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

I've fired a gun
felt it's rage
heat on my face
uncompromising
unstoppable decision
could I project
such inexorable
hate on another human
see them destroyed
by my anger
projected into their soul

shovels
too big for delicate iPhone keypads
paws for digging in the dirt
rough stumpy fingers
bloodied with cuts and cracks
calloused through manual labour
working in the winter cold

but sometimes

they can produce beauty
a little light
some magic
to compensate for their ugliness

There are shadows along our city streets
That hold the shape of life,
They wander for the sake of going
Seeking our brightness out;
To cast themselves on our emotions
Sympathy and sorrow, a little guilt perhaps
That we carry our light into our homes,
Not to a bed of cardboard and rags
Where shadows can hide among shadows.

he leaves his vapour trail
like an aircraft
across the sky
musky eau de cologne
the one from the bathroom cabinet
dad never used to wear
a memory or somewhere close
mixed with tobacco smoke
ingrained in clothing
from the old days
before the demon
was banished to car parks
and outside office buildings
in the rain
then he is gone
an unresolved mystery
in an otherwise ordinary
afternoon

the line appears
confirming new life
an as yet unknown entity
taking it's first faltering steps
towards existence
in a hostile world

we already want it dead

the trees remember me
that short walk down an urban street
to primary school
now enclosed by panicked fencing
and paranoia security systems

I watched the seasons change
growing a little
in some respect every journey

my silent witnesses look the same
monoliths marking time
with bark and moss layers
roots entrapped in black cracked tarmac
where they were meant to wander free

my conscious return is by car
they cancel the careless carbon footprint
of this time traveller

I feel connected
as though an old movie
flickers among the boughs
of my diminutive figure
ghosting along the pavement
for a moment I am with him
tears unexpectedly blurring my eyes

opinions and thoughts die
like unwanted infants in the womb
beautiful but doomed
never to see the light of life
shunned by a world
looking the other way
I feel sad, I really do
for never knowing the truth
lies perpetuated by a cruel world
always knowing better
than those under fire
better
than true desire
politicians oligarchs
self inserted gods
in their houses of cards
time for us to rise and shine
a velvet revolution
from the velvet underground

I watch him eating his dinner
while he digests
it devours him from the inside
the unwelcome guest
they sit together to watch tv
every programme chosen to forget
what no one wants to talk about
the unwelcome guest
he never knew when it moved in
but we're way beyond eviction
they will share that armchair
for the rest of their lives

the view from here is astounding
I can see lives stretching to the horizon
trapped in metal boxes in queues
saving time in luxury leather lined
vehicles each as individually angry
as the next person they’ll never know
or attempt to speak to in their life
but will gesticulate to in their ire
cut up at another set of lights
all set to go red on their way to

their boxes full of possessions
that make them unique all
bought off Amazon or similar sites
tasteful bespoke mass produced
obsolescence built in high tech
that they will never fully understand
having never read the instructions,
lined up one after the other like
soldiers or arranged in some
semblance of randomness that
makes as much use of real estate
as law and profit will allow

they will all spend their lives
trying to escape on holidays
to un-spoilt golden beaches
where concrete hotels are built
to accommodate their dreams
with a view of some sand full of
lobster red beer swilling, fish and chip eating
homesick people who wonder
why the local population can’t speak
their language or understand their
culture, lie in rows of individually
claimed real estate with towels
marking their little piece of paradise

none of them can understand why
I jumped, fell, ended my life
I must have issues of mental health
to even contemplate a way out
of this wonderful world we created
that takes us our whole existence
to earn enough to in the end pay
for, yet here I am ironically standing
on the balcony of a luxury apartment
complex built for modern families
who are looking for the best in life
my end manufactured for me from the
same concrete and glass paradise is made
from, tomorrow they will put up netting
to stop anyone else from escaping

the weather has changed
storm clouds overhead
while wars rage across the land
men women and children
indiscriminately die
for the cause of peace
that no one seems to find
the weather has changed
battle carried to the skies
we fight our own environment
all of us on the losing side

I am tired;
As a man on a journey
Whose only home is carried on his back,
As a poet who has nothing
But an empty mind and a page that is blank,
As a child born into poverty
With no future and no going back.

It grips me, weighing me
Like a puppy in a sack,
The dark river beckons
Ready to devour,
The cold grip of death
From a breath,
I cannot quite catch.

