It's all about the eyes now
The ayes have it.
Zorro mumblings and pardons won't cut it
Sparkling, crystal clear eyes
Are the way to go
They'll never be misread,
Watch out for fluttering eyelashes
They are really exclamation marks
We need a new language
Of love
Look into my eyes
What am I thinking?
Oh you're good!
But also I'm giving town
A miss today -
It's full of bank robbers
And gangsters.

Look not at skin
Frowning pale, wearing thin
Or at eyes staring through red rims.
Be kind to hair receding
And a stomach breathed in
For I am more than flesh and bones.
Blow out the candle
Make believe that I am he
Come with perfect love
For your new body.

The little toy shop
Took a direct hit in the war
And over the next few years
Just fell into ruin.
I think because the family
Who owned it were also killed
No one wanted to take it on.
And then someone did,
Another toy shop.
It didn't work out though
Maybe memories were still too fresh
Or else people didn't have the money.
They were hard times.
Sadly it was left to rot again.
Since then it's been a bank
Of all things,
A chemist, a hardware store,
A greengrocers, another toy shop
And a bakery, but they all failed.
It certainly wasn't for lack of trying.
And now it's a sweet shop,
A few toys but mostly sweets,
The old fashioned ones
Seem to be making a comeback.
This is where I come in.
I hand the little girl
The ice lolly she asked for.
I am rushing and nearly drop it
Because she is so excited,
She is dancing on the spot
And I'm worried she is going to go through the floor.
Anyway she takes one lick
And screams, 'I love it, this place is magic.'
I think that's the way it will be with us,
When all the pain of you has gone
All that will be left is the love.

Do we ever recover
From the shame
Of that first essay
Thrown back,
Covered in red ink
With comments like,
'Spelling mistakes galore,
Writing unintelligible,
Question misunderstood,
Could have done better,
Should have been more?'

Or held up in class
For everyone to see
Read aloud
To a background
Of sniggering relief
As an example of how
Not to do it
And then, 'If this is
Your best, it beggars belief.'

They say some mistakes
Are accepted
Even invited as part
Of the process,
But going back
To when we first met
It seems so many
Have gone uncorrected
That you cannot forgive
Or forget.

He said his love had been purged
Come through the fires of hell
Was now sparkling and clear
Like water from the deepest well.
She replied, do not kiss the place
Where my foot touched the stair
Do not see stars in my eyes
Nor chase moonbeams in my hair
Or search the far off island
Where the last unicorn hid.
So purged again
He went away
And never did.

In days not long after hopscotch
Stories of wild parties began emerging
Of music played too loud
Friends holding hands
And cider, invented by older boys.

With your long flowing hair and flashing smile
You were always the first to be asked
And I watched from a safe distance
Fascinated by the circle you drew,
Thinking that you had never even noticed me.

Until the day that changed my life.
Preceded by whispers and giggles
I received your invitation, as if one was ever needed
To meet up after school in the Block B Chemistry lab.

The room was dimly lit,
There was a Bunsen burner hissing romantically in the corner
And a spotlight on the desk where you sat,
Surrounded by phials and corked flasks.

Measuring, pouring, mixing, stirring
I had no idea what it was possible to create
As I stood, spellbound, watching over your shoulder
Not knowing how far to go on a first date.

Dark already; I walk purposively
As if I am meeting you
And you are the new season,
While winter crouches in a doorway
Ready to hit me over the head
And steal the last of my summer.

I turn out the light
And my room grows hushed
Like an audience that has come far
And braved the weather.
Then I hear what sounds like angels' strings
And there is singing
Your voice, softly at first
Like snowflakes on a window
Clearer now, a morning star
And it is your music
Stepped out of the firelight
Danced out of this world
And taking me with it.

For you, with you
I will hide away
Those tears
That long to be shed
And seen by you.
Knowing such happiness
Is to miss
When sweet ignorance
Was bliss
And those smiles
Shared and precious
To strangers
Only remind
Of far away faces
Never again
To reappear
Or once more
To feel so dear
To the heart
That beckons
And waits
And prays
And lives in fear
Of losing again
That which
Has been lost before
Of finding again
Only to lose
Once more.

