so I surrounded myself with stuff
it made me feel better
worthy, an achiever
bolstering my confidence
stuff came through the post
parcels to open everyday
it was like Christmas
stuff was in shops
where people were happy
to help spend my money
it was like they were jealous
wanting to live through me
getting the stuff they wanted
but I was paying
then I began to worship stuff
exclusive stuff
one of a kind stuff
then I woke up
literally opened my eyes
and saw all this ****
how I had coveted it
no friends, no relationship
no emotion, no soul
I was effectively dead
some Egyptian mummy
preserved in a living tomb
full of all all the ****
I'd need in the afterlife
because I had no time
to appreciate it all now
so I sold my ****
to people who were like me
and I looked at them
slavering over my old ****
and I hated them
like seeing my image in a mirror
they were so pleased
carrying off their prizes
not realising it was all cursed
they never owned anything
just stuff someone would
someday
prize from their cold dead fingers

Stillness
heat haze shimmering
distorting hedgerows and landscape
alive with nature buzzing, chirping, fluttering
continual motion,
though
we feel like lazing, resting not sweating
absorbing heat and radiation
drawn to beaches to sit like the terraced
houses we inhabit, still on each other's
doorstep next to a sea lapping the sand
bringing down walls of castles and mounds
built on the memories of childhood
we will one day treasure to measure
the enjoyment we will pass on
of halcyon days, in summer sun.

I live my life
with the blindness of the sun
searing days with nuclear rays
burning, burning, everyone

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.

this is a poor mans heaven
rooms lit by a golden glow
as the sun shines for a moment
to illuminate it's kingdom
before dipping behind a horizon
where only memories can light
the way to a promised land
it is fleeting moments like this
that feed my soul and elevate me
spiritually to a kind of epiphany
the same sun man has worshipped
since his beginning of time

bathed in light
I can almost touch
it feels alive around me
enveloping
I feel my ancestors fear
and respect
as I capture it
on digital SD card

she loved the sunrise
all that hope promised
first light of a new day

I was always a sunset kind've guy
preferring to know it's all over
watching my anger and disappointment
drain from the sky

we're no longer together

days passed
and we never saw eye to eye

the surprise attack
is always a great play
feigning love interest
like the pitbull never wags it's tail
all the time waiting for a fight
for no other reason
than to let it all go

A body in motion
Translating sound into
Action, stepping bowing
Then momentarily,
She flies.


A perfect, graceful sight
Muscles taut, try to keep
Pace with a mind, that
Not even gravity
Can corrupt.


Her torso sculpted by
Dedication, passion,
Anger and pain, so that
She may perhaps go on
To fly again.


Floating through the air like
Water, black and sombre;
But she dies in the end,
Old age clipping her wings
Into submission.

If I ever make it
these books will burn
I don’t want anyone to know
how I suffered to make
the good stuff glow
like a photographer
shooting a thousand frames
for a keeper
I want people to think
it flowed
here to entertain
not the sympathy vote

She dies again each day when he awakes;
Slipping from dreams chaotic release, momentarily
All is as has always been; slowly the emptiness
Invades, as daylight through the curtains
Penetrates corners of the room, his mind
Drawn to clothes on the chair scented
By her perfume, slippers waiting footless by the door
Ready to shuffle across the landing to the bathroom
A journey taken for fifty years, but no more;
Downstairs the kettle waits to be filled
Just enough for one cup, a bowl for cereal
A spoon to consume, one of everything
One, singular, alone, lonely, no ‘good morning,
Love how are you’, just a table set for him.

Gotta’ keep going, always on the move
Avoiding time to think, life a blank canvas
That has to be filled with an indiscriminate
Sketch of moments, connecting into days
Creating a new picture of his life, unplanned
Unexpected, unwanted, unfinished portrait
Of a single man drowning in grief, to hang
Among the pictures she so carefully painted
Framed on the walls of the hall he walks alone
Heading for the kitchen where there waits
A table for one.

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.

