Wednesday, 10 August 2011

Anticipation

I do not sleep, I just exist.
My headstone sinks deeper into the bed as my body follows through-
But my heart elates and pulsates, rises to the softly settled stars
Embedded in the sky, a thousand days of navy-blue night
Between you and me,
Like an endless sea cascading off the edge off the world.

I cannot rest, I've lost the will to move.
Eyes dare not give into temptation, frail wants and will-be's
Tease the outer-Hebrides of patchwork insanity.
I've only fear and curiosity to entertain an empty possibility
Between you and me,
Like a deep stewed lagoon concealing mermaid's magic sight.



Sunday, 7 August 2011

An Empty Bed

That right there is where he would lie; faithful Friend, Brother, Lover
Where Grandad did die. One last flick of life behind his closed eye.
There holds a sea of eternal impossibility, where only dreams dare
Swim if there where a body to wash up on.
We fear the bed sheets hide the bodies, bury these characters in deep
Sand dunes. Where they fall out of precious reality, we can only
Savor the sweet remains- scraps of scent, tousle the tender shape
Of where they've lain. Hopefully one day again.
The nightmares should be treasured, as the gold left swilling in our
Chests will slowly slip away through the rainbows on our skin,
Bruises left on my shin. The ghosts of their touch dying within and
Every second that moves- so do they, away.
Emptiness rears it's regal head, as if the naked bed where akin to
Your soul. The desolate plains remain bereft of the love they once
Gave, the severity of sudden nothingness sweeps inside like an
Unforeseen kiss. What is honestly left to miss?

My own bed waits, hesitates. I don't have time to lay cold and dead,
When my heart beats so violently inside of my chest. If someone should
Wait on my bed as I hold onto his, well, another empty bed awaits to be
Reminisced. Forever please bind me to this moment of bliss sadness.

Friday, 5 August 2011

Shooting Stars

Wandering around Odd Down in the early hours,
With a bottle of cheep cider and a bottle of sourz,
You are naked, I am clean, a silver sheen
Smothers us from the stars.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and the one
Who holds me is so beautiful, I told him too,
So there is no room left inside of me
For any inclination of you.

But now I wish upon a breeze because there
Are no stars left to hear my pleas, and please
Don't be afraid for we are creatures made
For not-so secret pleasures it seems.

The sky reflects the street's golden moans
Of unsavory street lamps and traffic cones,
The light refusing to wilt and die
Like that twinkle in your eye.

Wednesday, 3 August 2011

Like A Sacrificial Lamb

He made two drinks. A large tea with too little sugar and a small coffee with too much milk. Rain collapsed through the window onto the wooden counter top of the dark grey kitchen, narrowly missing the drinks. The insignificant mint plant on the windowsill also remained dry. Despite the rain it was the hottest day of the year. It was humid, muggy, and only two ten-foot ferns short of a rainforest.

Frankie entered stage left, through the front door. Twenty something Italian-American, wearing seventies bell bottom jeans and another man's jumper she stole from a party. Her sleeves where rolled up past her dry elbows, exposing a rich tan but not a drop of water. She had not been stroked by the rain. The missing sandals from her feet hung from bruised fingertips, brown straps dangling.
He did not stare at her like he used to, but merely offered a flick of his eye out of the respect for the time they'd had together. She, Frankie, had stolen him from school three years ago. And now at nineteen it had become apparent that Peter did not need babysitting anymore.
Frankie shuffled along the tatty floorboards, scooping up the coffee with one hand and spilling half of it on the counter in the process. Peter could mop that up. Using her shoulder she barged into the pale blue boudoir. Well, barley. There was a white iron cast double bed, bare single mattress straddling it, and a dismembered figurine of Jesus half cowering underneath it. There was no God here. There was nothing here. The room distinctly lacked not just furniture: tat, clothes, the smell of sex. You know, salt, carbon dioxide, hormones and desire.
Frankie dropped her shoes and placed her coffee by the door and shoved it behind her. First she wrestled with her baggy shapeless jumper- a strangling mass of black cotton overwhelming her delicate frame. The jumper hit the wall and slid to the floor. Cloaked Jesus in a fit of inanimate blindness. Then she broke the zip on her trousers as she ripped the two halves apart, desperate to rid herself of them. Frankie kicked them off and they spun out of the open window.
She hesitated to chase after them. The majority of her clothes where at her lover's apartment, but yet the sweat and stains on her jeans where evidence that this is where she had been. Instead, Frankie strode to the window to asses the damage. They lay swamped in a oblong puddle, the cobbled pavement of Oxford breaking the movement of the water. Tourists scrabbled over the cobbles, except one. A middle-aged liverpuddlian. 'Oi Oi!' he hollered, eyes wide with glee, hands stretched over each side of his swollen stomach. The disgusting creature. She jumped back as if the cool wet air where hot coals, hands madly clasping over her body. The back of her knees crashed into the bed frame and sat her down with the crashing squeal of springs.