I'm falling in love with you all over again
And there's not a thing you can do to stop me,
Because you're thousands of miles away!

She drives her man on
Over the cliff
Into the abyss
And the soft green meadows
And the ten million seeds.
I didn't even know
I was crashing,
Body try to keep up
With the butterflies.
Since you last touched me
A lot has happened.
And nothing.

Come over here
Careful, we don't want to make it any worse
Now let's have a look
That's it, I promise not to touch it yet
Oh it's not that bad
Actually, it could have been much worse.

I'll just dab  it gently
Clean away some of the dirt
Then sprinkle on this magic powder
And bandage it lightly, tell me if it still hurts.

Sip some of this
That's it, you'll soon be feeling better
Now close your eyes
Try to get some sleep
I'll just sit here
Right here if you need me ...

How does it feel?
Can you stand?
That's it, gently take my hand
Try to walk a few steps.
Can you stand
The wound I can't see
The pain I cannot heal?

In the clearing
Away from prying eyes
A man has dallied too long
And missed the best of the light.
He has strung that bow
Ten thousand times or more
But see how his hand shakes
The effort almost beyond him.
Where once his aim
Was true and straight
To the heart of a target,
Another knows
Now he pulls back
Too aware of the tension,
Cannot wait
Does not care where his last arrow goes.

Sometime between twelve and two
In between shopping and cleaning
And cooking and seeing a friend
She goes to a room.
She kisses him once
Eats one chocolate
Drinks one glass of water
Closes one curtain
Takes off her layers
One at a time
Makes love to him once
Holds him as if he has just saved her
From a dragon
Falls asleep and wakes with a jolt
Not knowing where she is
Until she sees him smiling
She wonders again is he the one
So to make sure
She kisses him twice
Once upon a time.

I walk only towards you
Wait only for your breath
Listen only for your sigh
Feel my heart beat for you.

When we close our eyes
The darkness is complete
That's where we'll find each other.

Move in a whisper
Through the long twilight
In darkness I am searching
In shadows for your love.
Worlds outside are held
Dancing in the embrace of rain.

We won't be afraid
To lose the meaning
For the magic of that first feeling needs no memory.
Worlds outside are held
Dancing in the embrace of rain.

This morning I passed the place where yesterday
A car had flown over the hill, into the sun
And hit a young cyclist.
I had arrived  a seconds difference
Between two worlds too late
To shout out a warning.
The car was already in position
Badly parked with a broken windscreen
And one door open, grounded with only one wing.
The boy, who must have been late for his tea by then
Lay on the grass verge, covered in a blanket.

And how many will slow down voluntarily
Before they hear the ambulance
Picking it's way, then weaving drunkenly
Through busy streets,
Ever closer, as they wonder where it is going
As they realize it has come for them?

Surely this morning there is no danger
I have never seen the road so deserted
There are no reminders of worlds colliding
Only a small boy
Standing forlornly on the pavement
Waving goodbye.

How many ways are there to say I love you? A few. How many ways are there to show it? Thousands. If you get a chance to.

I didn't run anyone over today
I didn't ****** anyone
Or rob any little old ladies
Or steal from the church coffers
I didn't judge or criticise
Or expect too much
Of anyone
I didn't stop caring
Or hoping or praying
And I didn't stop
Loving anyone today
So maybe that is it.
After a lifetime
Of underachievement -
Vindication.
It's what we don't do,
Don't say
That defines us.

A group of elderly people
Have congregated in the doorway
To comb their hair and ask each other
If they had smiled at the right time.
Then they wait for their photographs
To be developed
For their passports to heaven.

It was an island hopping
Palm tree climbing
Coconut throwing
Malibu dancing
Sort of day.
Well, not exactly
But it was nearly April
And I was walking down the High Street
And my coat was undone
For the first time that year.

We are the blotting paper
Soaking up all the bad news
From our leaking fountain pen.
But here from tomorrow
We have the Rule of 6 -
No more than six people
In one gathering
Or everyone has to go out
And make five new friends,
One of those.

Enough already!
We need less poems
At this time
And more prayers,
Or are they
The same thing?

