Two days before my 67th birthday,
and it's one of those days -
all teeth and troubles,
ash and grit and
promises waiting to be
broken. Don't deny it:
don't lie to me,
you are, or ought to be,
better than that. The
cracked and damp flagstones
lie in serried, crazypaved
formation as testament to
the impossibility of dreams.
I have been reading Celine,
Neruda, First Dog On The Moon,
li...

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If we aim to be, not what we were
when at first we pushed out from the womb,
yet more, claim that life must be as fair
to us as others, we must make room

so that everyone may say the same
and grow, as we do, into people
who, like us will play an honest game;
for if we don't, we dig a deep hole

into which our morals disappear;
and then to hell with us, and our claim
that we were the r...

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It's always those who think against
the norms and rules accepted by
the mass of people in whose name
such laws are made who stand unfenced,
unfettered by the common lie,
who know that special kind of fame

which marks them out as heroes,
who write their place in history's
book with valour and distinction.
Would that all men shunned their egos
and took to heart the mysteries
of freedom,...

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Those glittering eyes, that warped smile
and voice like a cold, dusty tomb,
they make me want to run a mile;

around them i can sense my doom
call out to me, drawing me back,
back to some grim-lit torture room

where sanity must twist and crack
and never after be mended;
where in dim shadows, dread and black

lie terror and spite distended,
their hunger sharp, lascivious;
where salva...

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Dear, sweet empty vessel, rattling loudest;
I often wonder if you know the choice
is always yours to still that irksome voice?
Or is it when you feel at your proudest,

causing butterfly thoughts rend the air?
Teeming morphemes tumble in profusion,
filling space between us with confusion,
thus leaving logic lost, and in despair.

It's futile having a conversation
with Dunning-Krüger v...

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That's me: the world's worst DJ,
a silent human jukebox,
every Friday and Sunday
playing a mishmash - from rock's
more progressive wing to punk's
adrenalised paradox -
for my crowd of stoned, young drunks.

MP 141223

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Is it just me who, as i get older
seems to be getting more scared and smaller?
I'd swear i used to be much, much bolder,
quicker of thinking and walking taller
but nowadays my fire's more a smoulder

than a lusty, raging conflagration;
whereas once i met life with a swagger
and cut a wide swathe across the nation
the cold now pierces me like a dagger
and what once seemed but an aggravati...

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I'd thought that, once upon a time
we'd known how to work together,
in which naivete this crime
of ignorance was abetted
by my being far too clever
by half - something i've regretted

ever since, and would atone for,
if only i could understand
better how to open that door,
without cocking things up again.
The first time didn't go as planned
and all that did was to cause us pain.

Hel...

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My whole blue life i never knew
what now as plain as daylight glares -
that i'd not spent my time as true
as others had. Caught unawares

in fact, born to these years, whose eye
was blindest to such subtle things,
and with knowledge in scant supply
I felt a beggar amongst kings,

a leper in a hero's age
misunderstood, and worse, abased,
arraigned inside my brainpan's cage
and from soc...

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I scanned the stanzas of some bard,
which, as they landed, hit home - hard.
How could a dead man know such truth,
who'd died dishonoured, stripped of youth?

Down generations flew his words,
their talons sharp, like fearsome birds
sent through the centuries to tell
us all about his manmade hell.

The less we learned, the more was lost;
so today, we've passed on the cost
incurred by lon...

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"It's right to target those who need it most,"
the reaver said. Her eyes flashed, black as night.
"What matter that some will give up the ghost?

Though tragic, nothing vital will be lost."
Old age these days is seen to be a blight.
Who cares about those that will miss it most?

They're all blind, or lame, or deaf as a post.
Aren't we doing them a favour? Well, quite:
what matter that th...

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Nope; no good. Try as i might, i just can't:
I push and i shove and i bend and tear,
I spindle and fold, stack it at a slant,
chop, twist and scrunch. It's abundantly clear
though that...this...damned thing...won't! Go! Back!...In! Here!

