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Sun sliding slowly through the cold blue sky

While the cars roar in their hundreds

The bustle of human traffic cutting across

the green course

Immaculate bunkers like shell holes peppered with missed shots (the game is now clubs, not guns)

And me on this soggy bank

Pretending

Always pretending

That it is warm and summer

And I happy.

outside in

i don’t fall out of love

because everyone i’ve loved has a different place in my heart

and when i think it’s full

(all mixed up, sullied and spilling out)

someone

s t i l l s

and lets everyone lie down again

i’ll never stop loving you

all of you

though you make me feel sad.

because the heart is a circle

a centre

who can’t see outside in

who grows a centimetre when you’re not looking

who swallows food without chewing

young men dine out on the stories they wish weren’t true

and old men are just young men who took too long

fulfilment

When the sun sets and the blue cool breeze flows through your lungs. The ice will forge over your heart and penetrate your soul.

Through the night, an escape is not what you wish. But the strength to carry these demons through the fire of life, withstanding them and not letting them break you. Fulfilled, that you were strong enough to overcome them- in hope of light, In pursuit of joy. You’ll get lost and fall into despair but, of course There are no shortcuts to this marathon of mazes, filled with dead ends. But it will be tireless flows of persistence that will break through the dark and you’ll see the sun also rises again, and again, and again...

Noble Debauchee

As New Year's Eve approaches, I am stuck with a dilemma.

My Love wants to stay in, quiet, warm and safe.

A civilized glass of red, maybe a Whiskey or two, watch television and then call it a night before most will.

My other love, the Party, loud and dangerous, calls for me. It begs my presence.

Fearful as I am for my second love, I cannot resist its call. many an endeavour with this serpent has ended with good memory, or lack of.

Others have left me ashamed, the ugly mistress robbing a proudness of person...

regardless, she appeals to me.

However, on this night of new beginnings: do I choose my first Love? will my dreadlocked love lead me towards a better destiny?

perhaps my thoughts are too analytical.

perhaps either choice leads to the same ultimate conclusion.

I cannot make any progress with mere thought, I cannot think my way around this.

Action is the catalyst.

Time to decide which path I shall take, be it forever

or just tonight.

To party or not to party, that is the question.

I Met A Little Cottage Goblin

I met a creature wild and fair,

With great brown eyes and blossomed hair.

I found it in a twisted place

Where men slurp poison brews post-haste.

This creature fair it stole my head

And brandishing it boldly said:

“Dear Sir I have your head and heart

Two things that really should not part.

I hope you can forgive my plunder,

But you I yearn to tear asunder.”

I eyed my head perched in its palm,

And pointed to my chest, quite calm:

“You have my head O creature fair

But my heart you see still beats in there.”

The creature smiled and stroked my cheek

Its tender fingers soft and sleek.

It eyed me up, it eyed me down,

And then with face forced in a frown:

“I have your head, I have your heart

For one without the other shan’t

Make sense of what its partner says

And thus your heart is powerless.

That beat you feel within your chest

Is something I for one detest.

You feel, dear boy, in passions strong

And in pursuit of passion, you are wrong.

I took your head to show you this,

That fluttering you won’t dismiss.

Forget me sir, forget your head,

Forget your heart so swollen red.”

With this it tossed, in manner cruel,

My head upon a rusting stool.

I reached, withdrew and then went slack

I did not want my cursed head back.

The creature smiled its victory grin

And slunk away to guzzle gin.

My head I left upon that stool

A relic in a cesspit pool.

My heart I kept but not to trust

It flutters still, if only just.

COLLATERAL BULLSHITI

it has not been

forsooth you little men

you silent men

heeding the call of silence

and mincemeat

I’m sure you all made snow angels

in the wet green grass

and kissed your mother on the cheek

whilst drinking a little bit

neglecting the lectern

tossing the communion bread in the bin

not projecting the sermon

as if the two thousand year old tradition of

lambasting christ

were an itch in time

you little bastards

I wish you a safe trip down

from your towering negligence

to the cause!

I am the Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last, the Beginning and the End."

God or something

my mind is stroked by ivory hands i love them forever soothing I’m stuck the vicar and his ivory voice pulling me closer to infinite rapture with every word his sermon is so delightfully blank I don’t care that he’ll kill me If he’d just keep talking joining him in his world is the only release his ivory congregation sacrifice themselves for his words I sit between the white legs and do the same the outside is stained glass all colour is torture i’m the youngest here and I kneel so glad to give in

the hand on my head hesitates

i leave

It was the kiss of death

Nothing else

I sent myself away with change in my pocket

And the bitter taste of a lunchtime beer.

I felt like an adult in the backseat of a car.

Wretched.

Pride deprived and waxed like a lemon.

A seal on my own bitterness.

Everything I have to show you

Is painted with sad faces

A hot bottle of red

Lies in a bin somewhere

We forgot

But it had no body

An echoing staircase of glass

Lying on an old pizza box

All the shit left behind

From malnourished fools

Looking for their ether

Welcome to the ablyss, my darling. Where nerve endings turn to sponge and sharp eyes turn to great big bowls of darkness. Your dripping, drooling tongue has dried up and taken the shape of a strong upper lip. The conscious no longer sucking from the teats of Gaia.

Dinner is read before breakfast had even begun and the sky is one shade of grey And empty of crows. The cackles of fat drugged up beasts, slithered down drain pipes and into Witches’ cauldrons . You’re unlucky honey bee, you’ve been cut short. The face you see is a projection from the light, wait till the moon goes out. Mannequins on strings, floating around glass buildings, throwing rocks would seem like a good idea but you don’t want them frolicking outside. Crush the candy to dust and toss it in the air, leap head first with a bright cyan tongue and Toss the robe on unfinished business and filter it real nicely. I think my stomach is empty.

You cracked out of an egg chair

Incubated by laughter

The warmth led into the sparkling array of stainless metal

and the smell of old breasts

Housed in starched trouser suits

Made you erect.

Late night under desk touching and caffeine kept you alive in buck fast nights

You saw your breath and can't sing

But the air came out regardless

In the chill

Dropsical hands

Stroke your trousers like palm fronds laid out for messiahs

Named after change

And stinking coppers.

It feels good to be home

Distant voices

Remarkably flaccid

outside the door

So comforting

To know

They're quiet and have no

Invitation.

Slapped by genius darkness

Night into night

Folded pizza dough and the print of fine constellations are sharp and stink like familiar dogs.

Pour yourself away on anew

Grind on your friend

Who dressed up in glasses and scent to the tune of regret

In her body length mirror

The treacherous foil

she'd meet a human tonight.

A stinking starched voice

Pretended to come out

Instead.

women are sphinxes without secrets

poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility

W. Wordsworth

Teething Pains

There’s trauma in my mouth. My teeth are moving about. Some might not notice it; but I do, They’re going slightly yellow and bent.

I guess that’s what life’s come to: nothing but teething pains And salty hangovers.

Help. The whiskeys all gone, Send more...

With all of homes delights and mothers galore.

Please don’t leave me on the on the floor, I’d pull myself out but I’m torn.

My teeth won’t stay in the same place anymore.

My venomous bite has lost its awe.

Help. The whiskeys all gone,

Send more...

VOCATION, VOCATION, VOCATION

WET DREAM

Breath just keeps coming out

Like a clown’s handkerchief

And there’s slime in your bed

from when you tried to blow your nose

but missed.

It solidifies

Into a wife.

You take her.

She tells you to

shake off your slippers

Hold them in your hand

Beat her suitors into remission

Like the whole world

Is your living room.

And then it’s over.

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