Lying in bed
Listening to the rain
Lying in the gutter feeling the pain.
And there is the love
We feel for the drunk
Lurching towards us
With a broken bottle,
Love not pity.
And the love we feel
For the snake in the grass
About to ruin our  picnic,
And for the stranger who
Pushes in front of us
Then coughs in our face,
And for the bodies
We borrowed,
Ours and theirs,
When they start to fade,
And for someone who
Steals our love
Then won't give it back,
And for the speeding driver who kills our best friend.
Love not forgiveness.
And there is the easy love
When we love someone
And they are loving us back.

You are always looking
Slightly away from me
So I only get to see
One side of your face
As you gaze out of the window
Or peer into the mirror.
But reading your poems
I wonder how you even
Have time to write them
Why you are not swept up
Every day to a safe and wondrous kingdom
By the very brush
That painted the universe.
And though we will never meet
And I will never get to see you
From another angle,
Face to face,
It's easy to have feelings
For that side of you.

The sad muffled figure coming towards me
Can barely put one foot in front of the other
As if he had lived a whole life
Without ever seeing a flight of stairs.
What terrible sins had not been forgiven
That he should be affected so?
All I can do is stand and wait
Knowing he will need wings
If I am to avoid being late.
But he will never look up
Stares instead at every painful uncertain step
As if he has to count each one.
Then I see that what he has dropped
Is a gauntlet thrown down
And in his hand a walking stick
Turns into something more sinister.
On he comes, now with purpose, over the top
Past barbed wire, the earthworks
Into trenches where friends lie
Like sacks on ******* day.
And with a look I always remember
He accepts my surrender.

Don't let them tell you
That you are good
If they start to say it
Put your fingers in your ears
And sing Dixie as loud as you can.
Good is worse than *******
It's commonplace
It's ten a penny
It's entry level for any writing
Or anything artistic.
Good relegates you to a life
Of expectation and frustration
Because you will probably
Never achieve what you want to.
So you'll need to be a super talent
Maybe one in a million
To really get somewhere
And if you are I imagine
You'll need two things,
To work hard, very hard
And to try to keep
It all together
Which I'm guessing
Might be the hardest part,
It must be unnerving
When you realise you can
Fly up ladders
While everyone around you
Keeps sliding down snakes.
Oh, and good luck.

So for modern man
It's 200,000 years
And counting.
The Universe is 13.8
Billion years old
And its 200 billion
Galaxies are 120 billion
Light years across
But don't go looking
For life out there
There isn't any
We are the first
And only
We are the experiment
The clinical trial.

Well China gave us two metres
So we can disregard that straight away.
But a Professor Hanson in Odense, Denmark, came up with 124.5 miles,
Although it was drizzling so not ideal conditions.
I know they have done tests
In the Rocky Mountains
To see if they would impact the data
And in Iceland, Dr Staria, no less, has tested the effects of the climate there.
And I read even the Atlanta Space Flight has done simulations,
But the honest truth is
We simply don't know how far
We can blow a kiss.
So we still have to do it the old fashioned way,
The sender sends the recepient a message,
The exact time they are to receive the kiss,
And they in turn make a little wish
And wait with puckered lips.

Shadows that have waited all day for their moment
Now stalk us as we emerge
Tripping into the night,
And swirling leaves play about our heads
Taunting our weakness.
Our faces were indistinguishable then,
Poorly lit and muffled,
And cloaks roughly woven
Kept tensely drawn until we had crossed
The threshold of light
When they were opened
Cautiously at first
Then defiantly shrugged aside
As if death had suddenly
Lost it's claim on our lives,
For we were more afraid of God
Than the devil in those days
And more in hope of salvation.

Now, on the edge of the city,
We still come
By way of the new pedestrian crossing
The statue and reserved parking,
Under the altar of scaffolding
We contribute a pound
Towards the ten million
Needed for the restoration fund.
And leaving our Bible by the door
We cross the threshold again,
Clutching a more informed guide book
Telling us where we used to kneel and pray.

And for once the video camera
Hangs sulking at our side
So that none may bear testimony
To our being there,
As all the time we pretend
We have no need of miracles in our lives.

