The streets are clear, we're hydrophobic
Hoods propped by hats and socks pulled high;
The rain brings peace to the agoraphobic
Puddles form moats and clouds fill the sky.

Splash, droplets hit the window,
chauffeured by the gale outside.
Squint your eyes and flash back
boats tilt starboard, with the tide.

The captain shouts to the decks, paranoid
'Clear the decks and brace for impact'
Without turbulence we are disenfranchised
Boredom becomes us when we're boring.

Shake it off and stare at the dot to dot
the residual carving of water as it slides
Another droplet falls beside it, parallel
it aligns, growling thunder overhead.

Without stirring we are robotic workforces
Without awaking we are left inside
The constructs created for us, by corporate-
conglomerate elitist-psychopaths.

Two drops of water on the window
simmer red with burning anger.
Crash lightening sears the sky
Rage becomes you, girders melt.

The starry night undercurrent, flings
us backwards, never up, as democracies
which seek to serve sink into a sea of
stocks and shares, the wall street journal

sits atop the captains lobby, economies
were meant to tumble as the working classes
fumble for bread, men in suits gaggle
and toast to the millions they left for dead.

Resistance is futile, when eighty-five
of the richest suit owners sit on currency
that was meant for the three point five
billion who aren’t driven by gluttony.

Flip the pillow, the cold brings comfort
The air sticks to the wall, you turn away
Shattered night sky, restless thunder
A bow shaped cloud ignites, luminous
blue fissures weld a crossbow of bolts.

Flash, the night sky glows, white hot
subconscious blink, the room lights up.

Fall back exhausted as storm breezes cleanse.
Rainwater Winds and pockets of pressure,
Under the blanket, the mercury measures
Eighty degrees, your skin starts to sizzle,
Rain pounds the glass, gusts cool the air.

Rest those tired eyes, shut yourself in
Storms will retreat, serenity will win.

I am victim only to constant distractions,
restrictions, prescriptions, vicarious factors,
as various factions of elitism prescribe defeat
to the common man; the hard working talented
beaten upon by the self driven commerce land.
Businessmen, crooks, warlords and bankers;
victory purports itself the higher moral ground.
******* the world, lie on the crimson sand.

The brevity of riches in led laden ditches,
trenches v armistice; one man’s control over
cadets and lieutenants. Equality it seems
is general ignorance, propose roll reversal
and receive corporal punishment. Capital
interests will be met with bursaries, bail
out the banks and return to your knees,
put out your hands and beg for your feed.

If the top three percent own more wealth
than the lower half put together while
politicians claim to be fair-weather,
conclude that sincerities amiss, that
your representatives are on the pay roll
of profit driven lobbyists. Career crazed fat-cats
couldn’t care less if you're in tattered garments
or there’s a hole in your dress, their polished
boots carry them from vault to vault
while we fill another with oil-baron asphalt.

As social repression pushes populations
science progresses, enabling armed forces
to kettle us, cut us off and circle on horses.
Power-shifts across the globe become jaded
by investment with private militias and fascist
supremacists seizing resources from war
torn villages to fund their crude sourced
morality, migrants and refugee families
are vilified by ignorance forged in cynicism
caused by the inequality of education.

Here lie the symptoms of infinite regression,
hold mirror to gene-pool as it replicates
the same flawed equation, as populations
expire and conspire so does the problem.
Bombing a country without repercussions,
is as likely as a breaking the waters surface
without sending ripples to the adjacent atoms.
These are the dark ages of social stagnation.

A pastel blue backdrop
behind three glass frames
not a cloud in the sky
not a plane flying by

Yet I cannot learn to love
the sky without the trails
smoky puffs of vapour
line a day with uncertainty

For a blue sky is bland
without the odd trace
of imperfection, even
birds in formation become
the aforementioned.

"I can't stand to sing
the same song the same way
two nights in succession"
Routine it seems is its
own imperfection.

Give me a grey sky in June
And thunder in peace
A stark croaking crow
Can be sheer bliss

All things aligned,
Excitements amiss
For the brain needs
A puzzle, a challenge...

Confrontation, **** your
Hollywood films and
Normalisation, your
predictable habits

And false gestation;

Astro-Turf fields
And palm tree islands,
Man-made beaches
And glacier skylines

Synthetic audio
and bastardisation
of the arts, your
contempt for nature

Shall be your Achilles
for the world we live in,
the forests and canopy's
are the very providers

Of human abilities,
rid us of them and face
extinction, this is the
nature of colonisation.

The earth which houses us
is not formulaic, It's a collision
of astronomic proportions
every detail as vital as another

Mankind can be primal, Oedipal
and graceless, but respecting your
home is not an optional gift, for
we cannot survive as a species adrift.

Strangers marvel as they pass
At the fire that never leaves
Yet barely any stop to look
Or rest their aching knees.

The furnace which you left alight
Still rages without witness;
A thousand feigned attempts to douse,
It burns on without forgiveness.

The fire burns brighter still
Flames cracking the furnace
Yet the fuel which burns brightest
Is often the easiest missed.

The fire rages, crackles, hisses
No moisture left to soften,
In the nighttime as well as day
The fire sits forgotten.

Another sits, hands outstretched
Loosening their furrowed brow
They smile, stand and turn around
Then wonder back into the cold.

The fire leaps our, barely contained
Destined to grow stronger
Where others burn themselves to sleep
The furnace melts instead.

In this age of 3D Entertainment
and surround sound speakers;
of high definition and films extra features,
electronic mail and internet dating.

Where tectonics fail yet can be shown on
paper graphs and charts and diagram art.

These decades of speed and cynicism.
Where digits reign as idols flop
from pedestals and into bars.
Where your wildest dreams lie not
in your heart but in your favourite shop.

In this land of greed and want
and discord of the highest scale.

Is it peace and virtue that won
you the right to work from home;
eating breakfast in bed, worrying
only if jokes are stale?

Is it fine that your success
has led others to fail?

In this game of snakes and ladders
who populates the pit?

Those who were unfortunate
enough to be born into it.

Everyone's lying
But nobody is listening,
Coins glimmer and shine;

The truth still glistens
At dawn over crop fields,
Sunlit canopies.