I am tired
That no rest can cure,
No sleep can quench
No meal can nourish,
No vista uplift,
Tired of existence
To the core of my being.

loneliness
is a misunderstanding
of what together is
a feeling we need someone
to complete us
in truth
people are a pain
in the ****

I sit contemplating it
a speck on a desert of floor
tracing an unfathomable journey
past unseen obstacles

direction seems lost
then suddenly
I become the target

I try to understand scale
if it were a person
I would be bigger than
a jumbo jet
skyscraper
whale

this mountain rises and moves
to carry on existence
among the clouds
carefully avoiding
a crushing blow

in my eyes how is that
spec of life
more important than mine

tongues tied inside our mouths
eyes closed to the endorphin rush
from sensations of feel and touch
as we explore the possibilities
of just how far we want to go

tongues tied inside our mouths
from intimacy to strangers now
separated by fear and trust
the spell is broken magic dispelled
what's been seen can't be forgotten

we take this narrow
fragile flight into the light
ghosts even before we die
haunting the world
with fleeting moments
as we pass by
leaving memories and shadows
of our former selves
free in our limited way
to follow destiny

too many stories ending
shadows left on hearts
who grieve a selfish loss
pretending they can cope
knowing they are
a little more alone today
glimpsing the last page
epilogue epitaph preordained
we capture each new moment
determined to be unafraid

he tripped through the streets
towards home
still light of foot
under the LED lights
but another unsuccessful hunt
meant he'd be hungry tonight
perhaps he knew it was
the last time
familiar sounds and smells
preying on his mind
tonight he'd sleep
under the stars outside
curled up to keep warm
on a mild spring night

I found him under a conifer
still in a fetal curve
some time later
nature had taken it's course
his brush was still there
and some of a thick red coat
but the putrid smell told me
he had chosen my garden
to take his last breath
and I was honoured
to give him the burial
he deserved

a knot of traffic
unravels
to reveal.... nothing
no reason for delay
no great drama
just
too many people
in too many cars
in one place
at one time
wanting to be in front
all more important
than everybody else

a rocky place to call home
metaphorically speaking
by the side of a road
among the detritus of motorists
thrown from car windows
as was he, just a core
from an apple in an unfinished
lunch box eaten on the way home
that somehow germinated
I call him, him because
it makes me comfortable
to give gender and character
build up some sort of empathy
in the winter a sad skeleton
silhouette against a slate sky
bur every spring blossoming
to produce apples for the birds
where no human would dare
wander unless broken down
I admire the consistency
of nature and the hope it brings

I lie on the bed
trying to read Bukowski
resting my head on the headboard
which is stupid because
just below is a pile of sumptuous pillows
my cat comes purring
like a V8 ticking over
settling on my chest
he wants love and attention
and I have a kind of affinity with him
abandoned by his mother as a kitten
mine stopped loving me
when she found out I wasn’t the girl she wanted
and had a *****
and a disgusting boy’s brain
so I stroke him
wondering how it feels
to have someone run your hand
down your body continuously
never really having been hugged
two broken souls
from two different worlds
give each other something
of what is missing in their lives
even the pain of a wooden headboard
is bearable
more bearable than never being loved

no great ceremony for a Tuesday
it slips into the rest of the week
quietly jostling for position
giving Wednesday a shove
telling it to wait it's turn
pushing Monday out the way
which nobody liked and everyone dreaded
we start to forget to mourn the past weekend
even looking forward to the next
just like us it has every right to be here
perhaps even miracles can happen
perhaps this is where it all comes good

I love the two wheeled demons
they are in my soul waiting
to let fly
all my inhibitions
I have studied them
coveted them
but the courage to be free
defeats me
as I see the smiling face of death
on the first hairpin bend

I push the revolving glass door
Shuffling almost reverently with it's turn
A pilgrim to the written word, I am entering
The church of human consciousness.
The greatest minds sit here with some
That came in through the back door of
Specialist interest or just plain bizarre.

Alphabetical order belies the years that separate
These authors, some rubbing shoulders with giants
Who have barely been alive long enough to tell
Of real experience, then there are those who have
Stood the test of time, decorating bookshelves
In homes that have never read them, they just
Fulfil their reputation as if by osmosis bringing
An intellectual vibe to the coffee table and
Into the very fabric of the space occupied.

They are all here hiding behind their spines
Luring you with interesting fonts, bright colours
Like jpegs on a contact sheet waiting judgement,
Wanting be taken down and become your big picture
"We have made it, our voices have been heard,
All it takes is imagination to release us within the mind
Your images our words, we can make a movie together."

But I have been spotted, "Whatcha looking at punk
Think you've got what it takes to sit with the likes of us,
Don't go reading me and plagiarizing my well worn
Extensively researched mumbo jumbo clap trap,
So you can call me one of your influences on your CV,
Using my name to make you seem intellectual
Look around, how many do you think didn't make it."