I've thrown away my crutches
Though I'm still limping
And my tablets
Though I'm still in pain
And my books
Though there is so much to know
And my pictures
Though I can still the faces clearly
And her keepsakes
Though I can still feel her love.
So here I am God
Decks are cleared
I'm ready to live or die,
You tell me.

Love don't come to me
When I need you the most
In the towering, mousey night
In the swirling, foggy darkness
In the breathless, graveyard shadows
In the gnawing, soulless cold
In the gaping, beckoning loneliness.
I'll be stepping out soon enough
Into a fine fresh Spring morning
And then I'll be worthy.

She looks amazing
Probably eighteen
But one of those
When she is sixty
She will still look
Eighteen or twenty
Natural beauty
Hair, makeup
No not makeup
No need
The contours
Of her face
Produce their
Own shades
And shadows
Especially
When she smiles
And no tattoos
She is happy
With the body
God gave her.
And she couldn't
Walk if she tried
She glides
As if someone
Is moving
The scenery
Around her
It's all perfect
Until she opens
Her mouth
To speak
To a friend
' F*  me!
What time
Do you call this?'

I am the scurvy knave
You are the angel who can't behave
I swear you'd turn a church picnic into a rave
With you I'm either languishing in a dark cave
Or riding high on the crest of a wave
Still I believe you are the one to save
Me from an early grave
But I know it will be a very close shave.

When there is a lull in the fighting
And the dead have been buried
And the cries of the wounded have died down
The survivors rush off to the hairdressers.

Like a giant woken from a deep sleep
He will visit us with his dream
His anger will blacken the sky
Cause branches to lash windows
And rain to pound door and slate.
There will be no time to finish songs
Or shelter in familiar places
And all the world will look up
Praying for a break in the clouds.
Then just as quickly as it came
The storm passes,
You turn away from the window
And there is love in your eyes.

For better or worse
For richer or poorer
In sickness or in health
There were no choices really
I had to love you
And come what may
Even if it all goes wrong
I finally get the chance to say
The three things I have wanted to say
All my life
There are no regrets
I wouldn't change a thing
I would do it all again tomorrow.

Two lives became one
Became one again.

Two prayers, understood, unspoken
Complete as two halves
Now shouted aloud
But halved.

Food chosen for three
By small fingers pointing
Now bought for one
Prepared as solemn ritual
In silence
At the end of the day.

The unravelled tapestry
The song sung unaccompanied
The unfinished symphony
The valley wasted
On the artist
The dreamer too tired
To sleep
The writer picking only
Last will and testament
From a lifetime
Of words
All have joined
The ranks
Though they will find
Neither death nor
Glory here,
For this is the time
To put our backs
Into it,
To put clothes
On our backs
And food on
The table,
And we are all
The poorer for that.

The city is a circus tonight
Panic rife as we glimpse
The ghosts of animals.
A few time keepers
Escape the mêlée;
They screech into the road
And rush inside before the authorities spot them.
Their front doors slamming shut seem to answer
Something impanted in their heads,
A morbid roll call.
And every fifteen seconds
The wailing ambulance siren,
As welcome as a loudspeaker
Telling us when to eat and sleep.
My neighbour didn't make it back yet
His dinner is going cold;
His wife's face has just turned to stone.

I always wondered how I would die and now I know I'm thinking, hey that's not so bad, because I will be visible one minute and not the next.

Like fireflies, shooting stars,
Snowflakes and faces
On the moon,
They pass easily beneath
Thin veils of underworlds
So are often mistaken
For fairy dust.
Sometimes they are
Left behind by
Reindeer and sleighs
Then blown in through
Open windows
Drawn especially to
Wind chimes and
Sleeping faces
Where if encouraged
Can ward off all manner
Of ills.
They are angels wings
And beyond imagination
Every child's playthings.

And later they are
Brooding reminders
Which if ignored
Will hunch shoulders
And drag feet their way.
They wake us at night
Greet us wide-eyed,
But leave us in
A cold sweat
With trembling hands
That forget how to touch.
They are tired
Restless demons
Impatient for release
And must be channelled,
Given purpose
Given hope
If not peace.

I think I was the boy
Who chased off the ******
And retrieved your sweets and toys
From the gutter.

I'm sure it was me
Who took you to the pictures
After your boyfriend cut you down a size,
Then walked you home
When the last bus failed to materialize.

