why do we care
who follows us
narcissistic popularity
with faceless friends
who we have no hope
of ever catching up with
they’re not coming round
for tea and cake
you’re not cooking dinner
opening the wine
laying the table just right
none of them really give a ****
because like you
they want your likes
like for like
liking you living your best life
in the two second spotlight
of their stream
these are new friends
avatars on a screen
edited to oblivion
so you can barely see
where the cracks begin
we live in the moment
and report every movement
hoping someone will love us
so we can lead them on

someday I'd like to sit
in my armchair
by the window
bathed with sunlight
book open at a portal
to drift off into storyland
like Alice
down the rabbit hole

my house
is full of furniture
bought without thought
for colour or design
instead
functionality
practicality
space
convenience
and do I really need it
rule my decision making

no feng shui
rhythm or flow
it forms directionless avenues
walked daily in confused circles
wondering what I am looking for

my limbo house
where I dream my dreams
waiting for a ship to come in

somewhere there's a party
you're not invited to
but the little red dress
will gate-crash the venue
desperately trying to cover
more than it reveals
it will have a better time
than ever you can imagine
until disappointment reveals
it clothes a mere mortal
not some Hellenic goddess
a mirage of alcohol
a signal of distress
somewhere there's a party
you shouldn't be invited to
full of danger, anguish
and an end to innocence

when night comes
I lie in it's cold grasp
swathed with darkness and fear

voices echo inside my head
telling me of my isolation
a wall I have built
with no strength to destroy

I see faces, blank masks
staring at my supine body
as though I were a corpse

there is no emotion in their eyes
nor recognition of my face
they pass as ghosts
as they pass me every day

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.

the human heart
is not made to endure loss
the human soul
is not made to endure loneliness
it takes from us
an irreplaceable piece
cast into the stardust
of the universe
from where it came
where one day
we may find it again

all that sits and waits
for him at home
is one lousy mangy dog
and the man thinks
that it is his
like some jealous lover
keeping a mistress

he doesn't understand
that the dog will never leave

an unconditional love

unlike all the women
he has ever tried to own

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.

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.

Across an ocean
Across the world
A voice calls solemnly,
Asking of the murky waters
A reply

Half a world away, a sign
Comes down the ancient lines
A little faded by ships
Pipelines and submarines,
But still there

Like a faint whisper of hope
From the dawning of time
Very nearly from the grave
The voice of a mother
Calling to her child

Braving pollution
Harpoon and disease
The whale will swim,
For there is no voice as strong
As the voice of love

Calling you home.

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

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

I have a stone
As smooth as a bone,
In my sky rocket.
More precious than a diamond
Though it doesn’t shine,
In my sky rocket.
You gave it me in the garden
When we were weeding and planting,
A “Lucky stone” you called it
To remind me of you,
Wherever I go and you can’t.
So, I carry a stone
As smooth as a bone
That is you,
In my sky rocket.

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.

the cracks in the mirror
start to show
makeup morning
                              clown
becomes the show
unrecognisable face
made up to be
someone you know
still laughing
just not sure at what anymore

she is nice because
of some new desire
making him drinks
a nice lunch...

he's made her tea
in bed every morning
for years, simply
out of love for her

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

there is a dark room
the curtains are pulled
a little light penetrates
behind the locked door
I rarely go there
except in secret moments
when I know it's safe
and my hardened shell
can offer protection
I have to be strong
for the ones who rely on me
but like a weeping wound
my curiosity is drawn
visits get fewer and fewer
at some point I must stop
putting my childish anger
to rest

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

I bought some Dr. Martens
a leather jacket to go with
T-shirts, logo'd
Nirvana, *** Pistols, Incubus

but what I wanted to buy
was the swagger
the intense feeling
of not giving a ****
I'm going to live forever
and there's nothing you can do
about it
invincible
with attitude
spitting in the street

I used to watch The ******
Motorhead
Conflict

I was there as the Police
went in ******* horseback

but the only attitude I found
was the young kid serving
looking me up and down

thinking

midlife crisis
you fat, balding
grey haired old ***.

there are millions of us
like leaves on a branch
in a forest full of trees
what makes me so special
any more than these
trying to catch some sunlight
waiting for an autumn breeze

I'm sorry I'm so much like you
that you want to live through me
my alabaster features
from the same old block chipped
spitting of your image
if images could spit

I'm sorry I'm so much like you
because I wanted to be me
experience days, months, years
not a predestined journey
with footsteps I should follow
treading in your expectations

so that one day when I'm not
the dream you had for me
I become the disappointment
in your family tree

waiting for the miracle

burning candles at both ends
on the alter of time
hanging out with false friends
the blind leading the blind
enraptured by belief
that we all have our chance
dreaming through existence
that some may call a life

waiting for the miracle

if you live in a desert
any mirage is beautiful
even knowing it as an illusion
making plans around
how it will change your life
make you happier
than you have ever been
when you arrive
it dissipates
so you can start looking
for the next one

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.