Nature prevails
To show us our failures,
Yet, mankind squabbles.

The death toll rises
And nothing ever changes;
We don't have the time.

Keep spinning the wheel,
The sunset brings shade.

How tectonics shift
As continents drift apart,
Oceans open up.

Now you, undeterred
Ascend the promontory,
Cross the esplanade.

Poised with honours,
You sidle the cliff edge path
Predator to prey.

Await your moment.
Swoop, gliding on the uplift,
Behind you a trail.

My mirth, invested in you
This day escapes me.

Sonder through suburbia,
Distort reflections in the glass,
Slow the frame rate on the film,
Saccadic masking, bridge the gap.

Focus closer, narrowing aperture
See cerulean wondering past
Heart murmur, tempo change
The choreographer sits back.

Rigor mortis sit's deep behind
A clock-tower's frozen hands
Obscured, in the clouds above
A backdrop of smog and ash.

First printed, never copied
Light swamps the negative.
Lucidity - luxury of the present
Rarely present in the past.

As the hanging shadow lifts
The clock-face remains steadfast
Witness hands skip a beat,
Background characters advance.

Step after step, strangers move along;
Each vivid moment lost in sepia
But she, the blue eyed girl glances
Back at you, frozen, stiff, aghast.

Five more dossiers slam down
beside you, bosses look stern
and flick through to spite you,
crossing off task after task:
appraisal target attitude,
shred your worries and feign
a false sense of gratitude,
scribble a signature, pretend
that you won't work here long.
It's just a stop gap, well,
one of two, perhaps after this
you'll be hired by another few.

Ten minute lunch, more bitter
than ***** tabasco juice
but ****** Mary and Jesus,
keep your mind on the salary
and you might get through
tapping and typing away
for a parasitic conglomerate
who barely remembers you.
Wolf down the freedom,
spark a fossil fuel fire on
your tobacconists’ anti-stress
breathing flute, clench
fists as you trudge through
the muck and the mire.

They laugh as you slump
over your desktop, under
the fifteen thousand word
count a day, hundreds
of calls and email favours
still you get payed for less
than half of your labour.
One look to the surroundings,
the folks in your office, step
back from your desk and hand
in your notice; sell your assets,
share your amenities,
cut off your phone-line,
don’t pay your licence fees.

At the door, the postman
struggles with bills and notices,
pushing and prying
more and more letters
the poor fellow moans as
you almost clap his efforts.
Gathering dust, your post
gets pushed up the stairs.
Knocking out your wellbeing,
this builds up in piles to
the height of your ceiling
until one day you awaken
with no gas or lighting,
nothing to quench or feed,
your rumbling stomach
near delirious being.

No more in awe, frightened
to express your distaste
for nine to five slavery
you pile a large steel cylinder
with technology and clutter;
letters and junk-mail literature.
Lighter fluid marinade you
feel empowered like
the folks at the gas board.
Pull out a matchbox
strike to a major chord.
Prepare for the roaring
of bureaucratic nonsense
burning and fizzling.

Strike one, the phosphorus
occupies your nostrils,
how sweet the smell
of keratin, and butane,
kerosine and hydrogen.
Strike two the match ignites,
the wind breaks your bindings,
you relax with such laughter
that the flickering orange
flame blows into a cinder,
smoke pining. Rig the pack
and pull out your portable
lighter, the whole box of
matches sets joyfully on fire.

Like witch over cauldron
you cackle and crack up
toss in the phosphorescent
rectangular prism to
the concoction which kept
you imprisoned for month
after month; year after year
you’d forgotten to fulfil
that dream, pull out your
mobile and text your queen
‘Let’s move to the mountains
and bask in the heat; revel in

rebellion. Reject, neigh, defeat
the notion that we must sit
at computers like digital sheep
that we can’t cross an ocean
on our own two feet.
We can grow our own grain
and cull our own wheat’
Whip out your tickets and jump
on the flight here lies a path,
come forth and fulfil it tonight.

Ever untouched by prying eyes
Your incandescence knows no price
No quantity of gold could wager
Your glimmering translucency

For beauty sits through frosted glass
It knows no mirror image
In sunny spells it lights the way
Just possible to distinguish

At night it sits upon the lake
Which ruminates inside your head
To change you but remain unchanged
To glow when couples wed

You are the anthropomorphism
Of waves on a summers day
You are the moment two opposing
Paths conjoin in harmony

In the instance your cover’s blown
Your reflection sits untampered
For that instant your delicate soul
Lies naked, conserved, unhampered

For all of this I sit in awe
As viscous silver streams
Carve channels at your feet
Ejecting precious molten metals

Which ignite with scorching heat
I find the strength to sit up
Then rise up onto my knees
Put out your hand and pull me up

I feel so deeply of your beauty
I cannot help but smile
When I think of your gift to me
It strikes me that time has passed

Since the sun shone to illuminate
Just how grateful I am to have an
Opposing path through frosted glass
A flower to my unkempt leaves.

Follow me through skies of Grey
through murky marshland mire.
Accompany me through forest
labyrinths and fields of pale rye.

Step carefully through old mine
fields and feel my chest fall silent
for momentarily my heart skips,
caught by the long grass stalagmites.

The imagination coils up horrifying
imagery, a moment in time where
warriors flee, outmanned and gunned
down, the indigenous falls to his knees.

Look up and seize my thoughts
from falling into the past, for life
is like a bike ride, and in order
keep a grasp, head forward

following an orbit and do not
lose sight of the tunnels end
for satellites which go off track
crash, break, smash and bend.

Sat in the grass staring up, you
giggle and pull my legs, I trip
on accord and hear the twang
of an IED before crumpling

like folded paper, onto a jagged
boulder, feeling a pain in my head.
I roll onto my back and face up to
the battlefield where hungry farmers

fend off intruders who gun them
down again, blink and they’re shackled
as the decorated men of war crack
out cigars, sip from crystal and cackle.

Scrunch these lids and rub my eyes
the image raids from red to yellow
crimson streams appear to mellow
as your face above me, draws calm

overhead, forget the cries of war-torn
towns and villagers who bled
to keep their crop in the forlorn
era which saw many a soldier dead.

