From far away they come
hard men all,
mercenaries under a foreign sun

oblivious to its rays they
bare all, turning puce red
or peel, under hard hats,

cut down jeans, working boots,
tool belts, like desert rats
fighting for a new horizon

Scouse, Manc, Paddy
nicknamed and framed
by the mockery of their peers

shouting language across green lawns
not yet laid, that most definitely
won’t be heard in the select circles

that will inhabit these modern homes
castles one and all, individually the same
oh no, they won’t be welcome

lowering the neighbourhood tone,
four wheel drive and pick-up
replaced by Mercedes and BMW

Nature settles in again, to frame
like the scar around a wound
healed but never quite the same

So they move on, soldiers of fortune,
mercenaries under a foreign sun
building new structures to change our futures.

This year clothes me like an old coat
Worn at the elbows, with saggy shoulders
A smell that suggests more wears than washes,
***** tissues and receipts filling pockets
A tear in the lining from a drunken fall,
A tear of pain from an emotional fool
Wiped on a sleeve to preserve my masculinity.

I need to shed this year like a skin
As a spider, a lobster, a snake in the sun
To outgrow and move on from restrictive tissue,
Embrace the world as new again,
Fool myself on New Year’s Eve
I emerge like the butterfly from its cocoon
Reveal my flamboyant new wings,
To kid myself I am reborn.

I smell on your clothes
the reek of addiction
yellowed fingers betray
your burning passion

are my dreams real or fake
from this sleep do I awake

fear swallows me

will this road ever end
this corridor hold a monster
at the bend
how deep is this watery abyss
how long do I fall from precipice
before ground comes up
to meet me

jolted into an altered state
I pull on garments that
are a uniform
to join an army of zombied rats
in commercial experimental maze

are my dreams real or fake
from this nightmare do I awake

I can hear the noise of the world, always
In my ears, like the sea never leaves the shell,
No matter how far travelled by a beachcomber
Who takes their souvenir home.
No matter how far I roam, the world follows up
It’s chaotic tone, voices shouting, ringing phones,
Cars with car horns rushing to be late
Somewhere they really don’t want to go.
Fools, vagabonds, gypsies, businessmen, wives
Police and thieves, cannot escape the gravitational
Drag of the world on their destiny.
I can hear the swish of their existence in my sleep
It never leaves me, like the restless tide it creeps.

And while Notre Dame burns
Conspiracy theorists rewrite history
On their terms.

he cuts the grass into stripes
annoyed that the fence
doesn't run parallel

he will sit with a beer
after a long day
watching the sunset
his OCD screaming
it's not symmetrical

it's all he will see
amidst this natural
beauty

the blind is broken
on the back door
where I try the handle
maybe one two three four
times before bed
my foot treads
wear a furrow
into carpet pile
patrolling by the mile
a circuit I navigate
from door to window
and back again
checking checking
my doorbell's camera eye
spies on the street outside
intruder alerts on my phone
warn of incoming......
something
all so I can complete
a nights sleep
with one ear open
tossing turning
I have covered all eventualities
except the Bogeyman
in my head
under the bed

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

no sunset tonight
clouds cover the grand parade
of the dyeing of the light
today will end with a whisper
not a shout
we will not notice the passing
of a time we won't remember
to forget
no tears of sorrow or laughter
or regret
nothing exciting ever seems  
to happen on a Wednesday

The piano in the corner is silent
Now Johnny’s gone, shot down over France
And the bar is so much quieter
After Toby died with some Fokker up his ****;
The reality of war has now hit us
The next scramble could be your last,
So let’s have one for the road, boys
Because outside its dark and its cold
The wind sounds hungry to take us
To places we’d rather not go.

The man we all know as “Red Leader”
A *******, but a ****** good laugh
Now dreams each night he is burning
His screams voicing all of our fears,
But we’ll still put a brave face on it
Stiff upper lip and all of that jazz,
Although it feels like we are waiting
For the very last call to arms;
But the bottle on the bar isn’t empty
And death still stands in the wings.