He gazed, almost mesmerized, at the bedroom door. He saw her. He saw her dying of desperation. Shaking off drops of the night, of her indiscreet indecencies. Peter knew everything there could ever be to know- everything was always all too painstakingly obvious, but this was one thing he did not care to know. He had no right to be jealous, and knew this too. They had sunk one last kiss three weeks ago and only lived together now out of convenience, or lack of money, you choose. His milkybar-kid blonde head had laid near dormant on the pillows of the sofa since, patiently waiting for the silently shut door to never open again.
He knew where she would lie, sideways on the mattress. He knew the twists and turns of her body. He remembered her breasts as clusters on the vine, as it where. As he had read in her precious bible. Peter closed his eyes, his skin glowing with the beauty of a white sand beach in the Caribbean. He ignored his tea on the side. Under his eyes, roamed a prowling thought. Frank. Frank, Frankie. And he waited for her to appear.
Peter folded his long hair over a shoulder, squeezed it into a red rubber band. Brushed two fine hairs from behind his ear with the tip of a fingernail, and they sliced downwards through the kerfuffle of air. She would come up with some excuse, going for a shower or something, or may not even dare speak at all perhaps. But she would emerge like a panther through the forest from behind that salmon pink door, mismatched with it's surroundings like the rest of the flat. He shifted his thick brow, relaxed and rested it, and his fingers curled around the counter top. The bare skin on his back tapped the wood as he waited, preyed even, knowing his call would not go unanswered. As always.

There it was. Frankie had been expecting his voice to shudder into her head at some point. It was only a matter of time before his so-called saintly patience wore thin, and they would continue to circle each other in the same old dance routine. The same ol' give 'n' take, same game, same lies they told themselves that Peter's power over her was legitimate.
She was unsure if this was a symptom of the mystery to her that was love, or some darker element of Peter. But when his mouth would not move and his words rang clear she had no choice to obey. Resistance never occurred to her at the time, only in the dead hours after he had got what he wanted out of her. She didn't know if other's where subjective to this, ghost she supposed, lingering in their heads. The essence of Peter purring in their heads, persuading wrong over right.
Frankie took her time though. Firstly she savored the feeling of the squidge of the carpet between her toes, fibers flicked in the crevices. As she stood upright something clicked in her bones and rang through her entire body like a church bell. Her body felt as empty and as cavernous as a church too, hungry and sick with knowing anticipation. She started slow but by the time she'd reached the golden doorknob her feet had gathered pace. The door was yanked open with the unwilling energy coarsing through her put to good use. There he stood, head tilted back and victorious, but with no usual smiling crowning his angelic face. Fraaank he purred, and she swore she could feel his words passing through her mouth like she had drunk them. Yet his mouth remained comfortably closed. In fact his licked his lips with a deep pink muscle, preparing himself for his show.

Peter moved forward, hips first rather than feet. He bled more words into her. Play nice, I know you want to. He knew she didn't want to, not if she'd just some back from her lover's place. Peter took hold of her, dug his fingers into her flesh. She stood still, but Peter could feel his words blooming inside her head, forcing her closer. 