Headlights, LED's, burning bright
Into my retinas, reflected in rear view
And side mirrors, a radiator grill just
Visible, almost the outline of a person
Behind the wheel, androgynous ghost,
Mad Max or just mad, determined
To drive to wherever, faster than
Anyone else, cocooned in black leather
Heads up display laid out across sweeping
Digital dashboard, vying to pass me;
But what of the queue plainly ahead
Stretching to far horizon, vanishing point,

Perhaps it is supernatural, absorbing traffic
Clearing the way by passing through it,
An alien craft with technology far
Advanced from our slow turning wheels
Selfishly driving alone in our home from
Home interiors, gathering subjects
For an out of this world experience
Or maybe a time machine
Like Back to the Future powered by flux
Capacitor, it will disappear and turn up
Ahead of all of us, or maybe my imagination
Has run riot and it's just another impatient
Idiot.

so the day is going well
which is never a good sign
time ticking past somnambulantly
inducing a soporific state
I find hard to shake
with rocking carriages
as I traverse to my travail
through millennia of archaeology
passing long extinct dinosaurs
turning magically to crude oil
Roman armies with Gladius drawn
ready for action two thousand
years on, still trying to conquer
the unconquerable realm
then an eco-warrior
of shabby description
yells my carbon footprint
is an abominable *******
it’s an electric train I holler
how much greener can I be fella
the Romans are looking friendlier
by the minute they only wanted
my freedom not justification of existence
the soporific state abates
the modern world is against me
now I’m running late

Tattoo'd songstress,
Contralto vocals from a
Broken heart, Cohen's bird
On a wire, exalting freedom
All the while tied to intoxication,
Those who loved her
Wished her well, but she was
Pressgang'd, harassed
Until she finally flew away,
Leaving only that voice
Her Spirit trapped in a CD case.

Written after seeing the film of the same name, starring Robert De Niro.

I drive these lonely streets at night
Picking up shadows from under street lights
I'll take anyone, kooks, pushers, hookers
I'll travel any place, don't bother me
Not my business the hours these people keep.
The rain lashes down, blurring the bright lights
Like a watercolour painting, mixing, blending
Some day a great rain will come
And wash all the **** off the streets.

I feel inside me a change coming
Someone must somehow stop
The users and abusers of the innocent,
There must be one to make a stand.
I see young girls, fourteen or fifteen
Walking the sidewalk for the pleasure of creeps
Selling the dream of teenage ***;
What dreams do they have locked away
Washed into the gutter by the rain.

I see drug pushers selling people's lives
On the dream of a trip to the wild side
Everyone is trying to get out, escape
But the streets have a grip you cannot see,
You can buy a potion to get you high
But from this hell there is no easy exit.
Some come to this circus to trade
They need to live their life of lies
And I am the ferryman to the other side.

Some day a great rain will come
To wash away all of this ****,
Women will be able to walk safe, alone
Without looking over their shoulder;
I feel a change coming in me
I must be the one to make a stand,
These children of sin need a home
Somewhere to shelter from the storm,
Then maybe I can sleep nights again.

I had some good words back then
full of angst
testosterone powered passion
directionless lyricism

I was in a wilderness
where only brambles and weeds grew
flowers afraid to show their colour
for fear of being trampled

but now I approach my Eden
through the open gate
sunshine beckons me
illuminating light and shade
words begin to fail me
beauty has muted my pen
anger needs to sit and rest

t.v. stole imagination
smashing it from my head
nothing left
for my mind’s eye
to see

drawn
a moth to a flame
violated
life in Technicolor
a movie
roll credits

as I lay down my head
my phone next to me
on the bed
your text
vibrates across the mattress springs
like a technological tinnitus
inside my ear
my consciousness
you want to talk
but not like that
just to make an unarguable point
guilt ridden acronyms
miss-spelt accusations
and inappropriate emojis
convey your emotions
with a twisted sarcastic humour
interlinked with your vent
you know that from the safety of 4G
it aggravates me
I’m bored with it all
too much to even reply
it would make more sense
if you weren’t
abusing me from the spare room

“Come in and sit down”
said the celluloid voice,
smooth as silk.
Cautiously I stepped
through the TV screen,
to take my place.


“I will show you a world”
it continued,
“That bears no relation
to what you consider as
REALITY.”


The air around electrified,
as the set was powered to life.


Beautiful bodies playing on a beach,
running into the foaming sea;
sun ripening skin, bleaching hair;
Then, from nowhere a can appears,
elixir of every surfer, sun worshipper.


Somewhere in the distance
a distinctive throaty roar,
the romantic throb of a Harley;
ridden by a pair of jeans
giving identity to,
some muscular male *****;
A dream of America
and freedom.


Slow moody blues solo
hangs in the air;
a guitar talking to a journeyman,
familiar but not remembered.
Every note sustained, holding breath,
then carried by a riff
from a bottle of bourbon.