The drone of a “Doodlebug” overhead
On its way to London Town;
How much more can the poor buggers take
With another street blown to hell?
Today, I believe, is Good Friday
So let’s raise our glasses to a man
Who sacrificed life for all our sakes
As we may lose ours for our freedom:
But there’s still some feeling in my body
And time for a few glasses more.

A young kid, just arrived yesterday
Looks at these haggard faces in awe,
To him, this room is full of heroes
Not the ones who have so far survived;
Trained for half the time needed
He is willing to go to war
Only nineteen, but by this time tomorrow
He’ll have aged about ten years more.
So let’s drink to you, young fool
May you live to see a better day.

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

an inconsequential lyric
battles an annoyingly catchy tune
and I'm reminded of you
this was our song baby
three minutes of tortuous
heartbreak memory stew
this actually used to make me smile
before memories shelved
come tumbling down
like tomes from a bookcase
we built with our glue
that couldn't even keep us together
I was never honest with you baby
I only ever liked rock n' roll

some time ago
I went out to get
a packet of ****
and forgot how
to find my way
home again

cocooned
surrounded by food
hibernating bear
waiting out a cold winter
Smaug on a pile of gold
secure
bolstered against the onslaught
of an unseen enemy assault
more provisions than Tesco
locked down
sweating on sell by dates expiring

The shiny blade cuts
Running with the blood of the forest
We must have trees for books
To pass on knowledge
And political ethics.

So we destroy the world
Telling everybody how bad it is
To destroy the world.

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.

I couldn't have made it
without you
from recognising a kindred spirit
to discovering a soulmate
beyond passion, beyond even love
you are part of me

not a word written
not a word uttered
thoughts stream
like traffic on the motorway
so many journeys
so many destinations
not even sure
if they all make it
Sunday fades into a sunset
Monday looms with it's onset
nothing to do but wait
a perfect moment passed
a perfect moment lost
darkness descends
this will be no more

she bought me more pens
from zoos and amusement
parks than I’ll ever need
for miles of thoughts
I’ve no time to travel
envisaged a desert of
white paper waiting
for the sky to rain
words turned to pros
and verse, you are a
writer dad she said
in need of inspiration
and this is all I have
to give your fertile mind
but she is wrong so wrong
my inspiration is her
my reason to carry on
belief in what I do
all the ink in the world
could not express just
how much I love her

we are all accomplices
the plate cannot lie
something murdered casually
so we can finely dine
oozing still the blood
that once coursed it's veins
a rare and gruesome pallet
enjoyed with chips and peas

yet we pet the dog
call him companion and friend
invited into the family
like a furry surrogate child
stroke the cat on our evening lap
cooing and talking
like they understand
they have the protection of PET

otherwise we'd be cuddling a snack

I feel my phone vibrate
in my jeans pocket
even though it rests
in front of me on the desk
like a severed limb
can still itch

emotional kata
series of strokes
against the resistance
of canvas
a picture evolves
almost like nature
becoming organic
an extension of emotion
battle conquering calamity
the brush talks
even shouts some passages
poem based in
pigment and oil
at the end
everyone is exhausted
something happened
beyond the reasonable
control of evolution

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

we went out to the desert
my young daughter and I
looking for the pilots
crash site shot down in a dogfight
over this strange landscape

we found the memorial
to their sadly shortened lives
and my daughter who had
collected shells from the beach
to take home
placed them as offerings

tears welled in my eyes
and I thanked them for their
sacrifice and this precious
moment in my life

he said he had a bad back
(the front wasn't too hot either!)
playing for my sympathy
looking for a pity party
trying to be the bigger man
struggling on through
the storm of pain

I hurt every day
because I'm supposed to
it's how I know I'm still alive
I didn't tell him
he might've cried

do you want anything
from the shops
she said
it used to be pizza and beer
nowadays just
you home safely
my love

tonight I am a poet
but that could just be
the drink talking

the clatter of machinery
invades my bedroom
as rotors defeat gravity
for as long as fuel allows
someone's on the run
headed for the woods
at the back of my house
why do they think the
darkness of trees and
undergrowth will hide
them from infrared's
all seeing eye, their
journey to freedom
is about to end dramatically
under spotlight
I've got to get up for work
in under four hours