I look like Raffa
(Rafael Benítez, Spanish football manager)
no ****!
you put a picture of him next to me
we look like long lost twins

but people don't seem to get
I'm not actually him

vilified by van drivers
builders on scaffolds
through open car windows

"oi Raffa you *****"

they don't seem to understand
he wouldn't be walking
carrying shopping
down the high street

I also look a bit like Peter Sutcliffe
but we'll leave it there I think

you are like cake
little substance
rising to a gentle warmth
a mouth full of air

your flavour is sweet
satisfying
at the time of eating
but an aftertaste
of guilt
a feeling of being
a little bit *****

you are always there
to temp a stray
from the right path
displaying your wares
like a shop window

what harm can a little pleasure do
no one will know
and you only live once

I was in love with love
immersed in a melancholy desire
for the affections of someone
who never existed I now realise
beyond my own stupid head

wrapped in imagination
tied with bows of fantasy
a present I could never open

anticipation
always more magical
than the actual event

this love was of my own creation
impossible for reality to measure up to
she's still up there somewhere
I visit when I can
in quiet moments of contemplation
the mistress of my brain

the tattoos they got
in love and in anger
have turned to cartoons
not warnings of danger

Pete Townsend was singing
about my generation
who are now on Zimmer frames
and hormone replacement

the kids were alright
in the cafés downtown
where the little blue pills
went around and around

now mellowed stagnated
judgemental outdated
by the new youth culture
that’s moving and shaking

jumping on bandwagons
and acting like tarts
they’re all ******* green
with no purple hearts

but the culture it ended
the scooters all scrapped
and none of them realised
that The Who they just rocked

I take comfort
from the greasy food
on my plate
hunter gatherer instincts
sated, my eyes search
for campfire flickering flames
and settle on the fish tank
I am zoned
replete
in the cavern
of my own space
my day over
I wait for the miracle
of sunrise

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

where shadows fall
another world ignites
flaming in my brain
monsters crawl
product of a fertile mind
and I run screaming
but I can never escape
because they are in me

Bright white, blinding,
lost in a sea of light.
Radar no longer functioning,
then suddenly intense, murderous heat
scorching legs and wings.


Trying to navigate a way out
they watch from the bed,
lost in its own Bermuda Triangle.


He is fascinated - how stupid
a creature can be to **** itself
on a light bulb.


She, understanding the distraction
of the light, sheds a tear
for how love hurts
and destroys you in the end.

she pirouettes on the edge of shadows
dancing in the light
danger lurks in dark corners
beauty unappreciated
the only colour in the room
seen only as a meal
begging for the trap
of silken ropes tied tight
around a beautiful body
so life can be snuffed out
I take my shower and watch
should I intervene
or let nature take it's course

you taught me fear
and a mistrust of strangers
now I have no friends
and am scared of rollercoasters

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

*******
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.

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

my muse teases me
with the faintest of smiles
then is gone
unrequited love
leaving a sweet taste
of what could
if only be

torturing my mind with ideas
fantasies
when put on paper
turn to epitaphs
where another train of thought
has died

I have to coax
bring out of the shadows
the beauty she has
for me
that I may write enlightened
set free

I wish I had learned to play an instrument
there is an untouched part of my soul
that will never have a voice
a chance of expression
I can never be truly lost
in music

It's an aid to creation, helps the words flow
Though my muse is not amused
By the drunken ***
Who pens poems only fit for graffiti
On toilet walls
We have an odd relationship
Based on trust and understanding
I don't trust her
And she'll never understand me
I have crushed so many worlds
With the clarity of alcohol
Including my own, left to drink
By myself in bad company
It's like a sad friend, who always turns up
When you're doing something else
Needing attention, grasping for love
That they can never give back
Only to rob you of your senses
Take over your whole life and
Still leave you wanting more
It's not me, it's the drink talking
Now ******* and leave us in peace.

I gave my sadness to my cat
it fitted his deadpan face
and generally glum demeanour,
he had the personality for it
besides it made him cute,
and a massive hit with the ladies

of course, I couldn’t really
give my sadness to my cat
apart from it being really unfair,
on my best friend and only true
companion, it is ridiculous
to think that an animal is depressed,

though I am, even with his support
endless nights listening to my troubles
his expressionless face understanding
every word, he helps me of course
having to look after someone who relies
on you, makes you feel wanted,

useful, almost powerful in some ways
but after all he is just a cat, however
much I try to make him human,
did I tell you he talks, not really
I think I probably need a therapist
and he just needs to be a cat,

it’s what he does best after all.

Henry Moore, the sculptor
has in his kitchen an original
Picasso
on the wall above the fridge
so every time he made a cuppa
he was reminded of his friend
not a fancy canvas in a frame
but a drawing on A4 sketch pad page
you can imagine the pair of them
discussing art and Henry giving
some small token to Pablo
of his work
and saying you know you should
paint some blue cows
it'll be good for you
you can invent the Emperor's new clothes
as often as you want
if you're a genius
and they would laugh over a glass
of whisky
Pablo went on to give life, of sorts
to his blue cows
oh, and I used to deliver whisky
to Henry Moore's house

my ship has sailed
I waited all my ****** life
for it to come in
and now I turn round
it's on the ****** horizon
heading into the metaphorical sunset
admittedly it was only a metaphorical ship
anyway
but none the less
I've missed it

I'm glad there are
still mysteries
like the wind in the trees
to ancient beings
faith
rather than understanding
how unbearably smug
would the human race be
if we knew ******* EVERYTHING

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.

I look back at the wreckage
of my life
mass of twisted emotion
car crash of desire
watching the beauty of bridges
burning out in the night
how can you understand me
when I barely know who I am
searching for personality
a place to call myself
mirrored in your eyes
I'm who you're looking for
an oasis in the desert
full of the promise of disappointment
leading to so many dead ends
that never had an entrance
lets skip the intro
move on to the overture
I don't do goodbyes
just change the music
and onto the next show

I have never owned a pet
I borrowed them from God
to test my humanity
put another's needs first
teach me about unconditional love

there is a special place
in my heart they always have
when they go
it is a little darker and quieter
but it always belongs to them

their time is short
I want to make each day
their best and
in my clumsy selfish way
make them human

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