Outside the set
beautiful bodies are burning up,
through a hole in the ozone.
(Too many limousines and Harleys)
The alcoholic looks on, wide eyed,
trying to see a way in,
really believing there is one.

We sit in manicured silence
A sterile, germ free environment
But still we share the air
In this room,
Breathing and rebreathing
Our own and each other's fumes.
I can smell your eau de cologne
With a hint of toothpaste,
Though not enough to disguise
The lingering fug of cigarettes
In hair and on clothes,
Unchanged since yesterday, telling
Of that drink on the way home in the pub,
Your hands shake a little, yellowed fingers
Giving away your nicotine addiction;

So doc how's the state of my health.

The atheist walks
Past the supermarket
Seeing only shoppers,
Buying their daily bread
Earnt by working nights on security, or
Days serving zombied customers
At drive through takeaways
Getting abused, watching the litter
Pile up from don't give a toss
Attitudes diving immaculate cars,
He sees shattered dreams in the homeless
Begging to survive another day
In pavement poverty,
Preying on good will by sliding doors
In the rain,
Teenagers pushing prams, abandoned
To a cruel world of benefits and scams
Just to make ends meet,
Men wheeling six packs to their hatchbacks
Hoping they have enough *****
To block out another weekend
Of the wife moaning about never going out
And the grass needs cutting,
He smells the pollution of all the cars
Driven a few hundred yards
For a pack of cigarettes
And some dried noodles for the kids for lunch
Just to shut them up,
He sees only individuals
Railing against each other, falling
Over their directionless lives
All wanting to be somewhere, NOW.
He pushes past them all
Never looking up, never acknowledging
A single face, knowing his place
In the crowd.

But I see the woman who stops
In her nurses uniform
Tired from another 12 hour shift
Smiling at the beggar she drops him her change,
Takes her shopping to the car
Looking forward to a family meal together,
Waits for someone to pull out of their parking space
As she leaves for a humble home
Built on love,
I still see a light in the darkness.

heavy hearts in empty homes
vacant seats on empty thrones
we travel for to be alone
the world revolves cold as stone
horizons draw us with our hearts
we have to see we have to know
but in the end we always find
we're better off among our own kind
the decibels ring in my ears
blank out the noise of inner fears
if we all shout that we are brave
perhaps none of us will be enslaved

we make camp at the coffee shop
turning a table and four chairs
into temporary home
decorated with a decor
of scarves, coats and bags
an invisible wall
focusing in on our refuge
the intimacy of the cups, saucers, plates
and conversation

in the corner
a man on his own
invades the whole room
conversing into his mobile
which I am not convinced
is in a call
nudging everyone into looking
beyond the realm
of their comfort zone

it's late August
the roads are still quiet
while a workforce
bronze in European sun
and children
sleep till noon on seemingly
endless summer holidays
staving off the winter blues
just around the corner
with Christmas decorations
already in the shops
the big push to do it all again
bigger and better than last year
is on
but today I am content
in this moment
almost
just almost
happy to drive to work

we spent three hours of my life
on a takeaway
watching a further hour
tick away on a film
bought on Netflix
that I'd half already seen
through my eyelids
an hour wasted on a book
before bed which I'll
finish reading even though
I lost interest in the plot
early on but feel obliged
to see how it turns out
then sleep, one of my few
free pleasures before alarmed
awake by Alexa who I spent
nearly a whole day on
just so I could get up
and do all this **** again
so I can afford more stuff
to fill my empty time

I witness the cruelty
I feel the beauty
what hurts me is
I'll never know
if you see it too
I hope you understand
how much I miss you
a life stolen from us
by the everyday events
that separate the way
we want to go
it feels as though we steal
the daylight we share sometimes
an almost guilty pleasure
not something we should
have a right to

never too near a vein
the pills
left where they can be found
and always someone on hand
to save the day
your silent shout
heard by distant crowds
who want to help
but don't know how
one day you have to realise
just how ******* mundane
life is
then you can join in
with the rest of us

I envy you
your suppleness of body
tuned muscular perfection
poised between
a creature of land
and a creature of water
shimmering with almost naked
beauty, you dive a perfect ten
into my imagination

She waved to him
From the island of the sofa,
Surrounded by her magazines
Mobile phone screen ablaze
With her usual social media,
Attention on her mind
He, headphones on was in the zone,
So many times the trance
Had been broken,
Inner world invaded by trivialities,
Today he just turned his head away
He had balanced the perfect mix
Between beer buzz and musical bliss,
This time he was going deep
Diving, fish like into sonic waters
A Pink Floyd sea of euphoric escape
This time, she was just going to have to wait
Until he broke surface again.

