I don’t want to mask my poetry

I want you to understand me

Curse your perfect rhythms, rhymes, haikus

Your lyricism, your literary

When I try to adopt it, I turn mute.

Something channels through me

(I’ve never really found the root)

A demanding stream of consciousness

That cannot stop to breathe, let alone

Wait, conceptualise, draft, redraft

I can’t!

...

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In films
they always have music
for all their moments.
I've wished I could.

If I had
my own song playing,
my own vibrant tune 
to live by,
I could dance
through life.

In films
you always know
the dramatic moments;
programs us to think
our own lives are empty,
or that we cannot dance
without a tune.

When the truth is
that we are full
with the power to create;
our own rhyth...

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If I am your world

with my head lying on your chest,

then is the b-beat b-beating tectonic plates?

Is your heart safely caged?

Can I lift my head or will you break?

You are the love between my legs.

You are my love, between my legs.

Are you the birthmark on my flesh?

It beats: s-stay s-stay...

Is your heart safely caged?

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You see the chavs unveiling torsos
Which fashion hair that always grows
The shorts his distant cousin wears
Showing us sights that only scare
The ice cream man appears once more
Serving melting ice cream through his door
You hear the neighbours having a Barbie
An hour or two later they sound rather barmy
The neighbourhood drunk stumbles as usual
And vain young girls become rather delusion...

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This poem is about growing old.

The City Shadowed

I cannot remember my name. And

where I came from. Or when I came here.

I am not from this place, this city, and

its silent people, its pale-vaulted sky,

its black shadow silhouettes

flickering lightly across blank walls.

Here the bar staff talk in lilting Irish

cadences, and look straight through you

as ...

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