Life is labour.
All is entropy.
From the moment
we're born,
we decay.
We must feed
to renew,
we must breathe
to energise.
We strive to prolong a life
we never asked for,
living inside a machine
needing constant maintenance
against built-in redundance.
What an existence!

‘They’

Who are ‘They’? You know,
the ones who said it would rain
today. Are they the same ‘They’
that claim a glass of red wine
a day is good for you? Or are
they the ‘They’ that decided
quinoa, blueberries and chia
seeds needed a superlative?

‘They’ said the pandemic would
change everything, ‘They’
promised a new normal. But
then again, ‘They’ promised
to be carbon neutral by 2030.
‘They’ say mental illness is on
the rise yet ‘They’ are spending
unprecedented resources on it.

Which ‘They’ is it who are
calling for Peace? The ‘They’ that
call for ceasefires? Surely not the
same ‘They’ that are profiting
from arms sales to rich warlords
and using hateful speech on
‘Their’ platforms?

[Oh, you mean the ‘They’ who raise wages?
Or the ‘They’ who let inflation spiral?]

These are the ‘They’ who hide
behind a pronoun when
delivering news of death, poverty,
corruption and failure. The same
‘They’ who suddenly personify
when plaudits, praise and
popularity are the order of the day.

Is it time that ‘They’ took a back seat
and ‘We’ became more responsible?
But who are ‘We’, if not just not ‘They’?
Whether we ignore it or not, there is a thread
which connects each ‘I’ to each other ‘I’.
There’s no unity in ‘We’ and ‘They’.
Realise your ‘I’ in someone else’s ‘I’
and maybe we can start to reconcile.

Woken at 07:45 hours,
this day as every for the past
God-knows-how-many mornings.
He stopped counting months ago.
Familiar shouts and clattering, steel on steel.
He’s never been in such constant company.
If he can’t see them, he can hear them.
If he cant hear them, he can smell them.
Two hundred and fifty God-forsaken souls
bouncing off the concrete walls.

And yet, never has he been so lonely.
In the middle of this swirl of
doing, coming and going,
he plays the game of acquaintance,
unpleasant pleasantries exchanged
on the landings when custom,
advantage and survival says he must.
But he dreams of solitary, a box just for him.
A place of quiet, or quiet as it gets.

Lonely for solitude and spiritual guidance,
gently closing the door while all others slam.
Lonely for recognition, his currency no use
where his is now, he trades in
sensitivity, not noise and bravado.
Lonely for connection, the true self
hidden, protected by ever thickening
walls of stoicism and cynicism from
which the heart may never escape again.

Bells ring, doors open.
Saturday association, and solitude
wishes will have to wait.

Woken early by my black dog
growling at another rabbit hole,
pulling at the leash to
dig out some sorrow or fear
to bring back home
and leave at my door.

And there it would stay,
if I were in charge.
But today my Ego stands
waiting for His treat and
carries it into my mind.
And there He starts his dissection.

Pulling apart the fresh, raw,
sinewy emotions, Ego searches
for what disgusts and repels Him,
what challenges His very existence.
Where He finds it, He creates
suffering that wasn’t there before.

He relishes this for it is his
life force, this is the stuff of
anxieties, hatred and misery
which He pushes onto me as
the proof of why I should be
what I should be.

He points to where I’ve been wronged
and stokes my fires of self pity,
anger and indignation. Whipping up
within me what He needs to survive,
an identity different to ‘those others’,
so its me and Him versus the world.

But its not. I want no part of His critical
joy, the self-satisfaction and justification
for his continued being. I work
to see his tricks and machinations
so I might see Him coming and
expel Him and his ever-present hound.

I’ve seen miracles happen before my eyes,
witnessed empty souls become human again.
More than human, I’ve seen them struggle
and fight against an invisible,
yet all-consuming, foe. One who is
dark, deceptive, relentless and cruel.

I’ve watched them grow with a determination,
grace and humility unknown to the masses.
They have found new depths of consciousness
and understanding worthy of any monk or mystic.
Dark eyes once sunken now lifted and bright
and skins pallor now blushes with hope.

And, yes, I’ve seen them fall and flounder
but never fail because once they have seen
how it can be, it doesn’t leave them.
We may be pulled back under, time and again
by our demon of choice, but each time
we resurface with precious lessons learned.