I use all the arts of origami
to recreate its original shape;
I slice it and dice it, like salami,
even stamp it flat like i might a grape
should i los...

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...I doubt whether i would be
able to recognise the
Queen of Flirtations, even
were she to sashay rudely
right up to me, wriggle out
of her skimpy, lily-white
panties, and sit in my lap.

M. Peacock 251123

(I've cleaned this up slightly for the WOL audience.)

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I start this, not knowing where it might go,
as only patient time can surely know.
It all starts upstairs, in wanting to show
in words, as best i can, the ghostly flow
of steam rising up from outside, below
me, vented from next door's open window
(and how its spectral, evanescent glow
makes the morning's light shine, eerily so,
on the glowering backdrop of the clouds, low
and looming over...

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...the everflowing current of the Now
precipitates us onward, ever on
into an unknowable tomorrow
where all that's won is lost, that's lost is won,
where friends and lovers meet and disavow

their pasts as meaningless, as history,
at best a lesson to be learned and then,
with appropriate prayers of sorrow
put in scrapbooks, museums, rather than
holding them as birthplace of mystery

an...

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We abhor your views; your attitude stinks!
(I'm only saying what most of us thinks.)
You're a despicably bigoted shit,
who of integrity shows not one whit,
nor a shred of wit. Our nation's heart sinks

wherever your repulsive words are heard.
Your eminence and status are absurd;
it beggars belief you got where you are
when all you deserve are feathers and tar,
sulphurous pitch and wretch...

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I'm lying on my couch, well out of the sun,
and glad if it. Where's the truth, let alone fun,
in baking yourself? You'd have to hold a gun

to my head to get me back out there today
because, so i swear, there is no other way
you'll manage it, no matter what you might say

or do, no matter how much you threaten me,
coax or cajole. No chance! I would rather be
cold than hot, any old day. I...

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None too ravenous, but on sore feet
and totally wired from tramping round
the shops, in direst need of a seat
I stumbled numbly up the street and found

a bistro lit, its front windows misted.
Reluctant as i listless was to spend
more cash, nonetheless my back and calves insisted:
go on in, you fool; we need time to mend!

After perusing the menu i thought,
well, there are delectables i...

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When i adopt the poet's mantle
I fear each poem will be a rant
and worse, that each bog-blasted rant'll
blow like empty, pompous, flyblown cant.

MP 4624

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You think you're going to say
this and that plops out,
wetly, lame, a foal of a

thought still slick with
the iron-rich coating of
amniotic juices slathering

its skin; it tries to stand
and falls, stands and falls,
looking to you - its

mother/creator - for help,
but the best you can do
for this alien idea, this

bastard, this cuckoo's egg,
is to give it a lick and a
nudge and e...

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"Don't be too shy in replying", she said
as she turned with a winsome smile and went;
"you should call me, any old time you want."
I liked how she looked that little bit sad,

but happy as well with a smile a mile wide
that pushed up her cheeks and dimpled her chin.
It started a fire that raged deep within
me and caused me to feel like i would

if i won a lot on the lottery every week.
...

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To get to where we're going we must
first cross the bones of our failures,
to hear them crunching beneath our boots;

where each one is an ossuary
of the abandoned, charnel house
of mistakes on this arduous trek

as we attempt the challenging path
through this poet's life we've chosen,
hopefully to learn of its secrets.

And we mustn't walk there on tiptoes,
either, but stamp and grin...

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A-whakbatimola skudamaray,
karub-dubadrudai kana-dakash.
Balam-bepidola rapidelay,
sumtumabudbur kalepiqamasche.

Demidami-lamba zubbadizoo,
fokkaloopeeka lembummadelid.
Enziggazaggachung om-chiddy-doo,
cumlokafookum whakka-batamid!