Wednesday, 20 July 2011

We Run, I Smile

I run, i run
We run
We smile
Do you feel like a man?
Feel the world about to end
Danger calls us
Friend
Be my insicurities
The dying leaves
On has-been trees
I run
One last shot
From your bloodshot eyes
One chance of redemption
The day is done
Forever deserving
To sing myself to sleep
Your everything
Where does she lie?
Run to the end of the world
How can we stand
And not be moved?
It must have been something she said.



2009

Jesus of Suburbia

I'm not the prince of anything-
Just the king of the streets.

Looking up at the lights in the night sky
Hear the car alarms ring deeply in my heart.
Telling stories about the big fight last night
The short era where we felt things unknown.
Eventually time will slow
As the bullet sinks slowly deeper-
Once you start playing it gets easier.
I’ll live as strongly as I can
That’s as good as it gets.
Firing words until they reach someone
And using bible pages to roll cigarettes

2008


One Little Memory

The vague orange light sways
In an indescribable breeze,
The leftover crumbs of air
Passed through my window
By the trees.

Through this cool stream lies
The scent of sweet salt, just
Like the rich drops of
Sweat racing off  red-hot
Flesh and lust.

In the back of my mind plays
A tired old scene from my
Hopeless young dreams,
And the sensations haunt
Where I lie.

Held in the moment everything
Is insignificant, unaware of
It's purpose to be, oh little
Does it know it's my last
Hold on love.



Saturday, 16 July 2011

July Showers

Cushioned against a gossamer curtain of rain,
The telegraph wires barely set a shadow of indentation.
I wake, shake off heavy dreams
And make peace with the pale grey day.
Leaves drip off their skeletons, hang by a thread,
And shake with ripples of wind as I roll out of bed.
Pearls of water run down the lacy wires,
Thick strands of liqourice balancing tiny diamonds.
That sparkling sound, that silver crackle like fire-
Leaves whisps of the nighttime smoldered and smited.

Wednesday, 13 July 2011

Flower Displays

And so left hollow like a china vase,
The pools drip slow and flow uncertainly out.
And the rim is sweet, delicate and tender,
Left chipped by bitter deceit that it
Was fulfilled. Once filled with flowers
And fleshy with love, not resentment
Or disappointment. Wilting affection.
And it feels like an empty room
Between them, hollow as a discarded
Vase.

Friday, 8 July 2011

À travers les couches de ciel qui sépare nos âmes

Like an Ariel roaring, all claws and teeth, it pounces
And with the majesty of the deep blue sea pushing forward from the center of the Earth,
Cursed with the slumped shoulders of a titan, lava limping and lunging it's weight
Over the hill- the clouds rise and roll towards us, cloaked in a fushia elixir.

Thursday, 30 June 2011

One Corner Of The World

The sweetest sight I'd ever seen, lay sprawled across eternity like a dream-
A vast, pure wave of untouched blue swept over my head and the hillsides too.
Not even a bird dared disturb it,
And I didn't wish to intrude.

So swamped in the depths of the grass I lay, of thick furry tufts and streaks of hay.
Snuck next to wildflowers, mere wisps of yellow and purple, and stayed for hours-
Just waiting for the day to pass.
And gazing at the glinting golden city,

Snuggled into a small crevice amoungst a thousand farmer's fields, a shining speck.
Overgrown with tourists searching for something special, like fish upon a shipwreck.
Like astronauts in space.
Like with everything you never knew you had- look down.

Tuesday, 21 June 2011

The Invisible Man

The elusive invention of my imagination,
He calls at night and gnaws my senses numb,
He haunts the day until I succumb.

I stand in your shadow; my dirty little secret.

He wakes me with your deliciously sweet sighs,
The peaceful patter of your drumming fingers.

He holds me in your hoodie, in the smell of your
Body- your beating heart.

He looks into me with those big, bottomless
Eyes he stole from you, knows no matter how
Hard he tries it's never enough.

Thursday, 2 June 2011

Panic Attacks

I've been here a thousand times before,
And God knows I'll be here a million times more-
Collapsed on my knees, resolution in hand.

My spine gently sways me into stillness
Scattered around the room, the echoes of illness
Flutter insanely between my ignorant ears.

Words are beautiful little things but they
Are useless here, just familiar trembling stutters
So gorgeous fill the gaps only I know.

