i take my heart out of my pocket and avoid its snarling and bitterness as i try to wrap it up a tissue like it was a foul mouthed human buzzing around like a wasp changing my idelolity into a white jewelled ghost ripping through my dreams leaving me sat there in a broken sweat in-between the margins of another existence leaving me sat there unsur...

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He hated his reflection From his too-long nose And wonky eyesight With such fear He used to close his eyes To stop looking at it. He hated his reflection And the way he had grown up Hating everybody Walking home from School Then College And eventually, work.

 

He hated his reflection Clinging to the memory of what went befo...

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Our past haunts the present reverberating backwards and forwards our lives, a missing piece of a puzzle that continues to ache even in its absence like a ghost standing just out of eyesight in a rearview mirror of consciousness like an aeroplane stuck between two dimensions, a prisoner of time, a spectral companion that whispers...

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To the swallows

just out of your eyesight,

 

to the tears

arcing across the edge

of your lips,

 

to the painting

carrying forward a moment

at the edge of the frame

closing the moment,

 

to the book

beating on the glass

trapped in the past

blown out in the light

now heading home,

 

closing the ending

in the middle of the margin.

 

(1st ...

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Conversation in a voicemail

 

Doing nothing

Your conversation is a voicemail.

 

Doing nothing

Your conversation

Are photographs lost in translation,

 

Grooves on a broken record deck,

Causing an explosion in exchanges

 

Passwords without questions

Laid out across broken pauses

 

Tied into a conveyor belt

In an artistic exchange

 

Copyrighted i...

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Chameleon in a Candy Store (Reflection)

 

My past, a faded wrapper, clung to me, bittersweet,

at the end of the book as other possibilities shimmered,

 

Each sweet, a choice, a moment a life path I could explore

From the journey back home or to something else.

 

Would I melt into the darkness, and become one with the swirl?

Or break free from the jar, a defiant, unflav...

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The Colour of Darkness

 

A cloak descends at the edge of every page,

Heightening the tension across the stars

A canvas across the embers’ glow

Cradling the need for change.

 

Holding the hush before the dawn,

The sigh of death lingering in darkness

A stage for fireflies' transient dream.

Erasing routes paced out across time,

 

Concepts built up from the beginn...

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No need for typing out more lies
Or truths 

- those lines have been crossed

Backwards and forwards

Too many times, too many different ways.

I was listening to your song again

Last night.

Or as I should say our song.

The words we would sing together.
Maybe if there is a god above

Or a way below…

But I can’t see it, I can’t see it
whether in your bittersweet choice
the...

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I’d love to say I still love it

And perhaps sometimes

I still do

Like when the sun meekly

Comes out

And stumbles out

Across the back of the old Victoria Station

- The effect is almost still magical

On the way, the sun even seems

To respect

This ancient monument

Which has stood

There since

The edge of time

(Well in my generation anyhow)

And has remained ...

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I will no longer accept freedom
or accept what is said
whether it is bathed
in circular moonlight
or frozen landscapes
hand in hand.

I will no longer accept sneer
or nod my head with
your approval
as you walk up and down
and say look at me.
Look at me
who won’t cry out
for the sake it

I will no longer stand in line
at the edge of existence
or deep into space.

I will no longe...

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Generating conflicts.

Power of mind.

Election corruption and rigging.

Critising Liberalism of work.

Mounting turmoil.

Starvation and mounting strikes.

Collapsing governmental systems.

Creeping sinister undertones.

Uneven national consciousness.

Power of mind.

Potential violent flashbacks.

Improvised countryside.

Lines and lines of starving people.

Mounting te...

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Haunted by the sunlight

He unspooled them all

Around the hillside in a frantic dance

 

Then rubbed in a cold shower the sea

Then over the clouds

Leaving them staggering

And dangling to each other

Like pale ghosts on a rose bush

 

Spinning their lives before them

Whether he came for them

On the beach or home

In a fragmented hush

 

Counting their names an...

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Your every breath

Left a trial on the path

As the moment to glow

A redness across

The bricks

Making us feel

Like you were a dragon

About to breath

Out a huge flame

As we ran down to the barge.

*

Your father it turned out

As we stepped down

The stairs to the seats

Until to run one of these

Back when you were a child

And you could always

Remember hi...

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This isn't just a love poem.

This isn't just a sonnet

written in a classic

Shakespeare style

or Keats's

‘Shall I compare you

to a summer’s day’

This is penned

on a cold, windy day

waiting for an interview

I had arrived

early, but as soon

as I left

the station,

it started snowing,

and god, did it snow.

God, did it snow.

It wasn’t like

it came do...

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No need for typing out more lies
Or truths
- those lines have been crossed
Backwards and forwards

Too many times, too many different ways.
I was listening to your song again
Last night.

Or as I should say our song.

The words we would sing together.
Maybe if there is a god above
Or a way below…
But I can’t see it, I can’t see it..

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No need for words.

No need for typing out more lies

Or truths

- those lines have been crossed

Backwards and forwards

Too many times, too many different ways.

I was listening to your song again

Last night.

Or as I should say our song.

The words we would sing together.

Maybe if there is a god above

Or a way below…

But I can’t see it, I can’t see it..

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I still recall you, Linda,

storming past Richard's table

screaming at the support band

‘Call that music’—

a symphony of chaos

that brought Ben and me

to tears of laughter,

yet only fueled your fiery anger.

Again, in the Fishbowl's haze,

I stumbled upon your clash with Mo Dave.

"What's this chatter about?"

I dared to ask,

and Dave, with a shrug,

said, 'Nothing...

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I have been told
Pride doesn't come into it,
But that barely begins
To describe you, Edward.

I've heard whispers
Of your ninety years,

The last two decades
Marred by constant pain,

Your shoulders hunched,
Your back crippled
In armistices.

I've been told
Pride has nothing to do with it,
Yet I see it beyond

The dapper suits,

Tailored to perfection,

In the way you stand,

...

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I don’t understand you.

I don’t understand

The way you walk

Up and down restlessly.

I don’t understand

The way you dance

Around the dancefloor

Like a crazy Manic

Never looking at what I guess

Is your girlfriend

In the face.

I don’t understand

Why you don’t smile

instead looking at her

With what I guess

Is a look of hatred.

I don't understand

why y...

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You must have been
A great thinker
And a great
Great dreamer
Just by the
Way
You stretched out
Your sentences
Across the page
And
Sometimes forgot
To place commas
For page after page.
But whether
Upon looking
Into the
Pieces
The meanings are as
Deep
As you think
There is
On whether
It was a fluke
Or an accident
I am unsure.

Lines like
‘Rain fell on the curve’
Carry so ...

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I originally wrote the

Disappearing wind in error

Instead of the

Disappearing island

And looked

Into the night skies

And listened

To the children

Chattering and mumbling

And listened to the

Drunks

Staggering home

From the Melvin

As some fell on the pavement

And others

Starting singing

Various bawdy football

Songs

And yelling various

Insults ...

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