you are the vowels
that used to dance round these walls
the towels we shared
the midnight calls that lasted hours
the silence we found
the voice in the shower I can't quite
make out

you're the sandalwood mist
perfuming the air
at the tip of my tongue
the ghost of a prayer
from long ago
pervading my skin
resurrected in debonair sin

you're the long dark hair
on the nightclub dance floor
the black underwear
on the king size headboard
the trips to Venus
through sunset plains
brighter than ever
in the rear view pane

I sleep with the window open
so in the night
hope might float in

ah canna mind
the Spring in bloom
the buzzin o' hospital lights
the midwife's panicked rushin'
ti bring air inta ma lungs
or the polymer palace in beige


ah canna mind
ma mither's greetin', when light
wis still entwined wi her form, before
colour drained fae her perceptions
or the shade o' the devil whit took it


ah canna mind the ald grey hoose
on a cracked black road in the schemes
or the wid paneled livin' room
an' stickin' ti dark leather
dreams planted neatly doon the side.

I want the intimacy
the bird has
with the duty-bound bee
dining on their innards
in the red oak tree

To stand tall
as the proud branch
the squirrel calls its home
welcomed in red-carpet-leaves
stripping bark to bone

I want the bite
of the patient snake
to shed the weary skin I've fashioned
to lie awake on sleepy hill
no chance of dinner passing

in view of the kitchen window at night
ruffled voiles billow softly inside
I want to know the voice
that raises living light
behind closed doors

to be the warm comfort
a cup of tea pours

I wanted to tell you, that it's been nice


                                    I think we're all going to die



Really?


                That's true


                                    I made it up



Nothing happens

                                 afraid of underwhelming

I have not spread my toes on the banks of Loch Lomond,
nor hearkened the call of the Northern shore, drowning in its boundary with the kelpies.

I have stepped on blue suede shoes
and been dragged in to selfies.

I've never tasted a pastry en français
perusing Parisian cabarets
never took a walk with la Seine by my side, smoking cigarettes in the hazy moonlight.

I have seen dolphins spend summer nights in the Tay, laughing along the Ferry Esplanade.

I have not seen New York scrape the sky
I have seen a lot of people scrape by
I have not witnessed a single display
compare with a simple act of the heart.

I haven't reached the end of my list
I have made a start.

the butterfly
flitting vivid in the garden
kissing the prettiest flowers with abandon

and the watchful eyes
waiting on high
to gobble it up at random

the slinky tail
prowling the grass
dancing with light
between shadows it cast

steps with intention
alive in the night
not a single tomorrow in sight

always down
as if he fell from the sky
the tragic clown with the funniest life
the perfect comedy in time

he always frowns, I tell no lie
sticks silver needles in his eye

looking on the bright side
every cloud's a lining

all he ever wanted
was the planets to align
across the vast expanse of time
he spent wishing for a diamond

eyes on the sky when
groundwork's how to find them

could have been mining
instead he was whining
sour grapes are to his taste
he's always fine dining

and when it's finally his time
I believe his final sigh
will be released
with sweet relief
at not needing to try

hope ferments

a sweet berry
intoxicating

as the patient table
tending to the wine

bottled blessing
blood of a saint

gently rippling
in silence

and indifference
a crutch to hold your will

the black dog sneers
growls in your ear

my battery would be quite low
incessantly in need of charge
we'd go wherever you go

my software would be so secure
a little out of date
the oldies are the goodiest
I think that's what they say

your face would be the only thing
to ever light my screen
the pictures we could take together
places we'd be seen

selfies in the bathroom
selfies on the beach
holding me at arms length
always within reach

you'd tell me your favourite things
and all your darkest secrets
I'd give you a couple rings
if you would only keep them

