Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Beneath a dead
Red sky
I climb to the hilltop
To a place of still memories,
And there you are
Defiant and calm
Waiting to be rebuilt
For one last crusade.
Gone now the pageantry
Of armour gleaming
Of banners unfurled,
People laughing and cheering
And young girls screaming.
A merry dance
You led me then
So let me linger awhile
In the ruins.
I usually spend my time
At the table close to the drink,
With most of the night
To sit and think
Of it all working like a charm,
When we throw the great doors open
And you arrive on my arm
Then the music starts up
I have the first dance
You so close to me
Your hand in mine
Sends shivers down my spine,
Then the firelight in your eyes
Leads me further into a trance.
She hugs the life out of me,
Not in that second of passion
Before the moment of death
When an animal is chased
And grasped in lioness embrace.

She kisses the life out of me,
Not with mid-day sun lips
Which smoulder dangerously
Like a dampened forest fire
Lying in wait for that first shallow breath.

She loves the life out of me
Not with the garment of childlike innocence
Lasciviously cast aside by a woman in earnest.

And with all the emotion of someone
Glancing up at the station clock
Then turning a magazine page
On a deserted railway platform,
She scares the life out of me
When she says quite simply,
It is time for me to go.
Seventy per cent
Of the earth is love
All there is
Is all there ever was.
The love that falls on us
Once fell on the dinosaurs.
Love precipitates
Intercepts
Infiltrates
And percolates.
Yours evaporated.
The tennis courts
Where we once played through the laughter
Lie unloved and netless in the morning drizzle,
And the already faded white lines
Are mostly smudged and covered in moss,
Winning and losing would be impossible
Even if you were here.

The bandstand watches me as I ease under the willow
And cross the manicured lawn
Where I find an old soggy ball
And as if  you had called me to do it
I throw it back.

Rain, empty, soft, feathered
Leaves roundabouts dangerous
Speeds up slides
Falls unnoticed on a duck's back
Unmeasured in the lake,
But renders the wooden bridge deceptively slippery
And if I should fall from view
It would not raise a murmur or a ripple.
Of course it all makes sense now
I knew I had seen you somewhere before.
At Little Round Top
Your blue tidal wave swept us off our feet
Came crashing down from a sea of pine trees
And we drowned in that ****** surf.

I managed only one round before I was hit
A wild shot and so unlucky, I see that now.
As we lay soaking up the last of the sun
I remember how you cursed me
For taking your life
And little did I think then
You would find me
One hundred and fifty years later
And steal my wife.
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.
Time to catch breath,
Only breathe
Wait patiently this time
For the one who takes
His chance
The victor,
Punching the air
Dreams of his next
Love affair
The vanquished is left
Remembering the romance,
And the heat of day,
Draped in glory
Staggers, unrepentant,
Away.
I could go left at the end of the road
Straight over the roundabout
Then through the town,
Or if it's too busy
I could go right at the traffic lights
And pick up the motorway that way.
It makes no difference
Whatever I decide
Whichever way I go
My thoughts always turn back to you.
Just the two of us then
Until it's all over
Whatever life tosses our way
Especially the thick and thin bits
You're in my bubble
My support group
So don't let me down
You're my seat of learning
My splinter group
My dream team
My hit squad
My inner circle
You're the nearest thing I've got to family
To a Christmas load of
Uncles, nephews and aunts
To a shed load of mates
To a swarm of bees
And a flock of pigeons.
You're the closest thing I've got
To a one and only
To a nearest and dearest ...
What do you mean you didn't know,
It doesn't matter
You're still there in spirit.
I am up with the lark
Fences and walls to mend before dark
And there every morning
By the old rusty gate
You wave me a greeting
I swear I will never see a prettier sight
As that handkerchief fluttering
Against a crimson sky
And you all dressed in white.

At noon you bring me bread and ale
And we lie for half an hour
Watching clouds race by
Kiss you, I do not
Nor touch your hem
Keeping very still
And wondering when
You will say
'It is to you I will be true.'