Recovery is not just change,
for change is too small a word.
It is not merely putting down the bottle,
ditching the pin or putting out smoke.
Its not just quitting.
It’s starting again.

It is renewed vitality, a different outlook,
a spiritual kick up the backside.
It can allow you to find what it was
you felt you were missing in life.
It is learning to let go whilst
knowing it’s going to be OK.

I put my head on the pillow and drift off….

But in the night, someone from somewhere
Hits the reset button on my mind.
My emotions, strivings, fight from the day before
Deleted in one action.

Shiva sweeps aside the remnants of yesterday:
Gains, strivings, losses and ambitions
Clearing the table for tonight’s game
Flanked by greater and lesser angels and demons.

I’m lost in dreams while a silver ball spins against the
roulette wheel of my soul.
Each number an affection, a state of being
randomly selected for the next day.

The silver blur slows
Jumps, flicks and rattles from one bay to the next:
Happy, blue, angry, drained, joy, sorrow, hope…
Each have an even chance.

The crowd around the table leans in
Waiting to see it fall, to claim possession.
The fate of the following day rests on this outcome.
A day of peace or another of battle?

But they wont know, I wont know
Until my head lifts and my eyes open
And I feel it saturate my body and soul
Ready for another day of starting again.

I know I’m frustrated.

I know I’m angry.

I don’t know why.

I know what to do

To try to quell it,

But for one reason

I don’t want to let it go.


I surround myself with

Loud noises and angry voices

Ride a wave of my own

Feather spitting.

And still I don’t know why,

I just am.


A vigorous scribble scratched

Inside my skull,

No end to pull at.

Just gritted teeth

Tense shoulders

Clenched fists

My feet stomping one

After the other.


Feeling if I lose this feeling

I’ll never get it back.

This is my fire, but

Its uncontrolled and unfocused

I revel in it as I

Blister and burn

Tightness in my ribs

Dare you cross me now?

Blue is the train that Coltrane blew.

Blue is the Note that made dreams come true.

Blue is John Lee ****** and B.B. King.

Blues are what made Billie Holiday sing.

Blue is the sapphire in a wedding ring.

Blue are the eyes that you lose yourself in.

Blue is the sky, blue is the sea.

Blue is the intensity of lapis lazuli.

Blue is the colour of the NHS,

Flashing blue lights helping people in distress.

Blue are the helmets of peacekeeping troops.

And blue are the pills that I purchase from Boots.

Blue is the kingfisher, perched by a stream,.

And 'Blue is the colour' (for one London team).

Blue comes the moon on rare starry nights,

And blue is the colour of Supermans tights!

I was out walking today
Trying to clear my head
After a morning of too much study, Twitter
And coffee.
On the way to town, listening to jazz
I tried to slow down my mind
Counting flat, fallen autumn leaves
Making words from number plates
Avoiding kids on their bikes.
I came out of Boots with
My blue sweets for the weekend
And stopped for a double espresso.
Having just crossed the road, it hit me:
Today, this week, this lifetime
Is just a blink in the history of humankind.
Which is just a blink in time itself.
No matter what I do
No matter what is done to me
The world will carry on regardless….
Such a wonderfully ego crushing insight
I felt light, things made sense.
I strolled on with a smile on my face
As Kamasi blew…..

Looking from the other side of the mirror,
Seeing through ***** glasses,
There is something not real about this moment
Like looking at a reflection of a reflection of a reflection….
Something just undefinable,
A gap between my here,
And their here.
My now,
And their now.
So fine as to be invisible but so wide
That one is unaware of the other.
I’m existing in their world
But not of their world.
Watching life as a live broadcast
With a nano-second delay.
Seeing the muzzle flash
Then hearing the shot.
The familiar is unfamiliar,
The same, though different.
Like the thinnest sheet of clear ice
My perception could shatter…..
But then do I return to what was before?
Or am I left with an existence of emptiness?

I thought I’d try reading again
But when my eyes scan across that off-white page
The words animate….
Slippery                               little
                                                                 *******.
            As I try                focus on                  one,
The  next j  s  l  s in front of it
                 o  t  e

What I’m about to read distracting
Me from what I am reading…..
Its not the spelling, I was always top at that!
Its pinning down the words
Comprehensible in sentence to a...ahem,
Into a comprehensible sentence,
While trying not to read the same line twice
The same line twice.
I’ve tried reading in blue, red, green,
With a reading ruler,
Reading glasses and
A magnifying glass
But the words
                       still        
                             keep
                                     falling
                                                off
                                                the
                                                page…..

