I lie here, supine
Listening to sirens
Heading out towards the motorway
Somewhere, someone's evening
Has turned bad,
In the streets outside the echo
Of teens on mopeds
Reverberates between the
Terraced houses, squeezing
All they can out of a 125 engine
While squeezing all the joy that is left
Out of everyone's sunday night,
Before we all head meekly to work
On monday morning
Weekend warriors, tamed by
The restraints of finances,
Needing to earn the freedom
Of another fix next friday.
I lie here on my side
A pillow blocking at least some
Of the cacophony,
More sirens head out towards
The motorway, someone's life
Has turned into a disaster
All I wanted was an early night.

she’ll turn into her mother
one day
you can see it in her eyes
hear it in her sighs

so let’s lie in each other’s arms
and forget about the world
not worry about children
or names or gender
not worry about mortgages
on our dream castle
holidays we can’t afford
friends
who aren’t really friends
relatives
we only talk to
because they are relatives

hostile family gatherings

this is the melody of love
a song sung only once
until it’s a
slightly remembered tune
we can only just about hum

I throw more words
into the emptiness of the ether
like a whale calling for home
an unheard song
one day forced
into extinction

a drug addled brain
wrote this refrain
I can relate
but never realise
the need to scratch the itch
where the needle went in
to release this vision
from a troubled soul
of pure thought
I will never know
the suffering it brought

I know he's gone
passed through the window
we left open for him
when I visit now
the house is colder
for the loss of a
time traveller
who took the soul
out of this place
for me to move on
not mourn
the loss of my childhood
start living for tomorrow
not stuck in yesterday

I am old
my mind forgotten
bury me
in a soul shaped coffin

I am silent
my words unspoken
bury me
in a soul shaped coffin

I am still
my muscles wasting
bury me
in a soul shaped coffin

I exist in twilight
leaves have fallen
naked and cold
winter approaching
my dance is over
a tune stopped playing
my silence filled
with children laughing

my last act
a final curtain
bury me
in a soul shaped coffin

we have no fins
yet are drawn to the sea
we have no wings
and yet take to the skies
not content to be where
evolution put us
we invade worlds
where we don’t belong
without understanding
the one we were granted

I can feel the purr
in his throat
as my fingers pass
across a trusting exposed neck

He lies, Panther like
across my branch leg limb
where we demonstrate
our approximation of love
between two species

Lost in translation sometimes
a little nip to remind me who's boss

We look into each other's eyes
I blink
He blinks
we have our connection.

when time was something that passed

rather than to be grasped
finishing post in sight
chequered flag on the sat nav
telling you you've arrived

when time was acres of summer sunshine

not pollution coated air, holes in the ozone
worrying about global warming
but still building building building
for the future they say....

when time was your own to cherish

not jobs to do meetings to attend
places to visit but not really see
bills to pay questions to answer
a debt to honour for the ever after

when time just existed
it felt like forever
now there's no forever after

you are cold
to the touch
despite that smile
purporting warmth
wraith
ghost
spectre
from the corner of my eye
you cannot disguise
your shape
your shadow
your intent

Let us all rise for the birthing of Earth's new life
Stirrings from her womb bring forth daffodils,
To have intimate relations with buzzing bees
Stirring wooly heads from their winter cluster,
As the yellow heads Mexican wave with
A warm blustery scented breeze, birds sing with
Renewed gusto, dancing across the garden fence
Making nests, making plans 'cause they just can't
Help but feel born again, so lets have an ovation
Spring is sprung, give me more, encore, encore.

What gives you the right
To try to shine so bright among stars
That climbed into the mantle of heaven,
With drug addled bodies
And the voices of angels.
How can you sit in constellations
That foretell the future
And the state of the nation.
Glitter and glow
For the evening show
And take a bow as an unknown sensation.

stars scar the sky
etching diamond points
into the beautiful veil
that was once blackness
velvety soft

so we can navigate
foretell our fate
and wonder what lies beyond

pollute our minds
with fantasies of aliens
hope for our future
belief in a god

but the light we see is dead
long extinguished
taking millions of years
to reach us

we can stare into our past
all the way to our creation
but who knows what lies ahead
for sure

We go about ordered lives
No waves, ripples, just surging
Tide, not noticing undercurrents
Disturbing depths, interfering
With our status quo, dragging
Under, the unwary who are tugged,
To where disturbance manifests.

They swim, fools, against
All odds, knowing they'll drown
If they once show weakness
But something drives them,
Until they surface for breath
showing themselves, rebellious
Causing foaming surf.

Mexican waves follow, courage
In numbers, crowd not individual,
Becoming the storm that has always
Been Brewing, flooding into the comfort
zone, telling the truth becomes a
Revolutionary act, that we know in the
End brings still waters again.

they are all asleep
and I sneak under cover
of the lateness of the hour
to the comfort of my words
scrawled across a page in ink
from the nib of a fountain pen
they search for a target
I'll never achieve
on a journey through my head
reaching for perfection
I am tired by a world
always demanding more
than I'm prepared to give
always asking for more
than I could possibly have
but this moment is at least mine
stolen from the clock of life

the sky is being stolen
so that so much human soup
can high rise
to live above one another
a hierarchy to whisper
in God's ear

sunlight fills the cracks
illuminated grouting

I see clouds skitter by
I'm a prisoner
jealous of their freedom
wishing I could fly

primal cave
warm
coals glow
in an iron grate
dream lives flicker
in dancing flames
hatches battened
around the ramparts
of terraced council home
droplets run
on window panes
coursing rivers
to the sea
we are alone
suspended natural animation
with only ourselves
to blame

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.