On my way home
I watch you reading
At your window
By a single candlelight
You never look up
And so to you I do say
Think of me kindly
When I am gone.
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.
Not mine
Pointless worrying
Not yours
Pointless questioning
Not his
Pointless arguing
Not hers
Pointless doubting
Not theirs
Pointless measuring
God's time.
Oh the joy of walking
With people keeping distance
And no joggers
Or cyclists
Brushing past
Our shoulders.
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.
Tonight I will easily
Put you out of my mind,
Out of sight
Where I do not need you,
Out of reach
Where I do not need to,
Safely, without tears
Tidily, without remorse,
And instead gently kiss your shadow
As it falls
Silently, lingeringly, exquisitely
Across my shiny, upturned face.
I was one of the lucky ones
Used to be part time mainly
As and when really
Maybe a Thursday or Friday
The odd weekend
And very occasional night away.
Since when did getting
And staying well
Become a full time job?
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.
Running too fast
With wobbly legs
And icy cheeks
And tiny frozen feet
I'm falling
Tripping into pain.
Helping hands
With kind voices laughing
Picking me up,
Masking concern,
Not like the laughing
Soulless wolf.
Then I go again
Tricking pain
Keeping it at bay
Before I learned how to pray,
Learning too slowly
I'm falling
Hands down this time
On all fours
And behind me as always
The wolf again,
Blood shot eyes
Scouring for stragglers
Teeth stained with blood
In anticipation.
Helping hands
Picking me up
With kind voices laughing.
The little train
Goes around the track
Straight through the station
Leaving plastic arms
Stuck in midair.
I like to lie down
Get my head really close
Where everything looks bigger.
On it goes,
Into the countryside
And the plastic people
And sheep
That never look up
And the farmer's wife
Whose eyes see
Right through me.
On it goes
Through the wonderful tunnel
Driving me round
The bend
Until the batteries
Run out
Leaving me stranded.
The day used to be too loud for me
I'd search out my own company
Just up and leave them to it
Take myself off to the sanctuary
Of a closed door, a familiar wall
But thanks to you I've rejoined
The human race
Now I'm better off with the lonely
Crowd's searching pace,
No I don't seek out silence any more
Not since I haven't heard from you
Has left me shaken to the core.
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.
There should be a word count
After all we only get so many chances,
So many prayers in every life.
Only God knows all those I did and didn't use.
Poor words, they never get any credit,
We can't even decide on
A universal language for them.

They should build monuments,
In Honour Of Unread Words.
Still, who would visit?
Instead we have shopping lists
Stuck to the wheels of supermarket trolleys.

Abused, misused, misspelt
Misunderstood, misquoted
If they put in a complaint, who would read it?
Take the most overused ones, those usually said
years too soon; 'I love you.'
And that one always said a few minutes too late; 'Sorry.'
Words must be exhausted and confused.
It's obvious to them what the next one should be, but not to us.
We stare at a blank page
Expecting them to pop out.
They would if we would let them.
Poets make it worse.
Their luminous portal is my door.
Still art thrives on confusion.

But words can easily get their own back,
Our reasons and excuses look silly
When we re-read them
And our attempts to make ourselves look good,
Are fake.
The falling sparrow
Puffs out it's chest
To try to slow its descent.
That's not working,
Doesn't even know
What pride is before a fall.
It tries an air current,
Oh for a gust of wind
When you need one.
It wouldn't even care if it was blown off course.
What course?
Maybe flapping it's wings
Will help, or gliding
Like the hawk
Silhouetted against the sun
Or is it a kestrel?
The sparrow never could identify big birds,
That's major league anyway.
But that wouldn't be so bad actually
If one of them grabbed a leg or something
Anything but it's head.
At least that might slow things down a bit.
And a seagull now
With its already blooded beak
And two crows.
They would be perfect
If they each took a wing
And flew very gently
To their nest.
Then that wouldn't be far to fall at all.
I had expected to be woken
By canons and church bells
And brass bands and people
Lining the streets
Waving the Union Jack and climbing
On each others shoulders
To get a better view
Of the victorious homecoming troops
And shouting 'Let me take your rifle son,
You won't be needing that anymore'.
But instead a kind of eerie silence pervades -
A bit like any other Bank Holiday really.

So, bemused I wander into town
Along with the other stragglers
Solitary shell shocked forlorn figures,
Some wearing medals
Who like me had somehow become left behind
And missed the best of the fighting.
Nor do the decorations inspire patriotic fervour,
Half a mile of bunting
And a scattering of flags
Hanging listlessly in the morning drizzle,
And the odd poster advertising fireworks tonight
All live ammunition having been descretely confiscated.

In one shop as if to draw attention
Away from their opening
There is a school project, a mock up
Of the Blitz
While others, not wishing to prosper from war
Have remained closed.
A handful of old soldiers are huddled
Around the memorial, in muted thanksgiving.
They place wreaths, salute and hug each other
And I feel if only I could hear what they were saying
Then I would really know.