MP 811-131223

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How so in lockstep with time is nature:
leaves drift in waves with the passing seasons,
marking an arrow's flight to the future
as the fate of life, which even treason's

high schemes and plottings would fail to outwit.
Each year i watch them through my window fall
to earth as they to nature's laws submit,
and am thus reminded i've bugger-all

to feel cocksure about: all things must pass...

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I disdain that pride of minds
in fief to the consensus -
exhortations from all kinds
of morons who bitch and fuss
when life doesn't go their way -
and loathe this ostentatious
meekness prevalent today.

MP 3010-31123/22624

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I met a smiling girl upon a hill
who asked, "will you care for my heart?"
And, "yes," I said, "yes, it would thrill
me to my very core to learn that part

from you - lover i'll be, lovely you are,
and nothing would please me the more
for i've worshipped you from afar
for so many years now. You, i adore;

the ground upon which you walk, i worship.
I would give myself, whole and part
and...

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On burnished wings of gold, the day lay down
its weary head and fell into a sleep
like satin. A stray breeze removed its crown
and breathed on it, polishing its aura
to an iridescing keenness so deep,
so lustrous that it appeared sunbeam-blown,
radiating light like an aurora
spun from fire to equal the stars' renown.

MP 301023

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Love: just a quack cure, or panacea?
Could it heal all ills, like romantics say
or is what's actually revealed here
a deeper need, to keep hard truths at bay

with rose-tinted fantasies of 'The One' -
meeting your matchless other in a soul
who'll not rest 'til your loneliness is gone;
who'd nurture you and catch you, should you fall;

who'd be both free spirit yet faithful muse?
That an...

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Most of us die as orphans -
time's unsubtle reminder
that every dog has its day;
that it's not only futile
to chase immortality,
it's immoral moreover,
seeking to cheat old age so.

MP 211023

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I'm hunkered down, in blackest gloom ensconced,
my thoughts conscripted still by last night's dream,
from which i woke this morning in a funk
(perhaps to do with getting steaming drunk
on cheap red wine, which at the time did seem
a harmless and diverting ploy - i danced

myself to bed then fell into a sleep
from which, alas, i woke at dawn, dismayed
by familiar crowlike images,
dark, co...

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How many weekends now have i said,
"how many weekends now have i said,
'how many weekends now have
passed for me?'"
So many Saturdaysundays,
Saturdaysundays,
Saturdaysundays in succession,
quick succession,
in long succession,
one inexorable procession
in timeless regression back,
backandback,
way back in timeless time,
snaking back, timorously,
taking me back with it,
in estimation...

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Say, pretty caul, what sweet treasure you hide!
How few of us grasp its proper function
(much less the sensitivity inside,
nor the joy derived when giving unction.)

Perhaps some instruction might be supplied
by each owner, upon application?
For should this motivation be denied
it would stay a loss to half the nation,

while t'other half would remain unaware
that what's once given would...

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Let time salve your shattered nerves;
let it find your lost resolve;
let it fill your hollowed curves;
let it watch your dreams evolve;
let it soothe your tare of pain,
and let it all guilt absolve,
that you may feel whole again.

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It has been, and persists now in being
a soggy, soaky, sodden kind of day,
leaden and overcast. It's still peeing
down, all-drenching, in a sulky display

of torrential pique - the kind of downpour
bound to dilute one's enthusiasm
for aquatic sports. That's even before
we question why any organism

that's already eighty percent water
would opt to take on even more moisture
than it need...

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Happy noises, heroin smiles,
the chirruping of lunatics;
all of witchery that beguiles:
read on, for these are the tricks

I play on you. You've been hexed,
you are glamoured, you're entranced,
and not in the least perplexed
that you're so pliable in my hands -

my tool, mere poppet, a toy
to play around with as i please.
See here! In my twisted joy
how i could force you to your knees...