And don’t get me started on numbers!!!

It was the sort of feeling
I always drank on:
Frustration,
Banging my head against a wall
******* myself into a ball
Wanting to shout out, to get away,
To calm my mind, a need to relax.
The easy fix that always works.
Flushing myself through with poison
Washing what’s inside away
To find myself in exquisite numbness.


Short term gain and long term pain.

A pale face, dark eyes, an uneasy smile,
Surrounded by a mass of tangly black curls,
She sat in that circle
Unengaged, aloof, disruptive,
There for everyone else’s sake
But her own.
Trapped in a world by demons who
Would let her see another way
But kept her from it because
It wouldn’t serve their obsessive needs.
Within screaming distance but held behind thick glass,
Visible but achingly unreachable.

And now she appears, life
Shining from her eyes.
A purpose in her movement
An energy no longer nervous or restrained.
An arrogant addiction now replaced
By an enthusiastic vulnerability.
The tangle of curls now worn up
To frame a new maturity.
She sits in the circle for her own sake now
Proving to everyone else that she is worthy,
Meeting life bravely while hearts around her
Now swell with inspiration.

In this Developed Nation, a 19 year old woman sleeps in a bag in a door way.
In this Developed Nation, a working family of four relies on the local food bank.
In this Developed Nation, grandmothers live on a pittance and die lonely.
In this Developed Nation, my friends use drugs to fill a spiritual chasm.
In this Developed Nation, stateless refugees are kept in cages while processed.
In this Developed Nation, slave labour is abolished, but persists.
In this Developed Nation, the media patronizes and panders to the lowest common denominator.
In this Developed Nation, the unscrupulous employers bulldoze workers rights.
In this Developed Nation, the population is kept divided and ineffective.
In this Developed Nation, ‘I’m not a racist...but...’
In this Developed Nation, black people are stop/searched nine times more than whites.
In this Developed Nation, under four percent of **** reports end in conviction.
In this Developed Nation, seventeen percent of adults take anti-depressants.
In this Developed Nation, suicide is the biggest killer of men under fifty.
In this Developed Nation, children cut themselves to relieve pain.
In this Developed Nation, I’m a snowflake if I care.

What has this Nation Developed into?

Still searching for that solid centre ground.
Knowing that the only reliable thing
Is Unreliability
Just ain’t helping right now.

Eroded self trust is my foundation,
my bedrock, my stability.
And time and time and time again
The ever powerful waves of self doubt
Undermine and eat away
At what is supposed to be my touchstone.

No matter how quickly and steadfastly the defences are built,
Those cracks of insecurity fill with
The constant drip, drip, drip of
Muddied, toxic delusion until once again
The ironic inevitability of unreliability crumbles,
Washing away the solid, centre ground.

Negativity is not always overtly depressive,
Positivity is not always overtly happy.

Negativity eats away, piece by piece.
It hides in the banal.
Its disguised by layers of colour,
Noise, applause.

Negativity is drip fed, unnoticed.
The bland
The ordinary
The acceptable
Even the comfortable.

Negativity keeps you in your place,
Convinces you
How good you’ve got it,
Fosters no hope,
Breeds joy in superficiality.

Negativity is not a natural state of mind.
No one wants it, yet
Its continually perpetuated by those
Who are blind to it.

Negativity tells you that Positivity is frivolous and childish,
Happy-clappy ******-babble,
Is an immense effort, an uphill struggle,
A dream, stupid, deluded, unobtainable…
Well, it would, wouldn’t it? Its Negative.

Negativity sets you unattainable goals,
Holds up a false mirror,
Tells you that you need to be
What you can’t be…

But still you ache, drive, strive
To get there,
Concentrating all energy on it,
To the detriment of all else.

A solitary pigeon perches on a telegraph pole
And sings her call.
Other than that, the world is quiet.
The constant rush of rubber on tarmac
Has finally ceased.
Gone, the mechanical birds, bees and bugs
Filling the air with their droning busyness.
The warm wind has dropped,
Hushing the rustling.
And even the neighbourhood dogs respect the silence,
Sleeping soundly.
The only noise is that of sunshine
And Nature, exhaling her contentment.

The pigeon starts! and takes to the air.