An angel
in a bridesmaid dress
gliding through clones
and butterscotch smoke
to throw my vacant soul a win
gifting me her lips in sin
spilling secrets to the night
our barstool island
aglow in the strobes
bodies swelling at the shore
sands turn glass
in waves of stereo
with velvet skin
embracing dark
tied her tongue
to mine
and laughed

she likes sausage for breakfast
but we don't cook the eggs
then it's on to the next one as she's checking her texts
she's vegetarian and always late
from a generation that just couldn't wait
to not be sober and now they're older;
a body count that could outrank soldiers
storming the frontlines, nobody told her
be still for a minute and let someone hold her
so it's on to the exodus, on to the next one
never sticking around like Teflon
if you've a big one, you might share a shower
but best believe she'll be dust in an hour

searching hard for the fear of god
in an overflowing ashtray
digging through the pile of grey
for memories of honest days
bittersweet reprieve
a pause
before the final applause
swaying in a symphony
of smoky dreams
someone else could believe

she's just the kind of girl
basement dwellers portray
scamming cash from weirdos
the dumb ones anyway

she wants to be a doctor
but life gets in the way
she still finds time to hit the gym
and keep the belly at bay

sometimes I have to pinch her
"just making sure you're real"
she smiles but I don't think she knows
the way she makes me feel

it's like rain at the window
while you're warm inside
it's finding the sharpest pencil
when you really need to write

it's the clinking of coffee cups
beneath the morning sun
and Euclid's consternation
as two remain one

she's just my kind of girl
that's all I have to say
the kind of girl to make you wish
you could sleep all day

do what pleases you
do what you please
do it in a suit
do it on your knees

do it in the garden
do it in the street
don't beg a pardon
don't miss a beat

do what pleases you
do what you please
do it for the money
do it all for free

do it drinking coffee
do it in the trees
do it in the desert
do it out at sea

do what you please until
you end up on the floor
do it for the doing
and don't do not no more

am fae a toon that's done so bad
they gave it twa D's

whar the future greets
o' barren streets
on starless nights
an' the same ald wind

a suppose
ah wi kin dae is sing

an' sing wi dae
but no in tune
for ev'ry uphill
there's anither twa doon

an' some *****
howlin' awa' at the moon

it's quite the place meh toon
am gona quit the place quite soon
as I finish writin' this doon

an' tak' a last wee look
at the failin' toon
that helped write this book

tried to make the jump from complainer to poet
but all I can seem to do is complain
I'll give you one guess where this thing is going
it's quite the frustration, let me explain

Upon drinking the whiskey and smoking the ****
all I got was drunk and addicted
I've spanked the frisky and choked the slags
all it left me was feeling conflicted

I've ripped through the prompts, copied the greats
I've read all the books and done all the time
I must have lost a ton of weight
from the sweat I've poured in a thousand lines

so now I just sit here, too thin and smelly
maybe I'll take up berating the telly

are the trees
are the ocean
is the dirt
under your nails
is the rain
bursting thunder
in the clouds
are the light
is the wind
that turns heads
are old tales
of changed time
is the villain
is the saviour
in all of us

cinnamon kisses
the curls in her hair
my wishes
in the way she stares
choking on bliss
like perfumed air
whatever this is
I haven't a care

post to the void
and a stranger or two
those passing by
           I hope you're good
I hope you avoid
what's bringing you down
I hope a smile
            can follow a frown
I hope you give
just as good as you get
            I hope you can live
without fear and regret
I hope this finds you
just as you need it
if not today, I'll wait
                  hope
and repeat it

The best advice I'd hope to give
Romanticise The Little Things
that can't be traded, they're a Gift
The best advice I'd hope to give
The Little Things, for which you live
will be there, when the future sings
The best advice I'd hope to give
Romanticise The Little Things

desire is an enigma
rearing heads
razing beds
and god, the stigma
enough to make pretend
that
you never felt the fire
never used it to inspire
never wanted to get higher
like a vocal by Meg Myers

a falsetto
in stilettos
piercing hearts
robbing temples
unheard prayers
or the little death
that holds you
in your final breath

quietly lurking
invisible love
all thumbs and fingers
a hand from above

in a darkened, smoky room
getting lost amongst the swell
third eye spies my walking doom
an angel, staring straight from hell
black eyeliner, matching attire
Designer, destined
to set souls on fire
destination heaven
no designated driver
begging for attention
I had to feed the pyre

she enjoys the tension
in it for the chase
I'm here on propension
could be any race
like a Disney princess
twice the grit and charm
every piece a twin set
she takes me by the arm
tells me I should drink this
hands me something fizzy
I downed it in an instant
started to get dizzy

and I can't remember
what she said her name was
something like Amber..
Erica.. Blair .. uhh. .
as her face was melting
she told me to sit down
but the stool kept bending
and I'm on the wood now
she's bent over double
tried to pick me up
but I'm seeing double
I might be in trouble

battle with the stairwell
I had to hold her hand
asked her what she did, she said
you wouldn't understand
I asked again, that was when
she let go of my hand
small miracle I didn't fall
'cause I could barely stand
somehow made it to the back seat
asked her where we're going
she just closed the door and said
you're better off not knowing

Forever, you said
Under a shooting star
Come what may
Know this is ours
Your claim, well laid
Once upon a time
Under a shooting star

i.

from across the street
a single shot
silence
then another

ii.

