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

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

this is what it’s come to
my wife is at college upstairs
sitting on the bed
with sixteen other people
virtually on her laptop
my daughter late for her lesson
at college
without the excuse of
missed buses or traffic
she got stuck in the kitchen
talking to her boyfriend
on WhatsApp
I’ve booked an appointment
at the doctors
on zoom to diagnose
a worrying mole
that’s giving me grief
and I might facetime my dad later
the only time I see him
for real nowadays
virtual love
virtual hugs
how do you date in a pandemic
I wonder
looking for someone to share
the end of days with

if you want to find me
I am slightly left of centre
at the back, a different colour
more drab, grey even
quite unnoticeable
an extra in a street scene
there to make the numbers up
a voice in a choir drowned out
by those around me
probably mouthing the words
half remembered
a shadow on a sunlit street
where everyone is having
a good time, or on the beach
sitting staring out to sea
no small talk, not even hello

my mind is shooting
gathering experience
like tracer fire
target secured

when I first tried it
on the world
it was a loud incomprehensible
yell
but they came running
pandering to my every need
though sleep deprived and ragged
I was the centre of their life
but as I grew they stopped listening
despite the advancement
of language skills
I became dismissed
an irritant
so it got quieter
reduced to a whisper

I lay me down
to rest
the words enter my head
pushing and shoving
like children in a lunch queue
tiny scary voices
with an utterance of an idea
I feel compelled to put
pen to paper
I've either written
some great words
or wasted a lot of trees
I'm still clueless
but the nightmares continue
and I keep talking
inside a head
as empty as a warehouse

they can steal your mind
if you're not doing anything with it
make the thoughts inside your head
voices we all deny we can hear

she wears a t-shirt
two hands printed
exactly where I want to put mine
jeans must be sprayed on
so impossibly tight
hugging a figure
I can only describe
as voluptuous
but those eyes
I cannot meet as they stare
right into my soul
piercing through me
defying my inappropriate thoughts
though for all the world
she invites them
thankfully the bus came
and I left her
advertising whatever it was
I hadn't noticed in the first place

You make me feel awkward
Your beauty a weapon
Rendering me speechless and helpless
I am one of the waifs and strays
Standing in the shadows
Observing the game, looking for losers
Potential friends.

There is a voice that’s very clear
Talking to me on the verge of freedom
Its sound is warm and reassuring
Stating simple obvious facts
But danger lies within such sentiments
Fear and anger have no place
Like,
Walking on the cracks in the pavement.

In my darkest hour
I throw prayers
like scraps of paper
blown by the wind
hoping a benevolent god
will want to hear them
while all around me
angels dip, gathering souls
by the armful to be borne
up into the heavens.

I've not the arms to hold you
nor the heart to keep you warm
in spirit I am with you
to walk among the ruins
and watch your history burn
your face will always haunt me
as a fleeting moment passes
eyes that looked right through me
cradle so close to the grave

in the end
every warzone looks the same
eyeless broken buildings
personal possessions strewn
across rubble scattered streets
the odd house
against all odds still standing
the sudden shock of a body
the husk of a life
where is the victory
where is the glory
why do men have to break so much
just to say they won

Barbed silk strands, like
Deadly Ghent lace, spun
To support an ugly
Bulbous body, poised
Demonic deformed hand
Somehow camouflaged
With ninja stillness,
Unseen in plain sight

I carry my son
Past this unwalled prison,
Where new inmates wait
To be sentenced, death
By misadventure
It’s beauty beckons
Shimmering like fire,
Belying murderous intention

His hand reaches out
Wanting to touch, explore
I cannot persuade
His eyes to see, anything
But beauty, mystery
Anymore than I
Can warn the spiders
Next prey to beware.

We have never been here before
explorers on a planet
undiscovered
since the sun rose at dawn

opportunity and possibility
confront us if we dare to grasp it
today is the first day of the future
a gem, untarnished by event
unwritten by tabloid hacks
unreported by roving news teams

no shot has rung out
no insult been hurled
or reputation tarnished
hatred and prejudice
are chosen paths we can avoid

this is a new day
this is the future
if we let it be

I want to lose so much weight
even my own phone won't recognise me

we don't share saliva anymore
tongues fighting in a mouth arena
we don't lie in our sweat anymore
our battle won ****** achieved
we don't stare those stares anymore
the ones that look into the soul

I know you and you know me
is that the end of the story
or is there more to tell

we should remain strangers
you and I
keeping secrets from each other
about our private lives
knowing becomes owning
then true love dies

we should tell lies
you and I
because honesty can be ugly
why spoil perfect days
truth be ****** in a blink
of your beautiful eyes

we should live apart
you and I
so we can miss each other
be lonely and pine
for the company
the other provides

we should see other people
you and I
we will always be unfaithful
so disappointment and failure
have already
broken our hearts

You make sense of words
that I cannot

you write phrases and synonyms
allegories and metaphors
that leave my heart empty
which makes you a poet
and I not

you are praised, applauded
eulogized, complemented
a voice of our times
though without rhyme
or reason in my eyes

you write to confuse me
to fool and bemuse me
but thats what makes you great
and I not.