Flustered fingers reach for something
Even vaguely resembling reality, or unbelievable
Deity to hang onto and never ever let go.

The slow rhythm of relaxed but relentless
Blood flows through my soul, like a lullaby singing
Me into eternal slumber like a little princess.

But the cogs whir in my head, they turn
And tumble over each other in an attempt to be
Heard. But it's useless, I can't hear a word.

I've loved a thousand men before,
And God knows I'll love another million more-
Collapsed on my knees, heart in hand.

Sunday, 29 May 2011

Bad Dreams

I couldn't run away, I couldn't fight them-
My holy ghosts.
The memories I placed on a pedal stool
So I couldn't reach them.
The possibilities I dared not dream,
Should I love them.
The golden fringes bordering reality,
Because I fear them.
The roles I've played can contain me, as
I agreed to play them.
The promises I'm yet to make, and yes
I'll surely break them.
  

Monday, 23 May 2011

Night Dances

As moonlight saunters down my window pane
I sleep, I dream, I fall insane.
As dust does dance across my face
I dream of beauty and unnatural grace.
As my book hangs from my fingertips
My eyes are blinded from my waltzing lips,
As they speak of love and fright,
He takes up my solitary sight.
As starlight skips over my hiding eyes
I have faith in my own lies,
And as the sun dares peak over my windowsill
Know that I will dream of him still.
 
23rd April 2009

Thursday, 19 May 2011

My Little Hurricane

Devil ran his fingers through your scraps of hair,
Leaving a trail of unpure thoughts everywhere-
Like the remains of sunshine in the raindrops that
Fall from a blinding white sky. Taste them on your tongue.

I called out for a body, for a boy, something to
Call my own, bones and flesh I could call home.
You ripped through my innocent heart- I asked
For God. I was sent my little hurricane here to love me again.

Captured in some dream-like state, we slipped away
To the fine line between right and wrong- met halfway.
Sold my soul to make peace with my demons, you
Did what you had to. Your hands washing over my blemished skin...

This is where the fantasy breaks down into a forbidden
Memory, a fractured mirror reflecting wants and needs.
This is whats left when you hurl affection at little ol' me-
Like the remains of sunshine in the raindrops that
Fall from a blinding white sky. Taste them on your tongue.

Tuesday, 17 May 2011

Poem 43

How do I love thee? Let me question the ways.
'Tis not passion nor sweet devotion, feverish obsession-
Just awkward seduction, unbelievable attachment.

No lightning bolts striking my heart down where it
Slowly dances, only soft lulls of heavenly quiet.

I couldn't offer you golden pendant promises hanging
Off my lying lips, or sacrifice the Earth for you.

And this little love of mine couldn't last forever,
Living in the poised suspension of insane reality.

Is love the wide open expanse of unconceivable possibility,
Or old, forgotten, crumbling fingers cradling the past? 

Is love enduring the green depths of the changing tides,
Or falling through a thousand miles of thunderstorms ?

If God choose, I shall know what love truly is after death.

Monday, 9 May 2011

Naïve

Hands out; a pointless blockade,
Blood stains run out of my veins.
They creep outwards, upwards,
Onwards- with each encounter.

Hands tied behind my back;
A pathetic restraint, I may not
Be pure of heart but dammit
I'm still only innocent you fool.

Hands in yours; couldn't be more
Criminal, more wrong or sinful.
Couldn't be any less true or
Representative of  feelings for you.

Hands over my mouth; truths
Trapped, perceptions relapsed.
Appearances arn't what they're
Supposed to be- believe me.

Hands over your eyes; don't
Look, don't see. Theres so much
You really don't need to know,
Love. I couldn't love you more.

Saturday, 7 May 2011

Sweet Rain

Five miles as the crow flies
Across the valley of the dead,
The valley of the weeping river
Swallowed by a suburban rain forest of willow trees-
The aching trunks like old bones
Wallowing in the water.

He turns his head, twisted askew,
The shiny little eyes stare at me.
The honest gold, incompressible
Depth, sweeps beside the vine's crying out leaves-
As they twist upwards, seeking
Salvation from the silver skies.