But on TV celebrations are gathering pace.
Numerous authentic black and white films
And to stirring renditions of the Dam Busters
A parade for those who knew victims and survivors
Who wipe away tears and stare into no man's land,
And later beaming presenters will reunite
Sons and daughters of airmen missing
And presumed dead seventy five years ago
With their families, who in turn
Will be introduced to the grandchildren of their captors
Who have become best of friends
And who now regularly go fishing together.
I thought we would always
be ...
Like ham and cheese
Sausage and mash for peas
A double somersault on the trapeze
A warm snap after the freeze
A thank you after a please
A soothing cream for scuffed knees
A handkerchief for a sneeze
A cure for a disease
A pocket for loose keys
Honeysuckle and foxglove for bees
Shelter and shade for trees
A lace curtain for the breeze
...together.
One raindrop for every broken heart he thought.
He waited for two hours
Half in the shop, getting wetter by the minute.
He meant to go several times
Set off down the street purposively
As if he had just finished a book
But forgetting how it ended
Had to go back to the light of the doorway.
He looked at his watch again
A raindrop blurred the figures
And wiped away time.
The street darkened, emptied and quietened.
The shopkeeper turned everything off, locked up
And said goodnight.
A moth that had been trying to get in
Lost his reason for living.
It wandered off and was splashed by the first car
That came along and drowned.
He watched it float down a drain.

'You look like a drowned moth yourself' she said
'Come on before you catch your death.'
He followed her through the city
To a small flat above a shop.
'Get those clothes off, I'll put the kettle on,
You'll find some more in the bedroom', she said.
He was half dressed when she appeared,
'I'll put these on the radiators, come by the fire
And have some tea. Do you take sugar?'
They stared into the gas fire and he thought
He saw a flame.
'Don't misunderstand me', he said
'You really are very kind, I am grateful
But I don't know why you are going to all
This trouble, you see I was waiting for my wife.'
'Thats all right,' she said, 'Don't worry, I was looking
For my husband, drink your tea before it goes cold.'
She will give birth to a boy
And I will call him brother
And he shall go across four continents
Until he finds her
And their child I will call sister
And we shall populate the universe
With our humanity.
Here we come
Clanking up the path,
We are the jailers.
Find a closed door
No problem
It's not even locked.
On we go
This one is though,
No problem
Try the first key
Easy
Keep moving,
Another door already
First two keys don't work
Third one, perfect fit
Keep going.
Another door
And nothing fits it,
Strange.
Ah a window
Opens easily.
Climb up two storeys
A bit scary
Just make it
Hope it is worth it.
Keep going
Next door is padlocked
It wants us to know
It is locked,
No keys for this.
Do a swop with the people behind us,
They've got what we need
Maybe ours will help them
Who knows?
On we go
Another padlock
And no windows.
Turn around
Back out the door
We came in,
Keep going.
Another door
No lock, just won't open
Strange
Turn around.
The door we came in
Is locked too
Side door, see where this goes,
More padlocks.
Then a door opens
In front of us
Opens easily
Opens even as we approach it
The last door always does.
Sepia not technicolour
We've lost the joy.
It's all worry
And the best we can hope for
Is to have less of it.
We need to be more spontaneous.
When was the last time you bought flowers for yourself
Or jumped out of a plane without a parachute?
If you can find a frozen lake
Dancing across it might be enough
To get you started.
Let's see how much love
This life will take
Before the ice starts cracking
Into a cheeky grin.
Our arms and legs feel like lead
But really they are made of rubber.
Start with some toe tapping
To the music
In your head,
Next maybe a shuffle
A little jig,
Now we're holding hands.
Is that even allowed?
We're all dancing,
And I don't even dance.
Let's see how much love
This life will take.
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!
What poems will the robots write
In the next century
When all intelligence is artificial?
Still the nuts and bolts of life probably,
Romanticising about when that's all they were,
The feelings they think they have,
The dream of being more human,
Of wanting to believe the old stories
Where their creators were heroes
Who risked their existence for love
Or God, or to make a difference
To the nuts and bolts.
What right have I to expect
Skies to open up rainbows
Of answers and hope?
Or send down petals
Heavy laden with fragrant cures
For all these ills.
Or mountain ranges
To unearth themselves
To be at my beck and call,
For rivers to change their flowing
On my say so
And you, why should you choose
To see something in me
Worth loving?
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.
When you kiss these lips
That have not smiled today
Without my need to say,
When I fall asleep in your warmth
And wake
Bathed in your beauty
Gentle laughter and conversation,
When you touch this body
With your whole
You touch my soul.
Body I will lay you down now
Leave you in the bed
Because I want to enjoy this morning
Free from pain.
And mind, I will leave you
A little further down the path,
Thank you for all you tried to do.
And soul, let us go on
See where this goes.
Wish I could be here
Really here
In the here and now
And just live every second.
If only they were a bit bigger
I could reach out
And grab one again
Like I did when I was younger.
I'd seen it, just floating
Going nowhere
So I caught it then ran back home,
A whole second in my sweaty  fist.
It didn't appreciate being stuffed
Into a jar
It wanted it's freedom back
To be limitless, to be anything
Anywhere, anytime again.
Anyway, it managed to unscrew the lid,
In the morning it was gone,
Taking half of my years with it.
I catch sight of a few words
Their scales shimmering
Just beneath the surface
Before they dart away
To hide in reflections
Of trees and sky
So, where do I start ... or end?
I've always liked green and purple
Other colours seem to come and go
Like the mood I have to be in
To eat healthily.
There are a lot of things I can't do now
Mostly things I couldn't do well when I could do them
So that's no great loss,
And don't get me started on dreams,
Which leaves only one constant in my life
Something I couldn't change if I wanted to
Something I can only forget,
Something only a handful of people know about
And might remember,
Which makes it special anyway,
After all, I am only one day older
Than I was yesterday
Where is the harm in that?
So, happy birthday to me.
Whiny and moany
Selfish and ungrateful
Needy and snooty
And loving.

