Thursday, 23 September 2010

Beauty and the Beast

Once upon a time, upon a hill far, far away
So high up you’re euphoric from the suffocation
And the cities are just the embers left from hormonal love.
Say, stay and be complete, even if it’s not forever and ever.

Coral skies are set in stone, falling petal by petal,
Heavy and grounding, pinning your arms to his chest.
The rose tinted- glass can’t deny, I, was repulsed.
But dragged by raked finger nails along my thigh.

Castrated in black and blue and golden, holy white ribbons.
Navy blue cloaks wrapped around my ankles,
And blinding stars babbling of everlasting love that’s
Reachable, achievable. Surely that’s inconceivable?

A crippled flower flake hits the floor and I guess
The hairs on your face are the scars on your back.
The flesh on your bones is similar to mine,
Monster or man? Let the love decide.

The Cage

Oh for all the rings hooked into your heart, the key hangs on none of them

Pain and fray, will it wither back into a dream? Frail as the baby’s stunted heartbeat

Cry, cry my babe and fold your hands into my lap, bow your head and cry

Freedom is a bitter word, folding my eyelids upon flaccid milk fat skin

Anything to be trapped and happy, make it okay to cry because one more boy was scooped up in a tissue and thrown in the bin, please.

Monday, 20 September 2010


Kissing games wrung around your neck
Heck, don’t you ever stop?
And clearly sacrifice is a very small price,
Just too see a special girl smile.
And friendship is just a milestone,
On a road away from your childhood home.
Broken hearts are highly strung,
Upon a glittering thread around your throat.
Collected, perched on your collarbone.

Hit the road Jack, and don’t you come back no more.

The Silent City

Oh my matted fur
Crawling, slumped and humped and bulging
Grasping for an overhanging ledge
Catching the whisper of a scuttle

Muffled moss hills, blinded by the light
And as cars quickly graze
The rain can't touch me
Can't hear me
Can't see me
Doesn't want to be me
But embraces my feet
I'll meet you again one day

My School's Cherry Blossom Tree

Down the steps
One, two, three
Dying blossoms dangle from the arms
Of my school's cherry blossom tree.
Grey smudges circle
The harbored council estate
Cooing, calling, falling and flying.
The shade of my youth's blushing cheeks
Plummet to the ground like butterflies,
Sliding on the wind.
The fingers of flowers stroke my hair
Hold my hand
And lead me out of the school gates
Out of their reach
And back into reality.


Honestly, we're almost there
one first kiss and tangled hair
Honestly, we're oh so close
your hand slides in mine
and we're almost there.
Slip of the tougne
The things i'll never say
because i know they'll
will scare you away.
My frightened faun,
let's run
into the dawn.


Where would we be without not North, South, East nor the best vest you wear on your wedding day?

If the sun exploded who would notice first
Who notices the sun behind those hooded lids?

Inside that hooded dress and best vest you wear on your wedding day.

The brooding lids plotting revenge and plotting your downfall and plotting and plotting and nothing but potting and plotting the waterfalls on my Earth like a rambling man for a six week scan upon a hospital bed

And at the table’s head,
Wearing the best vest that you will wear on your wedding day, to her wedding day. Your greatness shines too high too bright to attempt contemplating taking off the vest, and saving it for another day. For my wedding day

Too much too soon and moving as swiftly as the moon your grey hairs will turn and retreat to the other side of the earth. Stumbling on the waterfalls.

And before you know it, it’s too late.

Friday The Fourteenth

Your cheek, indecisive on mine
My heart anchored to a different time
The gray window sleeps upon the sill
That I watched you from
Quiet and still,
When hope dripped, slipped to the floor
Neither one dreamt of something more
Like the retreating, angry, silent sea
The fickle love did not care for me
And when God's reign began to fall
The intuitive weather said it all
Our hearts anchored to a different time
But silly romance thought you could be mine.


Hooded back and skull capped jeans and a gay hairdo and skinny jeans and black hair dye and black tee shirts and black nail polish but what colour could you possibly be?

