my phone
time is everywhere
except with me
sometimes I have to escape
and forget it exists
slowly and quietly
eroding my life
marking my days
sometimes I just want to be late
as though it doesn’t matter
and nobody minds

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.

Size 12,
I've put on a bit of weight
Certainly haven't grown,
But really, I've never been a size 12!
Shiny and new, worn once
Probably never to be worn again,
They will always be the shoes
I bought
To go to my mum's funeral in.

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 will watch forests grow and fall
see the seas rise and swallow countries
the sun dim into a minor star
be able to take a return trip to Mars
witness the folly of man squabbling
like infants, fighting in the dirt of life
while knowing what infinity is
though I'll never see an end to it

I shall become alone, afraid of love
see my children born and bury them
watch the loves of so many lifetimes
wither into old age and die leaving
me heartbroken knowing I can never
follow them into the darkness
death and I will sit and talk about old times
and all the moments he has stolen from me.

shovels
too big for delicate iPhone keypads
paws for digging in the dirt
rough stumpy fingers
bloodied with cuts and cracks
calloused through manual labour
working in the winter cold

but sometimes

they can produce beauty
a little light
some magic
to compensate for their ugliness

my body is a temple
that has crumbled to the ground
my hands are not too delicate
and neither are my thoughts
my religion has been flawed
believing I am right
the only path to follow
into the darkest night
but there are embers in the ruins
that still burn even now
a fire I can't extinguish
it just won't go away
if you save one of God's creatures
you become one of his kind
so let me save your soul
so I can save my mind

It fell from my lips
like a curse

death of truth

betrayal of trust

leaving a bad taste
that with time
would grow worse

feeding upon itself

it always does.

I sit contemplating it
a speck on a desert of floor
tracing an unfathomable journey
past unseen obstacles

direction seems lost
then suddenly
I become the target

I try to understand scale
if it were a person
I would be bigger than
a jumbo jet
skyscraper
whale

this mountain rises and moves
to carry on existence
among the clouds
carefully avoiding
a crushing blow

in my eyes how is that
spec of life
more important than mine

we have no fins
yet are drawn to the sea
we have no wings
and yet take to the skies
not content to be where
evolution put us
we invade worlds
where we don’t belong
without understanding
the one we were granted

Tears fall like rain,
Except they don't
Running in rivulets
From ducts, down your
Puffy puckered face
Reddening pupils, veiny
Crimson spider's webs,
Makeup on spoilt canvas
Masked blemishes that
Are now the least
Of your worries, as I
Hit you again, playful
Seeing how far we will go
Before one of us breaks,
I don't hate you, pain
Is a mutual friend
We hide our love behind,
Tears of a demented clown
We perform our routine,
Outside it drizzles the rotten
Souls of the ******
From stormy skies,
Here we are alive
As we enter the ring.

*** is a journey taken by two people together
travelling to different destinations
not necessarily arriving at the same time

my life is egg and chips
served on a plate
the size of your head
with unlimited tea
my life is You Tube
on a continuous loop
of ghost investigations
amazing facts I never knew
and documentaries about
how scientists aren’t as smart
as they think they are
my life is ***** top bottles of beer
I can open with my paw
and tip down my throat
with consummate ease
my life is poetry and art
that speaks to me
tells me how fragile the world is
people are our future will be
my life is worrying about
the planet
my children
my wife
my job
my future
death
life after death
documentaries about my death
me becoming a ghost
my diet
my drinking
how art mirrors life
how I’m not as smart
as I think I am
I am uncomplicated
just like everyone else

enamelled armies
draw up battle lines
inside the cave of my mouth

as I sleep
they fight the war of stress
that rages in my head
shattering incisors
grinding molars
into paste

no one is going to win
no one is giving up
pretty soon I won't have anything
to smile about

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?

I'll trudge
this shingle beach of a week
days hurting my feet
like stones
two steps forward
one back
I'll not be defeated
the weekend
we reach our pier
rides on the waltzer
roller coaster
ferris wheel
helter skelter
until it ends
waking on the shore again

it is strange to see
irregular lines scrawled
across the page
in some small way I made them
helped to shape from where they came
then it slowly dawned on me
they could be better than anything
I have ever penned to page

The garden is still hers, waiting for her footsteps on the path
It is as though nothing has changed, time held in a moment
That will last until the weeds cautiously poke through soil
In well manicured beds between prized blooms
As seasons pass it will tell she is no longer here to care
For the garden

But it is winter now and everything sleeps, as she does
Soon to be beneath the earth she loved so much
For its fertility, pushing up the daisies in a quiet plot
That time will not forget, someone else mowing the grass
Family leaving her favourite flowers she grew so well
In her garden

A **** grew inside her she could not pluck out
In an otherwise ordered life it ate at her, reduced
To a withered flower her husband could not recognise
Cancer entwined like ivy every thought and movement
She killed the **** by killing herself, now she tends
Her garden with God.

not there for the birth of love
nor the conception really either
already moved on to pastures new
greener grass new playgrounds
I will miss you as you were
a delicate beauty blooming
in the warmth of summer sun
skin un-sinned flesh un-tarnished
a curiosity of unexplored emotions
badly answered selfishly shattered


I have lived a life of absence
never there when needed
only answering the call of lust
never the one to bring flowers
just invasive thoughts and gestures
never the one to talk on pillows
after passion in the darkness
the timeless time of lovers
the loveless time of *******
like me already gone

the attraction of a moth to a flame

they are going to save the world
one protest at a time

but what they don't realise
is the world doesn't care

billions of years gone
it will never end

same old circus
but the monkeys get changed

she giggled and said
let’s play hide and seek
it’ll be fun

she ran off to hide
in her books and her friends
her job and Saturday nights out
soaps on tv box set marathons
long protracted telephone conversations
with her mother

I looked for her at breakfast
while busy running for the bus
home late I failed to detect
the warm glow of a relationship
cooling along with my dinner
eaten alone in cold isolation

one day we bumped into each other
in the hall dodging from side to side
we could not shake
an encounter that had to happen
sometime in a one bedroom house

she looked well though older
a few laughter lines
on her face I’d not made
around eyes that no longer smiled
for me
she giggled and said
found you at last

but sadly too late

you can only have one
box of eggs she said
but we have to make omelettes
for five
well you just can't have them
she reiterated
now cashiers are making
culinary decisions in my household

when you're tired of the swings
and the thrill of the roundabouts
how's  another playground
gonna recharge your adrenaline

you survived all the bruises
and the scars have healed faded
so many tumbles trying
to push an unreachable envelope
perhaps it's time to appreciate the stars
rather than trying to reach them
to conquer the universe