Anyway, we gradually moved
Whole towns and cities then universes away
And though we tried to keep in touch
Messages and responses became confused and crackly
When the transmitter I made
Proved not up to much.

So I Morse code this hope, if ever
I should come to your planet
I might be allowed a walk down the street
And perhaps somewhere in the middle
We could exchange odd glances
Half remembering a friend and a lover
And recognizing ourselves in each other

He is a masquerade
Content to sow mischief in the night
And then parade his latest masterpiece
In this case, a morning shadow which looms
Astounding passers-by and critics alike
Who with suitable reverence
Must be seen to observe
What form, what insight, what's nerve!

Next, gathering around a leaf or stem
Painters paint inside,
Sculptors frown at stony ground
While poets leap onto rocks
With grandly spoken offerings
Listening for echoes, hearing no sound.

Unobtrusively we join the queue
Of course belonging to the privileged, chosen few
Hoping we can touch the hands of seers
And peer with them through familiar windows
Recording for posterity, a different view.

And all for what?
For one to exclaim
With hand on heart
Your work really sets me free,
What interpretation
What art,
And of course one of the worst culprits
Is me!

Of course our souls go on,
Of course they do
Don't they?
But what of these bodies
That learn to love
And die so easily?
Maybe they retain
Something of our lives.
We are just dust
In the wind.
There is so much love
In the wind.

From a makeshift bed
On an unforgiving floor
Where blankets
Like dreams are strewn
Left to be gathered
At some later date,
Up the winding
Creaking staircase
As I had done
In another life before,
She led me through
An open window
Where birds stir
From invisible sleep
And cows are content
To wander all day
In tall grasses,
Brushed by an unseen hand.

The apprentice has lost the master key again
And the shops will not be opening today.
In truth they couldn't anyway
Because we have bought everything,
There is no more and may never be again.
And while we fretted about the climate,
Scoured the sky for rogue meteorites
Panic buying crept up on us like a new plague.

Little wonder then we marvel at a pair of slippers
Are eternally grateful for handkerchiefs or a new shirt.
And then there's the child's wonder, the magic
Of that first remembered Christmas
When the world slipped out of orbit
And edged a fraction closer to heaven.

It is up to us tonight, we who are alone.
We are the children again, too weary to walk another step
And asking our Father to carry us a little way.
And if this is the prayer God hears
He may yet decide to give us all another year.

If the biggest thing,
Death
Is an illusion
Then the second biggest thing,
Life
Must be an illusion too.
Never mind that now
If we have all of eternity.
So if you manage
To dodge me in heaven
Which could happen
As I hear it is a pretty
Big place
Maybe in our next life
Or the one after that
We'll bump into each other
At a bus stop
If they have buses then
Or anything stops
And something in you
Will spot something in me,
Hopefully not a spot,
And unknowingly
We will carry on
Where we left off
With me trying
To love you better.

I can fly for starters
Bet you can't do that?
I'm not talking about
Around the garden
Try 800 miles a day.
What else? Oh yes
I can sleep with
One eye open
So, I can choose
Which side of my brain
Stays awake.
Try sneaking up
On me
You've got no chance.
And grit and sand
Don't try this at home
But I can eat them
Good for the digestion
Actually.
Mating is no problem
We just hook up
Every season
Saves a lot of
Aggravation.
And what about socks?
Don't need them
Even in the ice
And snow
My feet can't feel
The cold.
Infact I never
Have wardrobe malfunctions.
Just keep your coat
On all the time
I do, let's face it
Green, red, blue
And white
Go with most things.
Gets a bit greasy
But I can live with that.
Well I've probably
Only got another
Couple of good years
Left in me
But hey-**
It's all water
Off a duck's back.

With another year of emotions to officially uncork
Poker faced poets stand on street corners,
Like town criers who have lost their bells,
And announce to startled scuttling strangers
Their innermost fears and desires.

But I think poetry is best wrongly addressed
Sent away, anywhere,
To hopefully lie down the back
Of someone's couch, unnoticed, unread
Or better still left for centuries
To mature in a dark basement
And then, when appearing quirkishly
Twenty first century
Opened by the timeless language of love.