A soul escapes and floats past
your face we pause and marvel
as it pirouettes smoothly, spiralling
slowly into the fog and falling back

down in the adjacent swamp. Trudge
and trace footsteps west of the border
As the scenery picks up, you nudge

my ribs and point down the valley,
towards the green and golden leaves
of Burma where our journey ends.

When I awake I become miniature;
ant to antelope, arachnid to man.
Creeping spirals, dotted lines, linear
thoughts. Calm I calculate, construe my plan.

Today is bland, grey skies, brown souls; stroll palm
in hand. I clap your smile,you touch my knee.
Contact of eyes, then lips; quivering arm,
blue eyes eclipse. I grow momentary
wings, sit on the stars as butterfly sings.

Midday passes, afternoon sun, boredom
arises. I leave you be, head growing,
you crowned my ego. Vision clouded;

I am Hercules, sovereign power.
Deluded grandeur, I perch on my tower.

Jagged green talons,
shoot through gold dust,
marred only by the glimmer
of the mid day solstice.

Curving misty granules
Mask temperamental land:
Tracing paper haze
Swirls of glistening sand.

Bending hills blend
Precious pallid dust
With one layer of
Whipping wind.

Your blustered footprint
Get's carried away;
Bullied by nature's
Ethereal motion.

You’ve walked for miles
Dry and lagging among
Miniature valleys of Earth's
Smoothest round stalactite.

Hear the luscious,
Climactic ocean breeze
Speak salty psalms, from
Deepest blue parchment.

The serrated cliff-face
Positioned between
The vast curvature
of the sea and dunes.

Dogtooth black vertigo
With specks of white refrain,
Which drip back down
To the tenacity of the waves

As tides rise, patience falls.
Worn away, smooth again
As a brief, conjugative
Swill of realisation

Washes out lifes impurities
Cleansing boredom into
Calm; see a metropolis
Submerge in the tide.

The landmarks and history
Are but bricks, mortar
And washed up stories
Which float away to sea.

That night we were perfectly irrational,

your mother spoke like Rhea in an ancient

Greek tongue. We straddled the mighty
Norton five-hundred and joked of Marxist revolution.


She tightened her arms on the ascent.
Danger flurried down our spines and palms

began to sweat. At breakneck speed we whipped

round snaking grey meanders along the cliff edge.


Our compass set in lunar chatoyance

the stars were squinting feline lovers

as the night light washed upon her eyelids,

lashed with jagged stalactitic silhouettes.

We coasted down a sandy path; emerging from the hills

where the shepherds’ ruby grins were the nights hue.

Hearts cast in iron and minds sat on sand,
the sky snapped pink to blue, to navy dogtooth.


The spider grass on the dunes, the mirage

of twisting dancers and sand storm pirouettes.

Full beams off, we’d blink and stand amazed,

that very trace of privacy at night


which leaves you dazed, for unlike the crowded

light of day which knows no heart nor wonderment

moonlight dances on the pier, and bounces off the waves.

My first born son who parts the fog and clouds


to carry primal thunder; I gift to you,

the joy of life, and beauty of the oceans wealth.

The sand will bed and water cleanse,

the tide will carry and coral mend.


Until you, La Pedarosa of the floating world,

may sail over those who tell of any boat

you cannot sink and any fleet you cannot fell.

Imagine if it cost your whole days
wages, just to feed on bread;

If external forces made you suffer
The indignity of debt.

Imagine if the war torn middle east
Had a minute's silence for fifty dead;

If Palestine,  Iraq, Afghanistan
Had a minute off for breath

Imagine if a days work came with
a twenty percent chance of death...

Now picture that scene in the Caribbean
Bathing, lounging, plunging, dancing

The preciousness of life it seems
is purely based on address.

Stiff-spined pigs clawing at shins,
thighs, torso; arms and head.
Effervescent atoms spit
from pressurised cans
to clouded, burning eyes.
Batons drop, judging
my ever rolling sins;
breaking bland sheet
of skin into blue, black,
red, swelling  purple canvas:
mounds of flesh,
batted time and time again.
Arm twisted, mud faced being, sinking.
Face first dirt. Cuffed, bony wrists
annoy broken-back shoulders:
unforeseen angles.
Frustrated muscles stretch
bemused tendons.
Freedom demolished,
kicking screams provoke
further chest knocks,
ambushed four to one
your body flops;
sagging over tight-gripped,
blue and black jackets,
helmets, batons, badges.
Tossed to the backseat;
prisoner of the siren.

Separated by progress
We live in isolation
Socially stagnated
Growing ever distant.

Focus further inward
Without hesitation,
Cutting off future conflicts
Before they even happen.

Perspective and reality
No longer separate
Echo chamber catalysts
Shattered-faction fragment.

Elitist tactics brainwash
Entire populations,
Localised abundance withers
With dying vegetation.

Doomsday clocks lurching
Our salvation diverges
Shouting to the twilight sun
We share but false elation.

Entire regions' designated
Means of production
No new doctrines allowed
All hail consumption.

Ever directionless, at a loss
Regressing into violence:
Revolutionaries' proudest
Of our failed revolutions.

Living out our dreams
Of solitary bliss,
Live alone in harmony
Or die in the abyss.

What piece of work is man
That chooses inhumanity
A species in a chasm
Led by mere savages.

You’re left at the back, anxious at sunrise
as day by day we drift through consciousness.
Ring the Bell. These thoughts are your demise

Act profound, fixating us with lies
Invigorate a prompt adress;
your qualms are back, anxious at sunrise

You’re mother’s boy, your father’s eyes
they know first hand, you’re prone to stress:
so ring the bell. Your thoughts: our demise.

Refrain from fear, nor anthropomorphise:
doe’s endear, their bliss is careless.
You’re stuck at the back, anxious as sons rise

and fall or fail to climb. Surprise,
surprise, with fear of death you now obsess,
over the bell. Our words: your demise.

They say you’re fine, you compromise,
it’s in your head, that last abscess.
You’re left to rot; absent at sunrise
they’ve all forgotten. Those thoughts, your demise.