Feathers like slick black oil,
Body arched as he lightly lands
Among the bulging flowers, the
Fat fleshy buds just waiting to explode with colour-
Expose themselves in the summer.
The green valley is drenched in a late April Shower.




Thursday, 5 May 2011

Lucas

Lucas, where did I hide you?
Somewhere between fourteen and sixteen,
Burried underneath a million other memories
I fear I've forgotton.

Sealed inside a can of dreams-
Remedies, I never thought I'd want or need.
You're stranded on the bottom of an ocean
Made of the layers of me.

Lucas, what was your last name?
The relationship we had tries to ellude me,
And your face is drowning in the distant sea.
But I remember your arm-

The lone soldier trying to pull
Me three centimeters further from the road,
From the cars to that one moment I swear
I'll never forget again.

Thursday, 21 April 2011

Time To Pretened

The watch is broken- the game is up.
Chin up, son,
You have forever to think and no more hearts to break.

Rampantly rolling in my forgotten riches,
Feeling my skin tick-tock,
And watching black hearts sway from the shy sycamore trees-

It's no wonder the world is turning on me.
See the pennies drip drop
Off the top of the mountains masking the realization dawning.

The birds scatter with morning first light,
Fly as far as possible away
From the curtain of torrential rain cleaning out the echoes of pain.

With the first fall of leaves and tears
That you've grown, I'll slip
Underground as my blood turns to stone, become a whisper of years

Left all alone.

Sunday, 17 April 2011

Third Time's A Charm

You gave me daydreams,
You gave me nightmares-
Heart attacks like terrorist scares.
The thump of my heart shooting rounds like a gun.
And wouldn't you know it,
You sucked all the fun out of first love.

You made me smile,
You made me fight-
Wanted to punch your lights out,
Such a scared little tosser hiding in the corner.
Do you even know what it means,
To keep your own brother?

You drove me crazy,
You where crazy too-
Never thought I'd write poem
For you- or three, or four, or possibly more.
But I really couldn't say,
Because those kinds of numbers would scare myself away.

You wouldn't hold me
You never took my hand-
Yet you can't understand why
I'm frustrated, too tired, too old to play games
That fucked me up in the first place,
Who fucked you up instead of me.

You would look through others, so
You could attempt to look at me-
See the delicate skeleton of the little girl you
Once knew, twice shy, third time's a charm but you're
Way too late, still too young.
And wouldn't you know it,
You sucked all the fun out of first love.


Tuesday, 12 April 2011

Keeping Sane

I keep my eyes fixed to the sun,
Maybe it's better being blind than the future
Staring through my sorry reflection in the water.

One minute I'm alone by the river,
And then we're lying on a beach,
Naked, just out of each other's precious reach.

BOOM it's midnight, I'm in bed.
Though I've dreamt of stranger things,
Out of the darkness one little name sings loud.

It's snowing by the lonely sea
A haze of summer love songs that
I can't sing to fix everything wrong with me.

With this army of frightening cloudy days
Between us, floating on the horizon
Waiting to pounce and ruin everything.

And theres this hollow scream clawing
Out of my throat, this empty little tree,
Wilting and waiting to see passionate life again.

Or is it hiding from the fat furious sun?
Maybe it's better seeing nothing than the future
Staring through my sorry reflection in the water.

Monday, 11 April 2011

Colours of Craving

The valley echoes of icy violets,
Shy blushing pinks, proud rosy pinks
And deep vivacious greens.
Emeralds and limes, dipped in shadow.

Crisp skyline is a crystal blue,
Edging away from a lonely moon
Swamped and melting into a
Deep indigo hue.

Flicks of fire shine on the hill,
The town turns away from the sorbet sunset.
Here comes the cold to hold me again.
Dying rays sail away from the sun,

Leaving faint birdsong, and me, to think of you.

Monday, 28 March 2011

I've Got A Secret

The crushing obsessions like fearful waves
Crash over my mind in a matter of days.

Rata-tat-tat there goes the guns
To stun the blood pulsing through my veins,

It's the same effect of a thousand sparkling suns,
Clouding my concentration, taking hold of the reigns.