I watch an hour hold its breath
And wait to let it out
Hands slowed by an unseen force
As they travel across the clocks face
These dark days feed me
With a hunger for warmth and light
A feeling that can only leave me
Chasing rainbows in between clouds.

Another day, a little more hope
See what happens given enough rope
Waiting for the longest drop
When darkness stops my ticking clock
Nobody has called my name
Not even a candle to light the way
For my fate I stand in line
My daily bread still leaves me starving

Just when it couldn't get any worse
Suddenly the heavens opened
Making rivers of all my sorrows.
Soon all at sea without a float
I will sink with the sun in the west
Setting fire to the sky
As though God has taken my anger
And made it beautiful.

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.

He watches them with amused scorn,
The tourists with their cameras
Factual guide books and audio tours;
Collecting his memories as their own
Walking from room to room,
Trying to sense his presence
Capture the essence of his spirit;
Ignoring the signs that say
Please don’t touch and
No photography.

He was a tourist who conquered worlds
Risked his life for his souvenirs,
Instead of visiting the gift shop
For some token piece of plastic crap,
Or magnet to put on the fridge door
As a reminder when they got the milk,
Of adventures they never had;
Wishing they could’ve walked
In the footsteps of the ghost,
Of a tourist.

one day son
all this will be yours
I give you the sea
for sunsets and meditation

"but you have plundered the waves
and made a desert of water."

I give you the sky to fly
spread your wings to foreign climes
discover a world of antiquity

"but you polluted the clouds
left vapour trails across the blue
perfect mantle claiming
conquest of the heavens"

I give you the earth
to travel freely and discover
it's beauty and marvels

"the earth is my home
where I thought I was safe
but a poison chalice
is all you can pass
to my parched lips
to quench a thirst for life
already taken from me"

"I am the most precious thing you have??"

"I thought you loved me beyond
the moon, the stars, the sea
the earth, beyond mortal life"

"but it seems you only loved yourself"

There is a girl
With flaming red hair
And tattoos that talk to me
As I follow them inside her shirt,
Everything about her screams
Look at me, look at me!
So I do
Then she creeps into my head
And undresses.

You could see the scars
where coloured ink sank deep,
making patterns in his flesh;
deeper than a love
which prompted the first cut,
one drunken night on shore leave
in some long forgotten port;
when Stacy was his girl,
decorated with a rose.


Then a panther leapt to mind,
embedding its image into the skin
of his back;
a dark shadow to protect him
from danger of surprise attack.
But its blind eyes
never saw the knife,
when he lost his life
in a bar room brawl.


The world had gradually
coloured him in,
etching out a journey
from Far East to Babylon,
across all the oceans.
The devil sat at his shoulder
so he knew where to find him.
A dragon on his right arm,
snake and dagger on the left.
At night in fractured dreams, they’d fight,
breathing fire and spitting
reptilian venom.


It seemed a shame to bury him,
he really belonged in a gallery.
But the sea accepted
without any fuss,
the man whose imagination
was for all to see,
drawing attention to himself.

the remaining trees bore witness
to the stares of men
seeking out death
so they could avoid it
the remaining trees grow strong
on the bodies of men
who found it
never to return home
to loved ones
ordinary jobs
ordinary lives

no one can come here
the land still poisoned
by the hate of those determined
to **** each other
with
lead, chlorine
mercury and arsenic
unexploded shells and grenades
can still **** 100 years on

it is quiet
nature is allowed the freedom
to grow
fill the void
that was once mud
trenches and shell holes
this really is no man's land
because we made it so

It's all for a laugh
Why the long face horse's ****,
Put a lightbulb where the sun don't shine
And lighten the **** up
This is a roller coaster, baby
I don't know where it stops
But it's all for the crack
You can stumble as much as you want
Fall if you need to
My hysteria will see the funny
Sunny side of the street
Make a dance for happy feet
So don't be sad
Come laugh it up with the lads
You're one of the boys
Toys that is
We can play all night
But I,
Not so nicely with the other kids.