One hundred years of sodden red sand
millions of innocents slain and condemned
brainwash the brute and send him to shoot
no more of a troop than a toy in your hand.

Pull the wool over why we send them to die
dossiers, mandates now malformed and broken.
Those who were 'chosen' to vote for the people
are payed off, promoted by power drunk creatures.

Our bubble of bliss is the last dying hope
of a stranded psychopath on a bone-laiden raft
tarnished by greed signed misdeeds
floating in streams: the blood of the past.

Hear the voice of the people unite against evil
to condemn your crimson fuel wars on the east
and like doctor to monster, quench the 'Vitai Lambarda'
fuelled by the foolish benefitting the ******.

Let the embers scorch, settle, and form a new mantle
where ideologies are transparent and righteous
and the poor of the world aren't corporate fighters
'speak up, speak up and veto the game'.

Fix me with subterfuge;
one-hundred feigned smiles
crash, condense and disperse,
all because you shot me
that polar glare.

Trick me with posed gesture
and we backtrack, for miles.
Your stare ignites, melts and
drools off of your frozen eyes.

Wet blue tracks
through Salt Lake City;
these roads need gritting,
these walls must melt.

Who are we if not the purveyors of justice
my rifle, my knife, these limbs.
Who are they if not the intruders of peace;
their terror, our lives, death looms.
I am hollowed: rebuilt and refilled.
My scarred face remembers what
I need not. Their faces and fear lie killed;
****** with mandate, bullet hole signature.

       The trigger finger -
                            is not mine, it’s yours.

You **** guerrilla forces, burn
villages and conquer; linger and pause.
Teach them what you had us learn,
cut them from their cage,
and coax them to our ways.
They, purveyors of peace;
you, intruder, enforcing justice.

Please dip my hands in pools of blood
and forge my fingerprints to stamp your war;
Quote the unspoken, push comes to shove,
combat your backing who don’t own more
than enough wealth to prosper and flourish
on stolen oil and cargo to help bypass law.

Please use terror on terror; and perish
the thought that the feared foe can use more.
Fight fear with fear; shock and awe to
remove from my conscience crossfire victims.
Don’t anger the angry but step on the small
to earn the wealth to combat the cruel.

Yet when I attempt to reprint your culture
defend to the pen the rights of your sponsor.

I’d **** to fall asleep
these ever sinking eyelids
break the black, the darkness parts.
Behind slits of light
reddening eyes weep
sitting moist, unnerving endings:
shards of vision ignite
swirling thoughts, impulsive pulses
of rapid electric sparks.
Sharpened spiralled contemplation:
daggers, knives of stimulation
emulating scythe like sweeps;
cutting spirals in the throat
I cough and splutter, mutter, choke.
What madness and envy lay
in the thrusting of hours passed.
She wouldn't let me fall away,
slump to slumbers thrown, alas
such beauty to demise,
roll down the blinds on rising skies.
Our crimson sheets grow ever-green;
her sunken body, lifeless, bare.
I imagine her final unbroken dream;
she finds this wealth, too hard to share.

Short struggle to the floor, I sigh,
your wrenched fingers clamped
tightly around my pointed wrists
Your convex caps join thigh to shin
pressing mine through scorched earth
slowing seconds grab my breath
pushing further out, and drawing ever in.

Spasmodic jolts, kicks and flinches;
failed punches, rattled writhing, wriggling
under your smirking calm, this is
second nature. Third wind I strike again
with snake like prowess, your dead weight flipped
but inches. Obey or suffer, your knee rolls,
to my chest; laser precision, your other uncoils
on the blackened dirt, ash and soil.

Flat footed battering ram to my ribs
then throat, ever slower, ever heavier.
The pain goes, the knife enters:
over and over and under flesh
ripping, torn skin.

I pity not the wondering victim who trips
on my carcass. Face first, horrified glance
towards the sign that reads:
Beware trespassers, out here
nobody hears your screams.

Anticipation spans the season
Gone so fast with just a trace
You leave no rhyme nor reason
Off you fly with cold malice.

Even the driest patch of grass
Restores its former chloroplasts
Bright green trees begin to fade
Your legacy is leaving.

Splash, the constant drumming
Sets the tempo and transition
Swap the pastels for pantones
Go indoors and reposition.

Not one to miss a queue
This rain was built to last
The whipping winds harmonise
Like blowing over hollow glass.

The interval is all but over
The show yet to be recast
Fly in the white cliffs above
The Dover shore blends at last.

The tapping of rain becomes a thud
As the treetop leaves lose their colour
Gales whip up - down empty streets
The people crowd indoors in horror.

Fearsome is the cold and wet
Now that joy and happiness has passed
Regale stories of the Summer
And hope that winter retreats as fast.

The taxi is silent the driver's stopped trying
A crossing appears with no pedestrians crossing
Houses line the street with a warm yellow lighting
The night drizzle lightens, the pavements start frosting.

Shouldn't winter nights be spent comfortably
Rapped in familiarity?

Turn into the car park, the barrier is rising
Wretched is the destination, cold and disheartening
One day you'll return and your mindset will brighten
For now we will visit under the cold grey lighting.

Should I dare to peak inside?
The driver shrugs. I daren't decide.

The automatic doors squeak ominously open
No round of applause, no standing ovations
A pin could be heard, the canteen is broken
Seldom celebrated, there are few worse locations.

Should I lower my temperament
Become stoic and sensible?

The escalator moans while taking us further
The corridors smell stale, they echo a murmur
A slip-away comment in a labyrinth of tension
Hospital blue reflects in the eyes of the visitors.

Could I muster the strength to go inside?
I'm here, I've done it, all sadness must hide.

The nurse hands over the apron, i feel inhuman,
You lie propped on a cushion, restlessly muttering.
'It's a bad dream, it's okay' I'm nervously stuttering.
My stomach churns at the pain you're experiencing.

Should i dare to show my tears?
I needn't alarm onlookers and familiars.

Your bed-light flickers, the room dissapears
In the darkness we're calm, inhibitions are cleared
Such split-second clarity has calmed me for years.
I smile fearlessly pulling your hand gently nearer.

Should I dare to leave your side?
I'd blame myself, it would shatter my pride.

