The feeling only comes when the dawn sets in

Nightmares in the daytime, they feel all wild

Close your eyes and relax

You might be here awhile.

Now that those blood stains have been bleached long ago

And you think you see them again in the clothes you thought you owned

Do you remember them well?

Set on fire and washed cold

And how did they do it? Are you still afra...

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The darkest of the night it was
And storms were howling from all sides
But she dared to step outside the walls
Coz there was something scarier inside

That snare disguised as love
Was toxic for her life
As the venom passed across her bloodstream
When he kissed her every time 

She paced fast along the road 
To the woods half wrecked by the thunderstorm 
But it was safer than the cozy...

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You said you believe
Beauty lies in the soul 
Then why Can’t you recognize me
Every time you see my unattractive eyes

Why dont you try to 
Read my mysterious mind

Why?

The answer I still seek 
From you every time
Stays as an eternal mystery
Coz what’s around me
Is wrapped in a rug of never-ending hypocrisy 

Why?

I may not possess those curves
Every night about whom you...

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I hooked onto the face of a psychopath executing flagellation
ate his lobster raw
and its eyes for his eyes
his damp face from my white meat spit
elastic banded claws dropped on embroidered brogues
in Monaco gamblers we trust
rise over here and I’ll hammer you

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Instore café content, paces past a chemist and a black man, taste it
Bearded men, smooth men, and golden ruby wives
Vigour-lacking lists turning over old stories, new times on black and white paper, detail sliding tackles
He-'politician’, this day and age had his lady helper, a mug to mouth coaxer, slow motion intake hailer
Not about beyond, that ‘should be’, leaving, knowing near-term middle ...

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Don’t think
Take it
Blithe
Legal Aid and alcohol

*(Copyright is mine. Please contact me if you want to use or perform any of my poems.)

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I hooked onto the face of a psychopath executing flagellation
ate his lobster raw
and its eyes for his eyes
his damp face from my white meat spit
elastic banded claws dropped on embroidered brogues
in Monaco gamblers we trust
rise over here and I’ll hammer you

*(Copyright is mine. Please contact me if you want to use or perform any of my poems.)

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Renegade living, after the Vietnamese boat-boy was beaten, after motorcyclist came looking, after steel toe-capped boots and a hammer threat, after a nearly ended dad by caged bird
Forty miles from the sea he shouted about a broken car window handle, never onto manipulations or abortions
Too tight squeezes later, tax man and his vice girl with the lost dog lie
By nervous accident, same place, f...

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Eleven antemeridian house breaker, home wrecker
Now she’s rubble left, sustaining all her more, all her less
Memorial tumbler with a three-quarter up-ring on a bedside table
She’d got to the point, of a hanging frame off bone arrangement, but can still take real, the outside, real weather, God placed it on her neck
Outside to a whitening wilting life, with a cheap bus ticket, would-be liar to ...

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Players
Romeos
still twentieth century visits
Camp Majesty
bending tungsten
satin sash title fighter hooks
smoking green grass burners
uniting tight-fitting lap-sitting women
industrial tribunal metal pin tattoo brainwashed art  
money dragging gifted arm
Planet

*(Copyright is mine. Please contact me if you want to use or perform any of my poems.)

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Crinkle cut oven Glasgow
wet ozone
dark brown film lid on red and grey mortar
scaffold lips step by public print art diversity
second hand justice buses
Celtic with Rangers feet dancing to van chimes.

*(Copyright is mine. Please contact me if you want to use or perform any of my poems.)

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Do not describe the sunset, regardless. Never
write about the buttery moonrise,
especially near the beginning: everyone
just switches off, and if they don’t
they should.

Do not mention war; any of the many.
Those possibilities are nothing to do with me.
They belong to others, to a family friend
who knows mountainsides blooming
great mushrooms of dust.

Everyone has had enough of trees...

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In cars, I'm him.
I make the shapes he makes –
one-handing the steering wheel
as if grasping some mane,
I cup the gear stick bulb
like it's a brandy bowl
and coast to junctions
clutch disengaged
scared as sharks to stop,
though on open road
I’ll box in better cars than mine,
a sudden stickler for the limit
I slap down and squeeze your knee
celebrating damming flow,
c...

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