"it's that same ****** close
where that poor boy got stabbed!"

the same boy
who fancied himself a man
running with thugs
a pile of drugs in the van

iii.

"it's only blood -
you clean it then!"

and so.
everything
is washed away

eventually

you are currently position number 1 in the queue





you are currently position number 1 in the queue





you are currently position number 1 in the queue





you are currently position number 1 in the queue





you are currently position number 1 in the queue





you are currently position number 1 in the queue





you are currently position number 1 in the queue





you are currently position number 1 in the queue





you are currently position number 1 in the queue





you are currently position number 1 in the queue





you are currently position number 1 in the queue





you are currently position number 1 in the queue





you are currently position number 1 in the queue

less travelled
well worn

all roads lead home

falling in love is easy
sticking the landing?
that's the hard part

keep turning me red
begging me
to make the blood beautiful

people drawing on pictures they've seen
choosing a side like football teams
the weirdest thing, to me
it seems we all believe our screens

talk to me with your hips
breathe the smoke from my lips

lie to me

the way I like it
tell me how tonight
it's only me

and this red light
brings out your eyes

let loose the demons
that hide in your hair
I won't care

you're so ugly
when you're honest

tell me lies
let your tongue
bleed terze rime

**** me in
to your sacred dark
and force me
to eat you

while you look
at what I made you do

knew I should have lied
when she looked me in the eyes
and asked, "who's it about?"
I could have made her doubt
now everything is different
and everything's a mess
I should have been indifferent
like primary school tests
but I just had to tell her
and now she screams and shouts
about the man who sold the world
over a couple of pounds.

and if I reply
in just the right way
then maybe you'll like
what I have to say

and we'll talk until
the night meets the sun
and almost forget
we both were someone's

I'll go back to yours
and you'll say you're mine
then we'll both get lost
in soft skin and time

they'll call it love
and we'll both agree
'til we've had enough
of what they believe

then we'll say goodbye
and you'll walk away
as if I replied
in just the right way

the night moves in time
with your hips
and the rhyme on your lips
is my reason to tip

let me taste it
I won't waste it
exhaling your soul on these pages

can you fake it
while I make it
put a show on
forget where the stage is

you're now alive
thanks to me
shedding skin
so I can feel

the way the night moves
under a dark moon
the cost to put out
the light in a back room

I know you taste it
bittersweet
anathemic
lust worth the fee

just come with me
and don't forget to breathe

you're not alive
thanks to who?
shedding skin among the darkness

and I'll survive
thanks to you
worshipping a godless goddess

we worship the same open sky
some of us asking why
some think of how
some wonder who
but me
my thoughts are clouded by you

dreams of an obsession
restless
shifting underground
I could be your island
love me with your
wrists unbound

rising like a siren
conjuring the jealous sea
dripping lust and violence
beckoned in a reverie
whispers calling
to pauper or crown
love me
and I'll watch you drown

bathed in your reflection
conquered in your finest hour
dream of sweet perfection
love me
breathless
wrists unbound

up on Gray hill
an old ash tree grows
just who planted it?
nobody knows

some eat the fruit
some kick the leaves
some sit quietly
minding the breeze

up on Gray Hill
where an old ash tree grows
come rain in summer
or springtime snow

where fairies are crowned
and eagles have fallen
where children run
until Mother comes calling

where lovers have carved their names in the bark
as starlight kept the night from its dark
up on Gray Hill
the old ash tree grows

just who planted it?
well
nobody knows

in a minute
I'll be down on my knees
lost in a prayer to your hips

I don't even notice
that the honesty is free
making for the blood on your lips

let me taste this
while you show off
in this space we made
nobody knows of

come and fake it
let me go off
to another place
you make it so

so pretty
when I inhale you
consume your faithless body

compelled to feed these
ugly thoughts
awakened when I'm honest

If the perfect storm was never enough
what can blow us away?
Can't tell the difference between lovers' love
and a love for lust anyway

something in the way we stare?
Open souls are laid to bare
weigh the difference
between lovers' lust
and a longing for love and care