So here we sit for hours on end, semiconscious
Semi-talking, the volta on which all cruxces depend
Your dream-like graciousness cleanses and encompasses;
Myself and others, regale tales of your accomplishments.

Nature's patient,
wistful sleepers
dampen the fall
amidst sets of peepers.

Ever ancient,
ticking tempers
stir against time
to make things mine.

Nature's patient: I await,
mothers cure for all i hate.

(Circuit Breaker)

You read somewhere that the rich get richer and richer
and sit on the yachts with staff in the kitchen
you apply for the staff and surprised by your inbox
you made the cut as a waiter to clean for the richest.

Buy the gear, take a ride, kick back on the boat
where you’re treated like a spy with a knife at their throat
the world keeps spinning as sparks fly down wires
but you're sick of this prison, where you lie ’til you’re tired.

Bottle up and float out to ocean, the back of your mind
is still hopelessly broken, one day you snap the wrong way
while this tax dodging sociopath sits laughing and lolling
the sun hides before him, you take the tethering rope;

snapped, ill, broken and bitten you rise to the bait
and run down to the kitchen, the chef chops away
you slip in behind him, chop chop away he doesn’t
bat a lid to you routing through the draws throwing

most to the walls, you find what you need and run
to the top deck, a suit tells you to step back
but you give them the slip, knee to the stomach
they flop on the deck, groaning and hunched

they step back up, a crack of the wrist, an almighty punch
over the railings they curse, yell, and cry for the boat
but the captain is networking about his lunch
you pull out the cheese wire and stroll to the pool.

The toff is surrounded, near empty yuppies
photographing themselves perpetuating the fourth
section of sinning ‘though shall not fool yourself
that mankind is winning' with the wealth squandered

here we could afford houses for the women and children
of the war your involved in, to fund the oil sales of the one
in a billion, so they can provide you with a classier
place to abstain from the real life and ****** up system.

Run over and clear the robots of richness, tell them all
'go ahead, keep taking your pictures’ while you strap the wire
around the neck of the fattest cat in business,
they all cry in horror as your grip tightens the purple

-faced smart-mouth shouts out for help but calls his helpers
a 'bunch of ill mannered sirens’ as they step back afraid
a single one daren’t come to his aid as that glint
in your eye shows the will to die to **** the tyrant

who’s gasoline fights killed your mum and your dad
and threaten your kids, you thank god that it’s over
though the system's corrupt, this wars been reinstated
reissued so that those above, know the people

aren’t fooled by their false promised lobbying.
Your death row grin comes back at dinner
as a copycat killing claims the next victim
you were the gush that unclogged the piping.

Fleeting thoughts swirl up like vapour
escaping this thick bone chamber
flickering with irrationality through
the endless prism of false labour.

For life’s lust is lost in a paranoid wreckage:
mystery paradigm proclaim yourself more
than enigmatic refuse, ruminating unreasonably
in this hotshot ******* driven battle against

the weak, the slow, the poor and trapped
the meek who run computer cracks
just to stay connected to the planet
which span them out of tune.

We are a danger unto ourselves, for a foggy
lane in summer sits a head firmly back
on shoulders, slovenly my ego
shrinks beneath quivering boulders.

Sparks fly from my torso, out of my solar plexus
as I spur a perennial twitch of trepidation
to reignite my lust; to help those who seldom
see the sun, or laughter running off the tongue.

My drift wood frame spurns, deceivingly incognito;
my cognition conjures disdain for all false frivolity:
The chasm behind the mind of those who relish
finite goods and cherish only their immediate

surroundings, the sinkhole of inadequate lobbying
peers who snort and cackle away the thought
of true democracy. This disdain we grow pushes
brickwork barriers to breaking point, where stones

and dust yield to gravitational collapse
Only a fool clutches the words of the wise
and writes them in the mind, yet only a fool
would paraphrase words which altered lives.

So ever the jester I must warn the top-bracket
bureaucrats that the harder you push down
liberty the more she grows out to the side
the 'greed of man will pass and tyrannies die'

For now 'We are buried beneath the weight
of information, which is being confused
with knowledge; quantity confused
with abundance and wealth with happiness.  

'We are monkeys with money and guns.’
running a mock of our planet and crowning
ourselves above all odds as a likely contender
to colonise further than our means. Though...

‘the good earth is rich and can provide for all
Our knowledge has made us cynical.
Our cleverness hard and unkind.
We think too much and feel too little'

Yet have mastered the sea and the sky
as nebulas appear through concave lenses
far and wide, the thieves who stop progression
have much to answer for, dwarfing mankind’s

potential and making extinction inevitable as ice
ages come and clean the planet even giants
die out, but those who can work to a common goal,
I promise, we’ll leave these fools behind.

The sun cracks the sky where the albatross
flies; the clockwork waves splash
Lunacy, the morning haze disbands.

Your patchwork raft, the labour, the scars;
The salt and the spray assault
the ballet: the majestic way you stand.

Your teeming suitcase, a thousand journals,
Their iridescence forms a compass
gleaming north to your merits.

Mountains ahead are distant, hills behind are old
Marvel in awe, gasp as your youth
floats passed, whipping up paths of sand.

Grow and glow, perspire and expand,
shadows are cast for eyes to follow
a menorah of promised plans.

Sand turns to brickwork, pebbles to mortar
squint across the water and scuff a hoof
lunge and press digits on freshly laid girders.

Pull back the bow and aim, no doubt
In grey-matter but a quiver
full of knowledge, a diver in a mirage
A bridge to greener land.

Cats eyes line the meanders, drifting off right, wondering left.
Clutching fog lamps, casting back a luminous dot to dot;
morse code decorated trenches: cracks in the trails ahead.

White noise peters in as waves crack the shore,
salt water droplets - tortoise and hare; that game

you played as a kid willing the underdog to win.

The dogs on his back in the backseat, legs in the air.

Underneath him the blanket you wore the first time

we jumped from the pier to the sea, a pair of young fools

romantically free, not strung to the walls of marital tension,

mortgage loans, pensions pressing the wind out your lungs

and life out your heart; the bond we shared has drifted apart.