Who was it who said
People are problems
So the less people you know
The less problems you'll have?

Surely that can't be right?
And who was it who said
There is some truth in everything?
When I forget I ever had a body
Will you still make love to me?
When I become a dot in the distance
A speck of dust on your glasses
And I'm flying free
In another dimension
Not knowing who or where I am
And if it's heaven
Not caring
And if it's hell
Still worrying about everything,
Will you find me
Jolt me back to you,
In my drowning
My gasping for breath,
Though there is no water
Or atmosphere,
Will you still make love to me
Anyway you can?
From the moment we are born
The lottery begins.
We are all given a set number,
Of days that is
And we never know
When ours is up,
Luckily.
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!
Of course it takes some getting over
But just when I thought I was ready
To relaunch myself on the world
This had to happen.
So I take my aching heart to the doctor
And tell him it rattles
Every time someone slams a door.
His hand hovers thoughtfully
Over a prescription
And he says, strangely
I had someone else in here
Only last week
With identical symptoms.
She lives on the other side of town
But I can give you her address.
I think she is letting me go
Though she doesn't know it yet.
I've seen that look in someone's eyes before
The distance, the glint,
It's the look of love.
It's like she has a secret
She's found a part of herself
That she hadn't even realized she had lost.
Things don't matter to her anymore,
Little things mostly, if I spill the tea
Or forget to buy the biscuits
Or need to shelter in a rainstorm
And get back home late
She is not bothered in the slightest,
So probably she wouldn't miss me anyway.
I suppose she'll tell me when she's ready
And when she does where will I go?
What will I do?
There is someone I need to catch up with,
If they will still have me.
I built this room
With my own two hands.
It has everything I need
A bed, a chair and table
And a window to see outside.
I can live or die here
Without being a bother to anybody.
I made this life
With my own two hands.
It has everything I need
And a window to see what I'm missing.
I will live or die here
Without being a bother to you.
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.
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.
Before we learned how to read and write
And parables were our social media
Something else did happen.
Whatever you believe
He was still a person
With private moments
Of doubt and fear
Who knew he was in big trouble
That his time was short
He only had this time,
The present,
And every day was the same anyway
Waking up to criticism and derision
And plots to kick him out
Not from a club or a job
But to put him to death.
And if you had managed to drag yourself,
Bruised and bleeding,
Up the stony hill
To where he was staying,
Outside the village,
And told him that your sister was seriously ill and dying,
He would have touched your hand
Looked into your eyes
And said, 'Your faith has healed her.'
Hollow, leafless, rootless words
I get lost in them
Stumble over, cut myself in them.
My words are struck
By the lightning of your words.
They break off and come crashing
Down around me
Like sharp blows to the head.
They render me senseless
And I awake to the futility
Of trying to talk to you.
And then there are those words
Wrenched from silence
Stripped bare, forced free
From the soul
And these last few
Written on tears
Are becoming smudged
And will mean even less to you.
Next page