Connections seem few and
far between
when we exchange our hands for screens
affection expressed through
likes and memes
projecting the best of our lives
in dreams

Something new
in the way we all stare
digital pinnacle
obsolete miracle
there's something to
how you look in the glare
something mythical
infinitely kissable

Swipe right
just to see see how you're doing
don't want your number, we just need a room
polycarbonate amorous gloom
the future resembles the present's doom

How many times can you save yourself
before you lose fidelity?
How many matches are made
to melt a heart of insincerity?

People gawking
at people talking
about people talking
about people walking.

Celestial ocean

Arms outstretched

We sail beneath the light



Calamitous wave

Rising in the dark

To subjugate the night



Watch the stars fall

A drop of wishful

Our faithful will provide



Warm premonitions

In pale embracement

As fostered fates collide

I can hold your fragile heart
And we can tear apart
All the pretty, little things
That made us feel complete

After all the pieces fall
We'll both see eye to eye
Separate our minds and rest
Our bones beside the pile

Suffer through the rising heat
That longs to leave our veins
Race across the creaking floor
In glistening crimson

Taste the burning afterglow
Resolved between your lips
Drunk on ghosts and
Comely phantoms

Let the
bottle
tip.

a silver lining
only shines when it's raining
the clouds are a gift

I overfill the kettle
scoop the overpriced instant
into an oversized mug
clinking the teaspoon around
no sugar
it's not really my thing.
I light up half a joint
waiting for the coffee to cool
and think about what's to come
what's today
I'll likely see her there
I'll likely sit down next to her
making small talk, a likely excuse
to study the lines of her face
she'll tell me about the fields she's rambled
about the mountains she's climbed
I'll tell her how I do still write
sometimes
she'll say, "it was good to see you".
and I'll tell her the same
before we part ways
no sugar for me
it's not really my thing.

take me to your hidden stream,
your shortcut through the trees
to the place where
a bird might flutter and land on your hand,
chirping in some ultra violet scene
about dreams and schemes.
take me to your street,
through concrete plans, past unwashed windows,
to the house that was never a home,
to the garden where innocence danced
and the bedroom it still haunts.
take me
to your favourite coffee place,
the one where the coffee isn't quite as good
but they have the long wooden stirrers
and you refuse to use the plastic kind
because you can't help trying to save the world,
take me with a look, take me
for a fool
take me with your fingertips,
your collarbones, your well-versed lips
and whisper to me
of secret things.

How to dress well (and that I'd rather dress comfortably.)
How to hide the laces in my shoes.
That it's apparently "learnt".
How to walk with a limp,
when to walk away.

How to look mean while avoiding eye contact.
Where to find the best coffee.
How to write a bad sonnet.
How to kiss the right way.
Where to find the wrong girls.

How to sing sad songs.
How to roll a decent joint.
How easily a wasted day
can become a wasted life.
How to hold my liquor,
when to hold my tongue,
not to hold my breath.

When enough is enough.
When enough is too much.
When to hold the door open.
How to set a deadline with no intention of adhering to it.
How to feel alone in a packed out club (and where to find the smoking bit).

That time heals nothing
but memories fade.
How long a piece of string is.
That no matter how bad a day you're having, tomorrow can always be worse.

Tomorrow can always be better.

There are those who understand how it is
to see their mother beaten (down and up)
to see their young brother cheating
to spend the winter weeks with no heating
to be resourceful enough to put MacGyver to shame
to be racked with guilt but none of the blame
to jump any time the doorbell rings
to wonder about looping round with the swings
to undertake the first mission to Mars
to spend far too much time in cars
to listen to the music of Gary Numan
to put up with the voice of Gary Numan
to be unable to recognise the difference between bare truths and pretty little fictions
to look in the mirror and see only problems
to cut their flesh up into silicone quadrants
to be free (like William Wallace)
to look at a beer and see a three day ******
to give in to fear
to be a pretender
to be half way through a sentence and forget what it was you were saying
to pray to anything that might answer
to feel helpless
to feel hopeless
to be lost

and those who don't.