Crash on the land, the pounding waves;
gush of the tides shivers down your braids.
One hand on the wheel, one hand on yours


you take it away as we brush past the moors.
Rumble over rubble, our suspension knocks
wooden slats creek as we speed past the docks.

Turn to me teary eyed nostalgia, I swerve between the bench
and the toll booth, two dodgy dogs notice running and flailing,

as the last fence approaches. The tiniest movement, a twitch

of the wrist could take a toll on our carriage of bliss.

The carnage we left, lit from the west
your glistening pupils and rain soaked vest

tinted gold from the sunlight and pink



from the sky. The clouds above part as prepared,
those adulterous pedigrees, tore our peace treaty
your cuffed hand reaches over muffled screeches

that beloved mut in-the-back, most bedraggled
of creatures howls as you pull the hand break
twist the wheel our tires carve etches.

At the end of the structure, we howl with the dog,
and the tyre with all the punctualness rendered

functionless with two deep punctures
hisses and sinks with much of a muchness.

The cityscape cowers beside the desk
Concrete kingdoms hide glass and brick
The adjacent high-rise hides half the skyline
A hotel sinks in anonymous uniformity.

Twelve lights disturb the chalky colour scheme
Before comfortable sepia returns to greyscale
Fatigued blue lights turn to gold and brown;
Ash to brick, fog to smoke, cold... to warm.

Wreckers creep forward as the crowds shriek,
The brutalists weep the loss of a legacy
As all around marvel at what sits behind
Nostalgia blinds us with the tearing of bandages.

The camera pans right, the dust curtain moves east
The show goes on, the crowd stand amazed
Fallen protagonists cannot hide past misdemeanors
The hero's were in the prelude, not the denouement.

Cranes move in, mile high ladders move beams.
Rebuilding the city to obscure its history
The scars themselves in their mid seventies
The tragedies which bore the bones of fragility.

When bombs rain and recession follows
The buildings we raise are only temporary
Let us thank those who battled their right to exist
Their former glory is now something missed.

The hallways seem strangely silent
a wistful sense of emptiness fills every room
rammed full to the brim
with nothing but previous occurrences
and quiet, clean air.

Curtains grow duller with every second,
the falling sun creeps carefully
behind grass and trees, beds and walls.
A “climate control” unit hums
met only by murmuring voices next door.

I irritate a light switch, flicking it
on, off, on, off, on… off.
There is nothing of interest in this room.

I turn inward, sticking my thumbs
into my ears and hands over my eyes.
At long last, serenity.

Inhale the burn, choke and splutter;
the walls sway, the roof descends.
Pass the vessel and cut the rafters;
the chair tilts, the table bends.
Exhale the fumes, laugh and mutter;
the floor shifts and window melts.
Spool back, slow down the pitter-patter
of those around; now talking faster.
Words whizz past, spill and clutter,
then echo round an empty chamber.
Retract a thought from lingering over
the tongue and through the closing shutters.
Rooms disperse and feelings clatter
with no impact on soft grey-matter
your brain swirls, and body disbands.
Through the barrel, **** the hammer;
pupils shrink and heartbeats race.
Fixated by a bold, young face
the grin widens, the wall moves near
and bubbles up in yellow blisters
wood-chip cheeks and cracking fissures
take flight and sober up halfway
through the bathroom window.

As wires round the world get lighter and thinner
Your news scroll feeds you various homicides,
From desktops at noon to plasma at dinner,
The auto-cue scrolls through this week’s most viral.

The network fail to mention the other seven billion
Who kept living their life devoid of such sinning.
Disquiet on your perch, picture your pleasure:
Hopping alone, around your enclosure.

The window slides up, wind ruffles your feathers.
Beak to the bars, you're helplessly tethered.
Yell 'til you're heard, ’til you’re hoarse and unkempt,
Yell 'til the neighbours are mad and hell bent.

Step back to your pedestal, tapping your feet,
The rhythm you summon traverses the streets.
Nearby inhabitants sit watching their screens,
Warn-out, occupied, unfulfilling their dreams.

Tip-tap-a-tip-tap-a-tip-tap away the evening and next day.
Now you live vicariously through social media,
You cannot stop tweeting, lonelier… lonelier.
Connections you make get quicker and quicker.

‘Life is the greatest’ upon appearances,
You pick and you carve a residual image;
The best fools fool themselves into submission,
Post exponentially, build on your rhythm;

Second life, third face, prosodic yet speechless,
Your diary now echoes, empty and featureless.
Stare at your screen, silent and grinning;
Hive mind rewired, this story needs spinning.

Forget losing face, that farcical demeanour.
The needle wobbles on your false life fever,
As sunlight exposes where your cage is broken,
The tether is loose but you're past noticing.

Shared knowledge free of charge, constantly flowing,
Ignore others' viewpoints, or pleas to come in.
The glass in the window is brilliantly glowing,
There's fire outside that your posts have been stoking.

White noise, connection lost, you're no longer hosting
That multi-channel, fibre-optic, bandwidth expansion.
Untether your Ethernet, the cage disappears
Find sanctuary outdoors when quiet is near.

The caged bird tweets devoid of all reason,
Fooling itself about its own lack of freedom.

(Hive Wired)

As wires round the world get lighter and thinner
the autoscroll feeds you fourty-nine homicides
from desktops at noon to plasma at dinner
the auto-cue commits sixty-five more crimes.

Mad and red in the face, you picture yourself
pace by pace, walking the span of the kitchen
but the network fail to mention the other seven billion
who kept living their life devoid of such sinning.

Typhoonous winds and hurricane fever
head out the window, yell for your kingdom,
yell so we hear you ’til you’re hoarse and unkempt.
yell 'til your sad old neighbour get’s hell bent.

Step back to the desk and slam on your keyboard
tell all that you know that there’s more to life
than watching the ’strife of idiocy’ part two thousand
and something, there’s more to this world

than serving a system; there’s more to a system
than the buds at the top, the roots don’t need trimming
the buds must be stopped from dying and rotting
and killing the crop. Still glum? Relax in your favourite shop!

With a roof overhead and your screen polished down
forget the anger, the strife, and fantasist who yelled.
tip-tap the day away, earn and pay away that frown
forget how lonely you are and buy some new health.

