loch

she was late, the moon;

knew that I would wait,

by the water, hoping.

life drunk, she staggers;

flirting with morning;

greedy for tomorrow.

night after night, weary.

high, broke and barefoot;

she holds me; dancing.

we leave corpses,

fears like broken moths,

rumours remaining.

we rest by the loch;

she brings stories,

long br...

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on being reminded that I am the quiet one

reserve

slip anchor from reserve,
moon lit, night fired high,
slip anchor from all days,
forget the names of things.

drunken memory by this river,
shaping mud to make a stage;
the ecstatic risk of drowning.

cut manners, method, talk,
a hand’s perfect breadth,
cut history from the books,
write the empty page.

drunken memory by th...

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for amy

kitchen

my gran clears beer lines,

caustic fizzes in the sink;

round the kitchen table -

my baby walker now a car;

the scent of daytime beer.

the dog smells dead fowl;

yelps, pines for running,

my dad’s van and Sundays;

feathers as death’s proof;

heavy, high, hanging flesh.

vicious grins and woollen hair,

pagan gods of carved turnip,

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gate

you draw rust where heat’s been;

some passage of time;

life’s clouded outcomes;

weather or not we care.

you’re iron to me; blood strength.

took years to find you;

all: frame, hinge, key, arch;

allowing passage back.

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out side

the other side of skin

the stuff that lies within

the line you drew

the place we met

where we begin

echo, lie, repeat

echo, lie, repeat

the knife of ambition

of sticking it in

of threatening me

of not giving in

out of my skull

echo, lie, repeat

echo, lie, repeat

waiting to dance now

walking the floor

a tune in my ...

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two things

rain soaks, creeping cold,

hates the blue of sky.

wishes only for sun.

one night arms held me,

i had all i wanted, quietly.

woke softly for days.

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the concrete road

still dark and darkening night, the dead cold of dying winter,

rain against the windscreen, speed in easy, selfish solitude.

my shirt gives up the scent of soap.

(i have no other dream.)

noise surrounds me, the oil-ribbed sounds of a lost summer,

the meaningless bypass between here and some other place.

yet hands formed this path.

(i have no othe...

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Our moon fell hard to earth,
soaked through night to soil.
The shivering ground waited;
swallowed silver gilded dust.

For winter a formless heart;
ice and rain raise no pity.
The world holds on …
for something better.

An imperfect star orbits;
reluctant saviour, pulling close.
Warmth and a debt of heat;
full completeness in time.

Gaudy, childish; bright beginnings;
each bloom a ...

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Today; thinking and chatting with a musical friend about the creative thing.  That gap nothing else satisfies.  Your own response.  Some aspect of the day distilled.  Here's mine today.

A Beautiful Man

So he’s tall.  Or not.

That he commands a room,

or skulks in a corner.

Watches.  Listens.

So he’s quick.  Perhaps.

A mind that moves,

builds new worlds.

Gu...

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I wrote this from a few lines that have been running round my head for a while now.

Right

The house to our right is empty, right now,

Right out of people and sofas.

All that stuff.

They’ve got the builders in, right now,

to make sure it’s right.

Just ... perfect.

Right before Christmas my mate moved out.

Everything in there was alright.

It was home.

...

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I drove home from Sunday night folk club with a storm over my house in the distance.  The beginning of this came to me.

Leaves and walls and windows spin,

a jigsaw broken by a falling sun.

Heat,

the road home,

a breaking storm.

I wonder what we began.

There is no calm centre,

power and colour after.

Yesterday isn’t the journey,

no...

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