I will flower like an orchid
In the forest,
Beautifully alone;
With only the sky to see my colour
The trees to call my home.
When I die, no one will cry
At the passing of my beauty;
As petals fade and leaves shrivel,
I will return to whence I came
Leaving the world unaltered.

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

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.

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.

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

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

I have spent my life
looking through a window
at the colourful parade

my search for a door was futile
I really can't see a way in

no one notices me here
banging, shouting, waving

but I will make them look
I will make them stare
aghast in disbelief

I will cause a reverberation
around the world, steal screen time
in news reports and on tv
people will ask why, why
what went so wrong
how can we stop this
from ever happening again

Well there are all kinds of crazies in the world, sometimes you just have to let them in, but above all and most importantly, keep them away from guns.

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

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

Out of place
In a displaced world,
There is a frailty in your touch
A dampness in your kiss
Childlike gestures belie your years
Alice through the Looking Glass
An ****** dream, beset with innocence
Lost many years ago
You are out of your face
In this displaced world
Whirling around my head, spinning
Sliding down the stairs
Laughing at the silliest things
All I want to do
Is *******.

for all the world
he was a battleship
a tanker
all before him
pushed aside
lost in his wake
the wash felt
by many lives

inside he was a coracle
a dingy
rowing for dear life
hoping no one would notice
just how insignificant
he felt

There is calm

early september pushes summer's
burning sun aside
light changes
air cools, like chilled water
on skin, drink it in

autumn beckons
winter threatens

there is a sadness in your heart
as the world changes
an eternal cycle of hellos
and goodbyes
punctuated with days
that you stick into that memory
scrapbook, which may or may not fade

but now there is this stillness
nothing is happening
before all Hell lets loose
I can be happy
savour a moment
a moment of truth.

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.

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

I like that you don’t know my name
this dangerous liaison
smacks of a suicide mission
in this day and age
flying solo in the erotisphere
carries all kinds of penalties
especially with broken wings
that have left me unable to soar
crawling like a serpent
banished from Eden’s beauty
for all the sins I have performed
no resistance to temptation
always accepting any fruit proffered
by shadows that pass through the night
the rings getting darker under eyes
that have seen too much bed
and not enough honest rest
too much passion with no feeling
blank faces and sweated screaming
I like that you don’t know my name
so you won’t judge me far less trace me
for my part I promise to never call again

it's not that I'm antisocial
that I want to be alone
or friends are an intrusion
to my fragile state of mind
it's just that I'm protecting you
from the madness behind
my eyes

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

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

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 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

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.

I saw the fear in his eyes
of defeats endured through childhood
bruises inflicted by a fathers rage
although now faded
cigarette burns under tattoo ink
hidden but never forgotten
he was mean when he was drunk
no particular sin apart from existence
I almost forgave him
the black eye and broken nose

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.

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

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

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.

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

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

what makes us want to dance
in sunlight
what abandonment is triggered
by the simplest of elements
in our ancient brain
that can bring joy
even in our darkest moments
a prisoner in his cell
a soldier fighting a living hell

what makes us want to dance
in starlight
what abandonment is triggered
in our ancient brain
by the celestial mantle
of the sky lit by sparks
already burnt out
shedding a light from
the dawn of time itself
that we still wonder at

what makes us want to laugh
at the simplest of things
to find mirth in a cat’s antics
a child’s play a stupid joke
you already knew
the punchline to anyway
why
because we should
no matter what shadows haunt us
no matter how hopeless it all seems
we are still human
in our hearts born to be free

Stripey, furry, pollen coated
Buzzing summer stillness into life,
Journey of fertility from stamen to
Stamen, pollination, by-product of travail.
Sweet honey stored in citadel honeycomb
Shaped perfectly, Fibonacci sequence,
Queen factory birthing, supplying an army
Compulsory conscription, signed up for life
Common mind, common goal, calculating
Journeys to fertile meadows, returning
Debriefing to communicate flight path,
Destination situation report, until
One day dispatch signals failure
The hive is silenced, the computer
Turned off.

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

"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 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 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

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.

Like a bird against a window
I am convinced paradise lies beyond reflection
through  this force field

constantly chasing your shadow
I believe it guides me where I want to go
though it feints movement to fool me sometimes

I have bashed my brains out on false promises
and shadows are only after all
human shaped darkness

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.

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

In nature
The colour black does not exist
Man himself invented it;
It pleased his eye
The density, its ability to swallow light,
Blacker than the blackest night
Darker than the darkest skin;
He made it evil
Made it sin
But always it attracted him,
The way it swallowed everything.

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

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

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

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.

I put you back inside your box
and placed it just behind my eye
the lid is loose and the sides cracked
light shines as though under a doorway
your story paramount in my library
when you're not here I hold a breath
that is yours and yours alone, a sigh
for when we are once more met
and history tumbles like yesterday

Poetry is the open wound
From which the **** of our minds seeps
Infecting the world with it's vitriol
Spreading it's disgusting disease
A scab that never heals, as we pick
And pick away at an itch, letting the injury
Ooze and weep, always there to remind us
We can never resist perverse temptation
And rid us of the addiction that will always
Cause us pain, so open your minds
Let them breathe and pen.

the time has come
when walking home
with two loaves of bread
and a pack of gammon rashers
makes you really feel
like you're bringing home
the bacon
I have seen sights
that are from the movies
I am Legend comes to mind
the whole world become
greedy grasping zombies
out for their own personal gain
we have turned our backs
on community compassion
left with a void
once filled with toilet roll
and pasta
queues outside supermarkets
marshalled by police
people stockpiling petrol
***
we're supposed to be on lock down
where the hell are you going
the old and vulnerable
pushed to the kerb of life
thrown from the safety of a pavement
now reserved for the big enough
to elbow everyone else
out of the way
but today I have bacon
and bread
today I can have a sandwich

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.

we are all broken
it just depends how much

sometimes you can pick up the pieces
and glue them together with hope

almost looking the same as before

only the ones who really know
can maybe spot a look in the eyes
that wasn't always quite there

we are all broken
it just depends how much

you can pick up all the pieces
and glue them back together with hope

but sometimes there's not enough
the crack will always show

people will see the badly mended shell
and not want to look inside

where there still haunts a ghost
of what was once a life

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

A kid makes a finger gun
With hammer thumb
To fire at passing traffic,
From the cover of his bunker bus stop;
In America he’d be an active shooter
****, they have names for it over there,
Here he’s just a ******* nuisance;
His shelter advertises a deodorant
Shaped just like and called bullet
Perhaps some subliminal message
Has entered his head
The power of advertising, the power of death.

For a deodorant that advocates love and attraction
It’s a strange message.