Alcohol can't quench this kind of thirst,
Trust me I've tried, and the memory still haunts in the pitts of my eyes.

You could wash it out with a slither of soap,
Or put a dirty sock in your pie hole to stop the blackbirds blurting out your desires.

And when the pure innocent few stop and stare at you,
Stare at the sticky fingerprints trailed all over town, all over his body, the heaps of fires...

...Burning at your concience.

Friday, 25 March 2011

Just A Hug

The fatefully slowed breathing of love in motion;
See the emotion pass behind the green curtains of his eyes.
And his heartbeat has to be deceitful because
Through the layers of flesh which separates our souls,
My heartbeat is running at a million miles an hour.

The curls of his locks flick down like raining smiles.
See the waxing and waning of my strength, my will,
And although these kind tender hands holding mine are forbidden,
I can't choose which soft sinking lip to kiss first.

The truths I weave into my whispered words are hidden,
See, I won't let myself break his unbelievable heart.
And when I stare up at his entirety, surrounding  me,
There is a starstruck couple of mixed-up teenagers for one moment, no longer lonely. 

Wednesday, 9 March 2011

The Promises Which Come With Birds

The pink little longtail tits rattle around the bare bones of the hedgerow.
Surley I'm close enough to scare them,
Take them and drag them into the depths of my pocket...
But they play.

Summer must be a commin'.

Hanging off the veranda, sun slapping my face, cradling a mug and hangover in hand.
Surely I should still be wrapped up,
Cucooned in the frame of another pair of arms shadowing me from a bleak winter's sky,
But I'm reveling the first booze-up of the season.

Summer must be a commin'.

Lazy daisies and stagnant daffodils, bloomin' lovely and wide among the frigid crocuses.
Surely it's too early,
For flowers to fly and slip out of their roots, reach for the sky,
Greeting the cars at the roadside.

Summer must be a commin'.

And even though I woke up this morning to the frightening shades of blue,
Surely they will melt away,
The droplets running through the long grass that cussions my feet,
That I fell and slept upon only a memory ago.

Summer must be a commin'







Friday, 4 March 2011

Part of a story I may or may not continue :P


The sunlight lazily rested on my face, stroking my cascade of dark hair on the pale hardwood floor. The warmth it brang pricked at my eyelids, stimulated fine hairs on my arms.  Eventually, my eyelids creaked apart. Each eyelash slowly released the one opposite, in a mascara coated rebellion. Air accelerated into my lungs; a sharp contrast the plodding pace it had maintained for the last few hours. The sting was enough to fling me upright and force fingers to clasp my head, to steady the eager world.
The room was decorated with teenager’s bodies, reminiscent of no-man’s-land. Except no-man’s-land didn’t have anywhere near as many sequins. A salty breeze foamed out of a short window and mingled with the underlying perfume of alcohol, grease, sweet sweat and lynx. In the blinding morning light I could see how bare the room was. Only an upturned rusty red loveseat and browning potted plant accompanied the stark kitchen cabinets and few appliances. There wasn’t even a stove. Where was I? Who owns a sink and fridge but not a stove? Dust drifted off the chalky blinds and showered over platinum blonde hair, ripped jeans and skinny limbs, to land delicately- as if concerned over the teenagers awakening. The silence was so peaceful it made me ashamed to be awake.
 I sprayed my hands firmly over the floor, in preparation for an attempt at standing. My back arched in a last delay... and a swift hand clamped to my arm, fingers gingerly digging into the flesh, and hauled me up. “Yay, you’re alive!” croaked a familiar voice. Emmy’s hands swerved under my elbows to balance me until I was stable. Emmy laid her sleeping mobile phone on the corner of the kitchen counter as she steadily swept across the room toward the sink. The thought of following her made my stomach protest, by pressing against my navel and squealing rudely. “Em...”. Emmy had already filled a tumbler with water and pressed it into my hand. “Drink. Now.” I held the glass to my lips, but hesitated from drinking. My eyes tightened, lips gapped open, and my throat rawly embraced the water.  A minute or two later I handed Emmy back the tumbler. “Better?”
 “Hmmm...” I groaned, faltering to tell her the truth. “...Little bit”
“I’ll get you another” She sighed. I stretched my arms and took another gaze around the room. Two people were jammed in the gap between the sanded floor and the overturned loveseat, a boy and a girl I thought I might know. Far more people hung on top of the loveseat, and three others had joined me on the floor. Behind me where three shelves, but they only held dust and a plastic cup of red wine. Probably mine. Emmy padded towards me in stripy socks that muffled her movement, shrouded her in a haze of cotton and softness. A bit too hastily I grabbed the tumbler and downed the contents without caring what it was. This water was colder, sharper than the first drink. Good. Water silently dripped from my lower lip when I lowered the glass, which I then placed next to Emmy’s phone. She had perched herself on the end of the kitchen counter, staring absently out the window without blinking at the intensity of the morning. “How come you’re up?” I asked. A soft chuckle that escaped her lips disturbed the dust. “Didn’t go to sleep in the first place”. As she turned her head a grin broke across her face. I noticed now the rainbows of eyeliner hugging her eyes, fraying, greying not far from the rims. She looked beautiful and dilapidated at the same time.
We sat on that kitchen counter for another twenty minutes or so, just listening to the buzz of traffic circling the base of the block of flats. Seagulls circled overhead too, and pounced at assorted crisps scattered on the balcony. The baron view was hardly interesting, yet managed to hold our interest with invisible gravity. Something, and we wern’t sure what, told us to wait.  