I have gazed too long into the abyss and the abyss
Has gazed back into me, how can I claim to have
Any more to say than the greatest minds on earth
And yet, with pure heart my trembling hand hovers
Over the letters of my qwerty keyboard, pressing
The shift key as if in defiance, identical words,
Just not necessarily with the same meaning.

You would stare if I were beautiful

but I offend your eyes
sideways glances emphasise
how afraid you are to look
confront that fear head on
people like me even exist

you sympathise of course
goes without saying, terrible
must be awful to live with

then you check your fingers
and toes, see how perfect they are
and move on, no more ugliness today
to spoil your mood.

Until the knife is removed
the wound will never heal

my life is egg and chips
served on a plate
the size of your head
with unlimited tea
my life is You Tube
on a continuous loop
of ghost investigations
amazing facts I never knew
and documentaries about
how scientists aren’t as smart
as they think they are
my life is ***** top bottles of beer
I can open with my paw
and tip down my throat
with consummate ease
my life is poetry and art
that speaks to me
tells me how fragile the world is
people are our future will be
my life is worrying about
the planet
my children
my wife
my job
my future
death
life after death
documentaries about my death
me becoming a ghost
my diet
my drinking
how art mirrors life
how I’m not as smart
as I think I am
I am uncomplicated
just like everyone else

Small triangles of lycra
cover heaven
in this tanned landscape
of flesh

basking like beached seals
under the god sun
worshipped for its power
through the protection of lotions
and creams, keeping
cancerous skin at bay

grains of sand
smashed from rock
innocently hide nature's power
all around

bodies dipped into an ocean
already polluted
by greed and the impurity
of this impossible dream

the tide plays with them
like a cat with a mouse
knowing full well with one pounce
all would perish

the earth tolerates our blindness for now
but before you dip a toe in the water
know this
you will be washed away like the
castles you make, pretending
you have dominion
over this sleeping monster.

The pen scratches across 80gsm
whiteness polluted by thoughts
translated into ink stains

guided by some unseen hand
I sometimes write things
even I don't understand

until now
this did not exist
a thought
brought pen to paper
that I could not resist
until now
this did not exist
so, I have to find a reason
for this scribble
on a perfect ****** page
until now
this did not exist
perhaps it was always
SOMEWHERE
for this precise moment
to fill a gap between
my wife coming home
and the end of an afternoon
turning to evening
until now this did not exist
then it was gone
so much potential
never reached

I watch the rat boys
trip the light fantastic
across once well manicured floors
of forests of wood and panel
lined walls graffitied with
the signature **** and *****
language that would not
have been tolerated in such
hallowed halls, falls easily
from lips accented with Yorkshire drawl
appreciating architecture they can
(like the rest of us)
only dream could be their pad
their crib, their humble abode
with a taste for the gothic
or art nouveau
they are lookers, explorers
nosey little toads fuelled by
an unquenchable curiosity
to see what's behind that fence
that hedge or garden wall
if you find them in your house
you are a ghost, for they hunger
only for the derelict, the abandoned
time stopped in a moment preserved

They are still here
recorded in peeling paint
cracked plaster and bare floors
as though only just left, momentarily
a life suspended

nature has forgotten the boundaries
where once walls protected
creepers, moss and mould
add their colour to the decor
lit by the same sun, life here

continues behind a veil
pictures still adorn the walls
faces of our fallen heroes
blindly stare as a photographer
records the passing of an era.

Painted red lips
Blusher'd rosy cheeks,
Make pallid complexions
Bleed.
Life’s source courses
Through hot veins;
We are all vampires
Attracted to circulation.

king of colour
a whisper
into the future
unheard in his time
died in the pursuit
of painting a world
in his head
visions of oil
on canvas windows
into his soul
sorry your work
is for the rich and famous
not for everyone
as it was made

I once had vanity
searching for my likeness
in shop windows
looking for my place in the world
a glimpse of what others saw
in shaving mirrors
every morning
willing unwilling hair to grow
prove my manhood
see what I'd become

my gaze is focused earthward now
unshaven face unruly hair
no longer need for bathroom encounters
although reflected in mans shiny surfaces
a vampiric absence is all I witness
I looked too deep into that empty space
I occupied within my race
no longer seeking to fit in
I've become an outlaw mortal sin

I drink a perfect summer
fermented strawberry red
with a hint of liquorice aftertaste
from when the world was better
summers warmer and longer
and I wasn't even alive