Tip-tap-a-tip-tap-a-tip-tap away the evening and next day
Now you live vicariously through social media
you cannot stop networking, lonelier… lonelier.
Connections you make get quicker, and quicker.

You pick and you carve a residual image.
‘Life is the greatest’ on appearance
the best fools fool themselves, it’s addictive
post after post you build up a rhythm.

Second life, third face, prosodical features:
hive mind rewired you’re speechlessly grinning
Staring at screens you’re now silent at dinner,
your diary entries get sparser and sparser

you forget appearances are a farcical demeanour
sixth chord diminutive, false life fever: your square
-eyed and ill groomed head sits on a hunchback miser,
the hive mind keeps ticking you keep getting wiser.

Weather-beaten decadence, I lie here superhuman:
a mass of cables, tubes and breathing apparatus.

With zeal I feel the end is nigh so blink that final tear.

A lifetime on the river bank, finally I’m here.

Purifying cataracts, tilt to face my beast, the water

whisks my sharpened tongue and dissolves

these cherry cheeks. The wind bellows;

beckoning me further off these foolish, pallid meadows.


The water glistens, cracks and parts revealing

lovers, lost acquaintances, makers,

sisters, friends and brothers.

An arm transcends with open palm

mimicking the water lilies, dancing, bobbing

in the current, glistening with charm.


Inhale, grab and take the dive. The water’s clear,

where air was hollow; The soil hallowed,

not sewn with sin. All that was real is suddenly mist

all that was dear is but borrowed. My frightful gown

floats upstream, my hair sways like pond ****
and wrinkles relax, all is refreshed.


Peer upward to see that wilting flowers

do not dream of seeds.Plunge ever deeper,

do not glance back on salty cheeks, or past misdeeds.

Planet earth I have to leave you be

but I know you’ll write and one day

you may even catch up with me.

I’ve spent days in stretched perception;
my elongated arms sit across the room,
my swelling hands bulge on the mantelpiece
and the room throbs like a ribbiting frog.

“Nothing’s wrong” I lie, dazed and *****
and close my eyes. One hand obscures the breeze
between lips, another clamps my nostrils shut.
But your hands are your own and bare no place
on my feverish, inclement face.

I **** bolt upright, and glare full beam.
Reel back, I tumble in and out of dreams.
Blink and the menace subsides; as cobra
turns to darting hare, you shriek and stare.

“What’s wrong?” your banshee screech pierces
ear to ear. Scrunch my eyelids, so returns
fierce medusa cursing in the mirror.
Hose me down and seize me from this fever
and for god’s sake woman, call the doctor.

Artificial city-dwellers
Discard all humanity
Carbon fired tin cans
Pierce the serenity.

Anonymous collisions
Fifty floors below
Each passer by a stranger
You will never know.

Pedestrians, travellers
And their vehicles
Droplets in a river,
Altering the tidal flow.

Irrigation passages
Absorb the elements
Hedge fund panellists,
Bankers and workers flee.

Eye rolling baby boomers
Sit, tutting one by one.
Nervous millennials adorned
In clothes for moths to eat.

Breaking point carriages
Century old tunnelling
A lone foot tapping
And quiet page turning.

Brakes hit the track
Piercing the murmur
Eighty jarred necks
External motion blur.

Sliding carriage doors
A not-so-subtle beep
Dust kicked from dawn
Falls onto the city streets.

Blue tower inhabitants
Busting out of the seams
Water molecules collide
But nothing sinks the fleet.

Smartly suited eye-darters
Push and pull for space
Rolling up the banks
Humanity erased again.

I settle on the brickwork
Until the storm retreats
Circadian commuters
Run to rest their feet.

A few lonely meanders remain
Wondering down the beach
Forlorn festivies fog over
Swinging shop-signs squeak.  

As the lighting rig descends
And once blue ceiling stains
The beige brickwork turns red
The high tide admits defeat.

Pink light turns to navy blue
A faint moonbeam lights the sky
Obscured by one cloud then a few
Vague incandescence frames the scene.

The streetlights flicker overhead
One worn out passenger now leaves
Shrouded, cold, hungry and fulfilled;
Abandonment for some is peace.

Three prongs, darkened wrinkled skin:
a weather beaten talon
perched firmly on a sticky background.
Tightened grip loosening,
the freeze and thaw of daily chore.
To catch a wind and stretch
then shrink; grabbing hold of extra hide.
Even the swan: pure, glossy
friend tires of morning, afternoon
evening end. What chance do these creaseless eyes
have against the hardened feet of
crow, stampeding, marched in footprint.
Disguise is all she can hope for on a rainy day
tears may dance and cause dismay
yet vanity lies and she is fascinating
premature crowing dances
should never slow a man’s advances.

They say that darkness is the absence of light
And white is the absence of colour
That it's not the size of the dog in the fight
Rather the darkness we ****'t discover

Why then when we close our eyes
And cause the dying of the light
Does peace engulf that very moment
And stay for the rest of the night?

In veritable virtue we abscond
The joyful absence of light
Where every hero needs a villain
As nighttime cracks with light

The wakened soul is ill contented
While the ignorant live gleeful
Maybe then absence itself
Is joy, and saturation tearful:

A silent lakeside at four AM
VS a motorway at rush hour.
Darkness is nothingness, silence
and solitude, the latter a bell tower.

When but a couple of variables collide
They can result in utter chaos
When nighttime falls and all goes quiet
The violence tends to trail off.

So ask yourself why fear the darkness,
The inevitable absence of light;
Is it then an unwillingness
Which gives the dog its fight?

Black stone juts out over greying ice,
A mass of alpine greenery,
Half bare, half masked in white;
The motion of a turner painting,
Colours cast through Lowry's eyes.

Camouflaged upon a riverside
With no sign of Lutheran ambition,
As faith faltered, medieval to Christ,
A small church modestly mirages,
Casting simplicity into Nordic pride.

The excitement of the northern lights
Over the precipice of these continents,
American and Eurasian plates collide.
The Langjökull Glacier screams
Witnessing its own untimely demise.

The remoteness captured in the landscape
Starkly contrasts to us who bear witness to it
And in the mirroring of the landscape
A lonely civil dwelling knows nothing
Of war between nature and humankind.

