she arranged the words
like dying flowers in a vase
what once were beautiful blooms
full of meaning
a representation of their passion
had become just the same old letters
there to approximate
an emotion
putting the less shabby
to the front
hoping to gently communicate
that the whole ****** thing
was doomed to dust

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

now he knows the answer we all seek

they reported my passing on Facebook
all most people could manage
was a sad emoji

I feel love trip on the stairs
carless footfall of a suicide damsel
I see love fail in comfy chairs
the silence of a Netflix series
I taste the end of what seems like
a lifetime of omelette Wednesdays
I hear love crackle with all the excuses
of working late phoned from pub car parks
it's faint call from the bedroom door
"are you coming up to bed soon love"
the click of the refrigerator door
***** of another cold one the psst
of a bottle opening giving it's solemn "no"

the defeated man
sees the possibility
in grey skies
the hope of sunshine
cleansing rain
the defeated man appreciates
a moments silence
kept from useless words
empty promises
failure is a trophy worth winning
now life can begin
now it means something

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

bring them on
I can feel them in the wings
waiting
breath baiting me
with their memories
if I can take them one by one
I have a chance
but when they rush me
jostle and push me
then I fail
life becomes too much
and I have to reset myself

they all leave me in the end

I love too soon
without knowing what love is
I want to express it
see if I can wear it
know if I can bear it
but it is unrequited
weird even

and they all leave me in the end

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

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

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

Where, oh where has this money been?
It's been up to London to buy me a woman.
When you'd had your pleasure, what else did you there?
Took in a live show, some sights to enjoy.
When you had seen, what did you then?
Went home to the wife, a yarn to spin.
Did you not waste such hard-earned cash?
I need the excitement, the seedy thrill.

Where, oh where has this money been?
Changed hands in a back street for needle and syringe.
What was then done to inject some feeling?
A little ******, just to keep me going.
But what about AIDS and ***?
It's one of those things that won't happen to me.
How do you finance such expensive tastes?
Sell stuff to kids at the going rate.

Where, oh where has this money been?
It bought me a meal and a little something to drink.
How did you earn this financial gain?
Begged it off some geezer down the Embankment.
Why are you out here sleeping so rough?
It's a long tale of women, gambling and drink.
What of these others with whom you share this door?
Just poor bleeding kids with no ******* jobs.

Where, oh where has this money been?
It bought me a contract with a few back handers.
And who did you bribe for their deceit?
Oh, it wasn't bribery, just a little commercial grease.
What will you build to make your mark?
Another block of flats, fully air-conditioned.
On what in the past is your empire built?
Prostitution, gambling, and a few tons of drugs.

music is playing in the other room
music playing
in another room
music
in another room playing
a tune
disturbing my mood
from another room
invading my space
from somewhere else
another room
music
SHUT UP!!

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

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

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

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.

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.

You cannot touch me here,
In the land of dreams...
Suspended between death and reality
By a slim thread of consciousness.
This is my space, my refuge
Where I can re enter
My embryonic state,
Before thought,
Before sight,
Before emotion;
Just the warmth of existence,
Not having to belong
Keep up,
Shape up,
Shut up,
Make something of myself
All I had to do was exist;
I was precious once,
A pearl in an oyster
Not a stone in your shoe.

I put my eyes
where they had no business
imagined my thoughts
inside their minds
following
hand in hand down the street
while they whispered sweet nothings
shooting the breeze
young and innocent
old and disillusioned
beauty and the beast
I wanted their mystery
to steal it for myself
I wanted to be them
both
to feel that burn in my stomach
that pleasure lived in a moment
when nothing matters
everything is now
just being
looking into another face
and recognising it as though
you’d known them all your life
hold a sweating hand
for companionship not possession
before ***
the realisation of love
an end to the innocence

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.

to be like us
stamped on, tortured, beaten to dust

a jealous rage that yells
at the gates of perceived equality

you want our world
then have it

you were beautiful
unique
mysterious

so welcome
now you're not

Let me describe the curve;


It is smooth as carved stone
Yet soft and warm
A texture like silk.
From where it begins
You can run your hands down
To describe a perfect pear.


Savouring each caress,
Let your hands feel
A hardened excitement
Electrifying your senses
Infecting the mind
With a passionate madness.


The curve can re-form,
Still described perfectly
Leaving everything in place,
Perspective changes
Enhancing new features
For fingers and tongue to explore.


You can become part of it
Melt into the sculpture.

he forgot how to human
all the competition drained from him
sitting at the lights
in the midst of blaring horns
the gateway open
go green
go green
no one caring that HE'd broken down
looking at an event horizon
drawing him from the crowd

a kid
with the throaty sound
of a tuned engine underfoot
cuts through my sleep
deprived eardrums
an almost tuneful exhaust note
rasps under acceleration
rippling night air outside
God I wish I was young again
when that sound alone
under my command
made me feel alive

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.

there are days
when even your own phone
doesn't recognise you

stranger face

it's when you find out
who your real friends are

the ones who make an effort
to talk to you

mine is a faint light
easily blown out
disturbed by the slightest breath
to see it it has to be very dark
very still
almost nothing

mine is a tiny voice
for such a big man
easily drowned out
with the shouts
of everyday life
and the conversations
so much more important
than what I have to say

mine is an empty space
like a storage locker
before it becomes storage
a house before it becomes
a home
or a garage before
you buy a car

but one day my light may guide you
through your darkness
one day you may need to see the way
one day my voice will comfort you
being the only one you can hear
that says anything to you
and one day my space
may be all the space you need
to rest your head
collect your thoughts
gather your strength
so you can carry on
ignoring me again

She lights another cigarette,
Exhaling the smoke
Through her words
Like a cancer breathing dragon;

A tanned, wrinkled face
With two huge painted eyes,
Show the ghost of what
Was once a beautiful sight.