Hooded back, hunched back to show a skinny waist and a shy concave chest not built of muscle but a hoard of gold and a ruby heart trapped inside Davy Jones’s locker.

But they want you to cut your arms and smash your skull and bury your skull capped jeans and die young and old in the head, sick in the head thank God he’s dead but at least his music still sells. Thank God.

Somewhere, elsewhere I see the red tape fluttering, curling and creeping around the large ant hill. It stops and waits for me to write what I cannot express with words some kind of greatness or some cry for help.

And the hammering in the hedgerow is the only reminder that I know that those warm large hands can’t disband me.

The Aryan Eye

Oh you, smothered in blue
The fairer sex isn’t just, for you.
Rolling and reeling underneath the Aryan eye.
The law bore a hole in your heart.
Glacial skies trapped inside an ice cube,
Dwindling, sinking
Covered in red, red wine and smashed in glass.
Smuggled under his heart
Cross it and hope to die,
Trapped inside the Aryan eye.

The Past

The past,
Can be just as scary as the future.
Dreams and ignorance are running away with a flock of fleeting angels,
Burning the sky, scorching the clouds
Torching the pages of my diary.

I’m scared (I’ll admit)
That every yesterday could be every tomorrow,
Again and again and again.
Drop please, one by one
A feathery storm overseeing every tortured second
Every stressed moment of my nightmares.
Of my memories.

Oh to fly away, and wipe the surface to clean the slate.
Blast my brain with sand and snow, cool the itching.
The past (I’ll admit),
Can be just as scary,
As listening to that song again.

Sunday, 19 September 2010

Poem Twenty-Four Six

Obtuse hips, say no more.
Walking collateral damage.
Turning and twisting around some alien orchid, a love that’s too untrue with gutsy attitude
And a hay barn stored askew the underground sewers,
Hiding, undeterred.

Solid bones, weeping for joy.
Sleeping faint weariness.
A gaping hole wholly fulfilled with triumph, empty of fulfilment and stroked by true love
Touching the boundaries quietly disbelieving,
That this could be happening. 

Such a lonely boy.
A lonesome limpet.
Love is a battery canister below his belt, and an energy is pulsating through my navel
Through my hips through my heart,
Lightening navigating a labyrinth.


Bambi, fornicated from frustrated frets and triangles and drums and bass cycles.
Tapping at my nerves and
 Knocking at my conscience.

Bambi, big and engulfing the skies, inhaling my cigarette smoke.
Smoking eyes,
Smoking lies,
Puff, puff, puff away, blow away contraceptive tribulations
Revelations spinning around my fingers.
Slipping and gripping his
Beer bottle, his eyes
Bambi eyes

Brown and sinking, shaking fidelity crucifying a helpless soul.
Godspeed, angel
Falling into a deep bottomless hole.

Saturday, 4 September 2010


Funny how things come and go and the overwhelming feelings ebb and flow

Slow and seeping my mind is weeping for just a wink a kiss or maybe my hand pressed to your back
Silky smooth and the hardest bones, weathered by a lonely eternity without love

Run a finger up the caved in spine, a long stalagmite jagged and breaking under the weight of a heart that beats too much too fast, lives too hard too fast

Like your dad.

You’re a whimpering mess that pleads and suffocates me, as you tear at my ankle, and push my shivering spine to shake, quiver and beg


How dare you turn me, unfurl me and uncurl me fear me as I fear you, vicious circles biting at my ankles
Tongue lolling and rolling over the bones, lick, lick, ick

Love's Young Dream

Each day i pray for lies and love i havn't commited,
Words that castrate and strangle my heart from my throat,
Cold forgotton fingers fighting for lovesick angst. 
I envy the word's worlds i create in my head, that each night i tuck into bed, and feed the hurgry leeches more with each longing glance at the-boy-sat-next-door.
With his rolled up sleeves and untouched jeans.
Heart and head pumping like machines,
I type and i type, fingers ache, write of heartbreak
The violent visions of wanting more
Love's young dream, like never before.