Tuesday, 30 November 2010

A Forgotten Thursday Ago

Keeping little dreams cradled and cotton wolled under my bonnet,
Creeping fear of the baby- green romantic Queen inside my obsessive mind.

There's a heart there, burried under a consistancy of feining sanity.
It's just small, unprompted and expectant, even a little hesitant.

Should it cry at each sun's wake and fall, declare it all and confess my erratic
Sins, I'm doomed to clean up a thousand forgotton love songs.

Another improptu fantasy I would die for,
Or a naked lie to live a little for. So rest your beating, you're a failure now.

Be glad smiling's no chore and the hum of love leaves your imagination sore.
Theres a letter or few waiting for you, no longer fast and just thrive.

One Week Of Childhood

Frozen folds are unyielding, still pretty young and new.
I'm only ten feet away from tomorrow's daybreak,
The sun will cake my skin with wrinkles and masses.
Cram one memory or two into a tomato soup can,
It's that time of year for church and skipping ropes;
Another chance that hopes.

The untimley flakes will just be forgotton again, then
Unveild fom the back of time, hidden in a carpet bag
In the boot. Like uneventful caves of fame and praise
Will the innocence pass me so unwilling by tonight?
Just slipping out for a drink and fall silently out of
Reach of the wrong or right.

I can imagine the stumble, casual out of chaotic mind.
It's time, to see the awaited blind. Should the bark
Crack and the voice dissintergrate, it would follow me
Down the open road. So when the moment comes to
Pass, at last, I'll die quietly and wallow alone. Lift the bag
Off my head and be gone.


I am Narcissus, hear me roar
Pity my face, strapped to a cold flaccid floor.
Clean and sweeping like the plain white petals,
The contours of my skin
My arms and legs, one elbow one shin.
This beauty could surpass my sin through
Echos of adornment, that merely once was.

Moving silence through unsanitary waves
That woman caves, and that woman too
Hails more, she prays to divinity for me.
I am blessed like an arrow on the cry of
War, smooth and uncertain, unattainable
To my mortals. They sing me to sleep.
It's their poison that enchanted my eyes
To close, my heart to shrink, my roots to grow.

Sunday, 28 November 2010

Only Lies Remember You.

Bathed in true pink and blue, are the
Coral sprouts of forests and frosted fields.
Thick thatches of rain are frozen in time,
along the 13 bus route- transposing every
Day upon each other, stacked and hardly

Soggy silver clouds are prodded by a
Blinding sun, not just orange but glowing
Gem of one. It's bent back supported by
Occasional street lamps, tall and lingering,
Imposing the social vigil. My craned neck

There's not a pretty boy alive nor a single
Eagle soaring that could draw a single eye.
No stars or nebula, or revelation of the
Moon, that could rival the sunset show. A
waiting audience, for the end. Always the

Naked pupils like the days and years ago
We were born. Just like the days we'll be
Stupefied and torn between Heaven and
Earth. Buried alive, the sun still burning our
Eyes like no one else will ever know. Like

Could other eyes ever see me when I was
Three, the enormity of another life ignored
And another sunset forgotten. Because
Bath was never drenched with snow near
December. Because no one else could

So undecided and captured by another
Ball of burning anger, how dare they hurt
You and rain on your parade. Were only
Human, and your relentless strides hurt us
Too. It's your fault we die, fade, forget

Monday, 22 November 2010

Castle Walls

The rough edges are just folded into
My pockets, save them for another day.
The hankie is busy being thrown away.
I tick tock through each hour, with
Each step and breath. Each beat of
Each heart, every stop and regretful
Start. And so when the leaves stem
Away from me, bloom and fall free,
over time could I take what is mine?
Pink and red, blue and green, hide
Them under a blindfold, stored far far
Away. Will it awlays be, me against me?

13th Hour

For Sam Whitfield, on his 13th birthday

He was just a grain of sand at the bottom of the sea
Tireless and relentless, paralyzed and only helpless.
Midnight strikes, here swims another wish out of a
Dream. Playing a divinity shouldn't be up to me.

He was curled into a nutshell, our pistachio bean
Clean and unblemished, ready to dig claws into the
Earth. With a fumble of toes and fingers and nails,
Could you cling onto her breast and hair for eternity?

His running heartbeat couldn't keep up with his
Mind. There was so much to see and not enough
Humanity to capture it all, just blink, flake away our
Efforts and expectations. His greatest hour is upon him yet.

Monday, 15 November 2010


Inevitability flew like the big black bulbous cloud you are,
Beyond my ability to stretch and capture you in a bell jar.
Should we cement you to reality or embody you to our eye?
Build you with stones and our wasted bones, because
Your roaming mysteries are the reason for our bodies.

Slip and slide through our clumsy fingers, the fun is in the
Chase and all we ever do is run after you. Try to tail your
Teasing whispers, do we hold on for dear life or let you be?
When you're unveiled and naked in our glory, doubtful of
You're purpose just like me, shall we leave our origin to inevitability?

Friday, 12 November 2010


Trapped between the wall and the bedspread for fear
Of being pulled under, already painted a faded green
As my heart beats itself black and blue.

If I peer through the spyglass to waters murky, unclear,
The folds will crest show the slimy creatures in between
My skin, bones, heart and soul too.

Crusted collapsing figures retreat from my feet, dear
Your ghosts and goulies have wiped my faces clean
So no other man will know where I hail, where I've been.

Thursday, 11 November 2010


Stuck under the spotlight of my grandfather clock dial,
If the world is a stage then i'm just a prop, a tool, until
We all stop. Then I take center stage, the monsters under
The bed are mine, intrigued. What could this creature be?

One foot and two lost all feeling forever ago, so no care
For feeling cold. I'm blind and my fingers are blue, clean
Like the hitched mask of comedy upon shimmering skin.
Like the mask of tragedy still behind every walking whim.

Every friend frozen in every memory can see, trapped in
headlights. The darkness too obscene for my audience and me;
Featherweight champ of dancing in the dark, dressed up
In apathy and a hazy cotton dew. My living dead state
Foxtrot with my Jew, the other vivid nightmares join in too.

Wednesday, 3 November 2010

The Ukelele and the Apple Tree

Juicy knotted antlers curl from his forehead,
Ruffling his black entities and blowing them
Away with autumn leaves.
So there we where amongst the trees, playing ukuleles.

The silvery bellows escaping, swimming
Through tender oceanic hues. A kerfuffle
Of lacy fire in a brick box.
Sight held blind and captive for a moment, like martyr-vision.

Saint Thomas hung upon the tree listening
So carefully to fainting falls of sacrificing stars.
Capsuled in a wooden box,
Wrapped up in string and red paint from my lips, cold recollections.

Back in the tent with a fractured thumb or
forsaken fingers, lost without a compass true.
That's my hip,
Skin and bones, pawed at my petticoat in a hurried haze, laid

Down on the luscious green carpet. Back to God
Staring at a blank pallet, ours to create or destroy.
Because despite my heartfelt fists
If it is not known, it no longer exists.