She can still hold your attention
With her graceful gestures,
****** expressions and soft voice
But somehow you just don’t……

Hear a **** word she says,
As though her beauty departed
Taking with it all sense.
She is somehow now a freak;

Ruined by the pursuit of trying
To keep one step ahead
Of the years, but each one
Has left a mark on her skin

Like the rings around a tree,
Count the winning smiles baby;
She is a fallen angel
Remembering the glory of heaven,

But now clipped wings
Cannot carry her that far.

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.

I think you're gone
but there is inside me
that voice
disapproving, judging
I had celebrated my freedom
with a Budweiser
and some tears
not realising like
Steven King's
Lawnmower Man
you had been released
into my every nerve ending
my very being
part of my matrix
in life you had the strength
of an ark angel
and as I stumble
over these words
I am afraid retribution
is at hand
I am still scared of secrets
to let too much show
you once asked if I still
write poetry after dissing it
well I'd hardly call it that
this is my fear factory

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.

if you can look at a cat
but not see a creature
that is both cute
and cunning
a hunter
and a scavenger
loyal yet with a pure sense
of it's own self importance
you're not ready
for people yet

I miss the satisfaction
of that little lever
advancing cellulose
frame by frame
for an unseen exposure
until developer hits film
producing an image
clicked at 1/60th of a second
in time

The waves hold secrets
of fishermen's lives
fishermen's wives

buried at sea
sacrificed
giving life
to the ones they love
left on the shore, looking out
to an endless horizon
praying for God's mercy, love

safe return
for the fishermen
and the fisherman's friends
who left port
with bravado, confidence
they could conquer Neptune's wrath
sail between heaven and hell
bringing home the catch
from the depths

celebrate another day of life
snatched from the precipice
of a watery grave

I will scratch that itch
and she will devour my anger

in a room dimly lit
we play back half a relationship
like it's something we deserve
or even dare to understand

Coffee
Rich and dark
Slowly spinning in a white cup,
Therapeutic aromatherapy
Creating a warm feeling
Even sophisticated,
A smell that sells houses


Breakfast
Sizzling, crackling into life
Taste-buds still blurred
From the grogginess of sleep,
Bacon and eggs
Like Morecambe and Wise
An inseparable odd couple


Newspaper
Folded and re-folded
Onto an article of vague interest,
Words from another world
Unimaginable, war torn, desolate,
Colder than the rain-washed street
Outside this café window


Cigarette
The first of the day
Smouldering between yellowed
Fingers moulded to its shape,
Smoke slightly burning eyes
That are awakening to
Another fragment of life

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

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

you reach out
but the journey is too far
and I have not the faith
to go the distance
the void between us
is a chasm I can't bridge
it's not you, it's me
all the old excuses
it is easier to be alone
than to try to share time
open some doors
push some boundaries
all this potential activity
is met with my weariness
of all the times
I've been let down before

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

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

the cherry blossom blooms brightly
nature smiles on deserted streets
leaving a carpet of pink to colour
the desolate lonely landscape
it's like an empty welcome home
begging for the normality of children
playing among the flowers, commuters
enjoying the colour of a bright spring
morning on their way to work where
work is no longer an option
the trees will fruit from the poison earth
only the birds will enjoy their bounty
man no longer a part of what was once
a home, a life, a sanctuary

underpass gallery
where urban Picasso's
tag the walls as their own
having never paid a penny
in tax to offer compensation
for their spray paint intrusion
or maybe a **** and *****
or just *******
freedom of expression
being let out from under
the thumb of authority
mum and dad
school teachers
social workers
this is their voice
crying out into the darkness
of the unknown hereafter
that scares the **** out of them
perhaps we should listen
they are the future
perhaps we should be down there
with them
some of us could do
with a bit of freedom of expression
let some hair down
while there is still some left
to let

they want to take my toys away
'cos I won't play the game their way
but they don't understand my vision
see through my eyes of contradiction
the gatekeepers have closed their realm
standing strong for what they believe in
I know they'll never let me pass
they have a hatred that's deep entrenched
I'll carry on regardless though
in my one man delusional show

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.

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.

2am
listening to the song of the gnat
as I sit having a crap
book in hand
I always read here
since I had small children
the only place I got any peace

the song stops
I can feel the itch
tiny legs massaging skin
looking for a way in

more people killed than are alive today

quite a reputation for one so small
we always called them gnats
never mosquitos
the gnat sounded more diminutive
less of a threat
but as it turns out
they are connected through
their Latin name, Culicidae  

so I wonder about malaria
how it's coming back to our shores
as I finish the paperwork
and hear the song resume
disturbing it's evening meal

gulls squawk angrily on our roof
they argue about survival
forgetting they carry the souls
of drowned mariners

we argue in our bedsit
penned into a miniature life
fighting for identity
the right to be ourselves

we could be by the sea
but those angry squabbling scavengers
have never seen a wave in their lives
just gulls not seagulls

forgetting ourselves
we spar around the furniture
you are southpaw
I am orthodox

they root through *******
scattering it everywhere
no use to man nor beast
disease ridden vermin

wrapped up in life
forgetting how to fly
but we can all soar
if we ride the thermals

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