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I'm small, i'm timid, a scared little mouse;
I'm even too frightened to leave the house.
What rights do i have? And where can i go?
The world is so large. I'm sure i don't know.
What wrongs do i have? Am i really free
to do as i like, to live and be me?
But I don't know who i am anymore;
I don't have a plan, i don't know the score
and everything round me's moving so fast
and try as i migh...

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Do you believe you are free?
Do you go to work thinking,
'no-one's reporting on me?'
Well, see that eye, unblinking
overhead? Don't make a fuss
but your heart should be sinking:
Big Brother is watching us.

MP 8624

(After China, the UK is the most surveilled country in the world, with the largest number of CCTV cameras in the western hemisphere.)

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Absent your tare of words, your daily febrile scratchings -
the digital spoor of a life i can but
barely imagine, bogged down as i am
here in mundane, toe-jammed Corn Town -
I fill in the narrative gaps with more of my
autobiographical, anecdotal flummery,
taking you along the mapless desire lines
of my diary days sans heed or care
for the metaphorical holes
in your psychological boots...
...

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Cherished in my dreams, you've remembered me,
relishing those few brief moments we shared
just as i've held you in my thoughts, and wished
i'd had the bravery to say something
more - perhaps my number, hinting to ring
as soon as you got home - but i finished
off leaving you convinced i hadn't cared
enough, as i recall, to want to see

you again. Well, Donna, that's just not true!
I've ki...

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You're too good to me;
but very good for me too.
You bring me to life.

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Describe a drowsy day in Accrington?
Well, the view from my terrace-end window
admits a junction lively with traffic;
the lights change like a fairground's in full flow,
a pallette of particoloured movement
as a profusion of vehicles stops,
patient on red, and restive on amber,
flying through on green to destinations
far and wide (but most nearby, like Burnley,
Blackburn, Rossendale, the ...

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It doesn't work! I swear it must be broken.
"What?" Yes, despite my tender ministrations,
my fervid focus on the actors' actions,
each stand it makes stays stiff with but a token
of its former vigour. "And so frustration's
your reward?" You've got it - only mere fractions

of my efforts now rejoice in the climax
any younger man would welcome as his due.
The same urges are still there; i'm...

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...always stay enlightened, as you hope you are,

and disavow those darker yous. You are far

and away the better man for it. Your name

says pride, so safely put away your shame

and revel in revealing. Let that pride

radiate through you and outside

of yourself, beyond your skin; let it fly

free, let its colour be the rainbow in your sky,

let its light enhance your sight, let ...

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Dappled shadows dance

across my Summered window.

The trees are laughing.

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Summer took us by surprise.

The sun came out and blued the skies

and all the earth turned green.

Women blossomed, bright flowers

as the days grew into their hours.

Nature turned to the dance.

The beer foamed, tasting colder

as children played, ever bolder,

glad, for school was over.

And all around me, i felt

the Winter's melancholy melt.

And love was...

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We connected - beyond doubt,

meeting in the launderette

that day. But how i regret

now not asking Donna out.

Just like that, i came unstuck.

What love's lost when chance was met

with such undeserved bad luck?

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...is such a dull, definitive word

for the extinction of life. It does nothing,

absolutely, to convey the sense of nullity, absence, cessation,

that transition phase in the passing of consciousness

to the supremely ineffable, the finality of everlasting indifference.

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A still, calm Friday morning,

Thelonius Monk bopping

behind me, coffee cooling

in front; books, remotes, and pills

strew the table, chaotic;

the walls call to me through art,

music, photos. Both cats purr.

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The Earth holds no opinions

or if it does, it keeps them to itself;

and we're the devil's minions

hellbent on ruining its health.

But if the world once found its voice

what would it have to say about its guests?

What would it do, had it the choice?

Would it consider us mere pests,

only here for the briefest while;

would it shrug its shoulders and bide its time;

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I call on tough, trenchant hope,

defiant still in this pit

of shit, that i'll find the rope

to clamber out. Or, were it

thrown to me by someone - you? -

all the better: i admit

I'm heartsick-lonely here too.

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