Thursday, 10 February 2011

This Humble Street

Moldy patches of blue where splattered over the thick layer of blinding white cloud.
My eyes where swimming in their sockets searching the sky for the familiar birds that 
flitted across the road, blackbirds and bluetits.
The acres of my mind looked beyond this humble street-
I saw you facing me, and holding me, knowing my restraint was weak. 
And your eyes, the way you spoke and smiled well it swept me off my feet. 

Fading glory swept across the patchwork skies bellowing masses of silent sunshine.
The tiny tap of my cheaply wrapped feet echoes around the rivers of concrete,
Down cascades which fall over the back of the hill.
The acres of my mind looked beyond this humble street-
Remembering standing under your needy stare, I've never felt so meek.
To your broken breathing stroking where our noses meet.


Friday, 4 February 2011

Midnight

Just when you think it's all over, hasty winds graze your cracked lips 
And dirty daylight washes over your eyes.

Surprised by truth and wrong, the pure droplets 
Flitter down from indigo skies.

The cherry stuck in your throat, speechless you see far too easy to please.
And the vodka sings one final note, under the tunnels of white.

Walking down the road at midnight.

Saturday, 15 January 2011

Flying Fish

Trapped in our fanciful fishbowl,
Painted a perfect sky blue.
Stripped at night and everybody is fixed to the sky,
For just mere little pricks of light.
Oh, little me
The glorious fly by.
And the tunnels that they spin devour us,
And the impossible infinity they could hold-
It's enough to make a fish want to fly.

Friday, 14 January 2011

Possibilities

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck
There it goes again, tenderly teetering on the edge of sanity-
The fragile little flicks of life.

And back, back, back again
It's not the sickening sway of butterflies playing on my pulse-
But a couple of hot dreams.

As I roll, roll, roll away
Run off the pages and hide myself under the folds of his skin-
Hide from the possibilities.

Thursday, 6 January 2011

Mirror In My Music Box

I saw something today,
Made my mind cling onto a scrap of driftwood and float far far away.

The ridges of the cliffs on my jeweled isle
Have etched themselves into my cheeks, and I see cracks forming beside the waves.

A plastic figure swims upon the silver sea
Of brand new treasures, of each tender young memory clinging to salty purple shores.

She croaks out a siren's sad song,
The rhythm of my mind beating out the same broken blues I'd never forget.

Tattoos collected under my eyes cry and
The ink runs off my eyelashes, because she can't know the vague patterns on my skin.

A midnight sky tucks the fantasy into bed,
And who would have thought how many expectations you could hide under a golden clasp?

There they are. Here I am.


I saw something today, 
Made my mind cling onto a scrap of driftwood and float far far away.