I offer my prayer
to the ancient Gods
of sun and wind and rain
for they are the only ones left
when all the others have failed

prostitutes
who walk the streets
for the relief of men
unhappy at home
check out girls
at the till of empty promises
waiting to be discovered
and whisked away
young ones in yoga pants
jogging for a better body
and a better future
counting the steps
to where they could’ve
been today
the ones pushing prams
who are too late to corrupt
but you’d still give it a go
the tempting schoolgirls
in their uniformed uniformity
who’s radiant faces separate them
from their peers
they are all someone’s daughter
somebody’s pride and joy
they are all loved by fathers
who would lay down their lives
for them
who have made sacrifices
for them
and would again
precious
missed
special
remember this
as you glance a lustful eye
in their direction

sometimes the prisons that hold us
have no walls ceiling or door
we are our own jailer
judge and jury
we’re the only ones
can set us free

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

you dream the dream
of what's in their head
lost to the living
sacrificed to the dead
spirits rise within you
Ouija magic Ouija curse
they walk among us
hidden faces a veiled darkness
they walk among us
secrets half learnt

I write lines that are sublime
I write lines that aren't mine
words are written on the page
by my hand but not my mind

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.

I have spent my life so far
looking through a window
as the parade passes
searching for a door
some way in

to date this hasn't happened

stuck in purgatory
awaiting an official decision
of my fate

I patiently age
beyond recognition
having little of myself
left to give

I will know the sign
like an aneurysm in my brain
bursting to let my spectre escape
a change is  a-coming
but will I survive
my coming out

we build a bridge
one brick at a time
that will hold our weight

so we can run into
each others arms again

you had so much clay
to mould into
the perfect shape of existence
why did you punish so many
on their road to Damascus

I'm going through a quiet patch
the voices have lost their urgency
turning to annoying whispers
sometimes they give me a line
and I ignore it, try to remember
then regret not writing it down
it's almost nice, the quiet
I still have the urge, but not
the spark to carry it out
like an old dog that lies
on the step in the sun dreaming
that once he could've herded sheep
but it's beyond him now
so dreaming is all he has left
but the sun is warm on his back
and there's always tomorrow

We'll wake up and smell the coffee

God counts them in, three by three
rainbow children dancing free
forbidden fruit unfamiliar to Eve

the arc is leaving for the sinful to drown

so bring on the clowns, the jugglers
and actors, luvvies, lovers of flesh
summon them to entertain us
with original sin and panache
we set sail tomorrow at sunset
to wake in the morning to the smell
of coffee and angels burning
burning in Hell

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

everybody wants you dead
bad guy
villain
in every tale
told to children
looking under beds
for nightmares
disease ridden vermin
universally hated
no more than fifteen feet
from any Londoner
on the street
above sewers where little feet
scurry among excrement
waste from those above
what did you do
you furry little **** faced
******* to obtain the moniker
of the embodiment of all evil
looking almost cute
oversized mouse
who missed out
on the distribution
of love among creatures

needle idling
leading in
taking flight
across the groove
crackling into life
unchanged since 1889
black disc spinning
revealing secrets
from the darkness of vinyl
rumble of base
crash of high hat
lyrical weavings
entwined around
a density of sound
unmatched by digital cleanliness
the smell of aging cardboard
with artwork
fit for a gallery

We are the recorders of history
weirdos, winos forgotten souls
sideline shadows watching
for someone to fall, so we
can write a verse or two on tragedy
twist it out of our tormented minds
to show we care in our special way
but we do not change the world
for if there were no misery
we'd run out of material to write about

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 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

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

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

you are the stillness
in my life

sanctuary

while all around the world rages

granite
the hardest rock
strongest foundation

I have clung here for safety
warmth and love
immeasurably given
gratefully received