The myriad of workers all shattered and broken
Complementary cityscapes remain inescapable
High tech offices, shimmering urban dystopia,
Eight hours spent well, dreams of eloping.

Twice daily gaze avoidance in a cold rolling tin
Public transport gaslight, nobodies talking
Level crossings stay shut without fair warning
Waiting at the lights while fending off wardens.

A twenty car pileup with zero casualties
Gridlock at rush hour, boredom eternally
Look out the sunroof towards the contrails
Dreams of escaping, a matter of urgency.

Overhead, the most beautiful of tapestries
Each one a trail to the temporarily free
The sun in this case, a dog for a flee
Migrate for a week and live on the beach.

The cycle goes on as you don't have the money
Yet venture capitalists adventure freely
All expenses paid, hands rub greedily
Shouting to the world 'I want you to pay me!'

Nothing pillaged nothing earned
Bear witness to the 'altruistic economy'
Climb onto haveness mezzanines
Stroll down avoidance alley.

Open your front door, the handle falls off
Take a smoke and climb up the chimney
Sit on the slate and draw the scenery
All glass houses need stone underneath.

Much like a sestina repeats it's hook
Our lovers and idols, ever prophetic,
Sew meaning into quivering arcs.

Desaturating the still, all becomes clear
Unscramble the motion in the film
The cover image foregrounds.

Remove the chaos of every day
Plot points pinned to a story-line
We spin ourselves back in time.

As one song may last a lifetime
Churning the same harmony,
Of the few who never leave.

Worry changes no forking paths
So worry not and sonder still
Time clarifies, distilling all.

A viewpoint in the stratosphere
Changes the night sky forever
Yet, the seasons remain the same.

One prolonged glance into the sky
Listening to this primordial beat;
Here, true lovers, idols and myself
Glide through space eternally.

Semi-automatic eyelids flicker,
Backdrops glare through thick black lines.
Fast forward tracks on silver halide,
Detail removed, spoiled by light.
A scene defected as clarity hides.

Rib-cage rattle engine backfire;
A marble rotates on the edge of a knife.
Three-hundred bodies drift by aligned:
All voices unify into a singular baritone
Outfits blur like the traffic at night.

Cloud cover grows, the audience subsides
Calmness prevails, relaxing your mind
Shoulders sink to back to a perch
A low ISO repairs the flooding of light
Each silhouette regains its detail

As passers by regain their autonomy
A low ISO repairs the flooding of light
Each silhouette regaining its detail
Sweat stops pouring from over your brow
Conjoined voices become conversations

Clouds cover cracks as the day drifts by
A marble taps the brickwork below
As vertical beams shoot from the sky
Get back to your feet, pray to the night.

Should I dare to leave your side
You grimace, blinking vacantly
‘I couldn’t bear to be alone if ever I died’

In latency, the true mask of life hides
Your whole world would be empty
Should I dare to leave your side

The lace of your last dying wish untied
Loneliness is absence recurring eternally
‘I couldn’t bear to be alone if ever I died’

I won’t leave the room sufficed you’re still alive
What sort of gratitude would it show of me
Should I dare to leave your side

If I gave in reluctantly, famished, red-eyed
Your disquiet would grow infinitely
‘I couldn’t bear to be alone if ever I died’

Love is all that stops me from dying inside
There would be no final anything
Should I dare to leave your side
I couldn't bear it if you died

Second flop first fold, ***** face, benign.
Stale mist drips from the above air vent
Thump. Snap. Thump. Snap. Almost in time.
Acute tremble, double bluff, card corners bent.

Big blind, little deaf. Eyes on the road.
Tortoise to rabbit, calm calculation.
Slow motion bullet drop, auto reload.
Don't... let... the penny... drop.

Tilt back from your desk, indebted, subdued,
Four legs on the floor was always too safe,
Kick back, relax... tip ninety degrees
Clarity comes after a fall.

We fall in love with looks exchanged
Though some say it's not really love
We fall in love with peoples voices
Forgetting their other traits.

In every grey cityscape,
In every tired estate
Love triumphs quietly
Above decibels of hate.

In every steel Metropolis
Drowning in inequality,
Exists temporal understanding
Between wealth and poverty.

The weary travellers too,
Worn down by years of routine
Smile behind closed doors,
Raging with the chemical joy.

The eyes which glow back at us
Engulf us in molecular adoration,
Like fires catching from kindleling
Melting the rough corners of our day.

Life can make fools of all of us,
But to be fooled is to live.
No masterpiece was crafted
Without painful risk.

And how I came to know
Your glare was meant for mine?
The pains I feel from inequality
Become more secondary.

Just seconds of your laughter
Sweep years of cortisol away.
Overiding the purpose of my soul
For those profound moments of the day.

The joyous glowing of your eyes
Craft a neuro-masterpiece,
As equal measures of dopamine,
And oxytocin ignite my zelous glare.

That glowing behind your eyes
Tells me, it's your soul and mine.
That acceptance of ourselves as fools
In love, is the only escapism I need.

I woke up on the sofa again
Dream-weight bearing past traumas
Looking ever backwards
Gauping at my own flaws.

I woke up on the sofa again,
Etchings of past misdemeanors
Losing purchase on the walls
And floating around the room.

I woke up in a frenzy
To remove the LED haze,
Whatever it was I was doing
Was now done yesterday.

I woke up delirious,
Not knowing who I was
For everything that I had been
Had now been repossessed.

It's a funny thing realising
That part of you is gone
Waking up on the sofa
With a need to hurry on.

I woke up on the sofa again
With a sense of worthlessness,
Reflecting on the regularity
Of my boundaries being crossed.

I woke up on the sofa again
And slowly trudged to bed
Like an extra in the background,
A dream that's died a death.

When I awoke I realised
The misdemeanors were lesser,
I wondered through the streets
And saw not one single transgressor.

I stopped a couple in the store
Who talked about their summer,
And saw a woman with her dog
Admiring a passing runner.

As the polyester jackets floated past
And shoes scuffed the fallen canopy,
I saw that movement made people happy,
That the sofa was no place for me.