The leaf spreads
lungs of the earth

cloaking summer skies
from squinting eyes

but does it live for
that one gentle flight
of autumn, floating
to the ground
a few brief moments
of freedom

when you're on
the window ledge of life
people tell you
go see a psychiatrist
(get yourself some therapy)
I've been here a while
haven't drawn a crowd yet
but people are starting to notice
(I'm pretty unobtrusive)
even my own mother
didn't recognise me once
(she's part of the problem)
but that's another story
as I say been here a while
and I'm starting to enjoy
the view
if you don't look down
where all the problems are
but take in the horizon
crazy isn't a bad place to be
I see sunsets
flocks of birds
cloud formations
moon phases
starting to go ancient man brain
starting to cure myself
all that **** below me
doesn't matter
the cars, the people, the noise
pollution, war, ******
I've started to make
the ledge my home
moving in
I can jump any time I want
but find myself needing
another sunrise
blinding light of today
gradually illuminating a world
that really doesn't deserve it
people want me to get therapy
so I can live in a crazy world
how does that
make any kind of sense

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

I will try to write
as often as I can she said
sounding as though some grand letter
would arrive through the post
in her best copper plate script
but she actually meant
that she would text
an off the cuff half arsed
comment on the state of her life
at that actual moment
accompanied by pictures
if I was lucky
I almost told her not to bother
but then if I did
I'd probably never hear
from her at all

the metal river flows
into ocean city
with bright lights
human rights
no mercy and no pity
past the world before we came
now roadkill and genocide
become our main aim
the future is today
the living moment
we are on our way
without a clue
of a final destination

give us this day our daily bread
sustained life is better than dead

we fight our wars
oppress populations
make us a game of it
on console by playstation
killing our conscience
with technological brain washing

a game of thrones
and ideology
I can tell the time
in over two thousand years
but I still can't tell
what day it is
people come and people go
the metal river
it flows and it flows

the sun rises
birds sing
cars ignite into life
sky lightens with the dawn
could be rain could be shine
people populate streets
work calls
school and errands to run
a day like any other
except today is my birthday
when this whole miracle began
the sun rising
birds singing
cars revving
sky lightening
people to and froing
for the first time
in my existence
a long time ago
it is all still a miracle
just now I don't notice so much
because it is getting closer
to it's end

the night is darkest
before the dawn
but I can still see
the breath
expelled from my lungs

You have them where you want them
Arms long enough to keep the distance
Measured in limbs rather than miles,
But really it's an attitude, state of mind
That you kid yourself you are someone else
Have grown beyond the childhood jibes
You are your own person, though damaged
The scars are easier to hide

Then they go and die on you
There is sadness and tears, but really
What I am crying for is me, for the life
I was denied. She never said she loved me
Was never proud of what I did or who I was
A source of disappointment even down to
Being a boy, I say the words I should have
Spoken, over and over in my mind.

unparalleled views across town
from fourth floor windows
taking in the changing autumn landscape
(an estate agent's *******)
the quiet room where moments
are spent contemplating a life ending
visitors wondering will you be here
for their return in the morning
but you survived your Armageddon
against all medical expectation
tenacious old man
a shadow of who you used to be
with a whisper of a future

flowers by the roadside
tell their tale
all things must end
prematurely sometimes
you move on to enjoy your day
a little lighter
a little brighter
sometime
it will be your flowers
your story
but not yet
now is time to celebrate life

I walked and watched the seasons change
Through the winter cold and rain,
My coat zipped up to my chin
Hands gloved with woolen mittens,
I saw my breath like steam escaping

I walked and watched the seasons change
Saw spring wave it’s magic wand,
Bringing life to trees and plants
A fantasia of riotous foliage and colour,
I felt alive, my stomach fluttered.

I walked and watched the seasons change
In summers warmth the spreading shade,
Gave welcome relief under treed avenue
Where I grew each day and never knew
I headed towards this present day.

To me now it's always autumn there
Along the road I knew so well
Colours fading into golden brown
The walk is over, the mystery gone
My winter of discontent will follow.

Removed from paper inner sleeve
shiny black disc
catching light, rainbows across the groove
carefully placed on turntable's
spinning platter
to keep finger marks at bay
spinning, 33 1/3
snap, crackle, pop
the needle takes flight
leading in to
the rumble of bass
crash of high hat
singer's lyrical weavings
a density of sound
the smell of vinyl
a whiff of aging cardboard sleeve
artwork fit for a gallery