Wednesday, October 31, 2007


What . . . ?

In a single floral stroke.
What is there?
In these depths
Of these walls…

This gap in time,
Against which we have been projected -
Mystery of missing ships -
To follow this path of their brief blossoming

And melt the spirit; his mouth will distend
Beneath a pile of corpses, lying massed…
Is your ashen moon to grow?
I might have happily lived some other childhood

And the worlds—skiffs rudderless,
Roiling on and on and on,
This season not their own,
Come, swallows, its good-bye!

Sunday, October 28, 2007


Outstretched -
Mother holds
Her hanged baby
To free
The rope…

Saturday, October 27, 2007

Made for it

Nibble and gnaw
Tiny snicker-snack teeth
Voraciously chewing; devouring
Through pinky red outer layer
Into softer innards...


Twisting leap and spiral kick
Brought him down
She left him there
Dented faced and shattered
And walked away
Slight limp from strained ankle
But no misgivings, none at all
For it’s past time for regrets
And before those lies where told
All was good and well
But that was then and this is now
And this is now…

Never the same

Sucking frantically
Trying, hoping, against all odds
Twisting those frayed ends
To repair that damage done.


Her next
Time round
Glass chink
Sloshing spilling
Firm hands
Around neck
Thumbs pushing
Pushing up
Hard, harder...
Another bottle
Opened - drained
Later on
Around neck
Hands firm
She's cho...


So bored
Of it all
Ye'ken? Huh?
But it's my call
And yet
Those hooks are deep
And barbed
Rusted and flaking
But still stronger than I
A little longer...
A little longer...

I remain.

Friday, October 26, 2007


See that!?
That glint, that sparkle
Over there, beyond that hedge
I often end up over there
Along that grassy rarely trodden path
Instead of being where I should
Along that well beaten
Long straight and narrow road
Partially due
To my concentration span
Being as long as these words…

It seemed reasonable

Befuddled – half asleep
Sat in car
In car park
Breath misted windows
Giving outside an inside feeling
Trying to write
With broken tipped pencil
Graphite tip smudging grey residue
Across crumpled paper scrap
This snapshot of clarity
In fog filled thoughts
Why don’t cars have sharpeners…


Nine am,
Sat in a public house
It’s crowded…
Not full, but enough
Too many really -
For Thursday morn.
Seven forty seven spent,
At nine ten.
Strange day – just begun…
Our society, our world…
It’s flux.

Tuesday, October 23, 2007


Rapid response – action reaction
No thought – instinctive lash
That’d be my problem
What’s yours?

It Happens...

Came home
To find
A muscle-bound hulk
Bending my settee
Twenty stone of testosterone
My girlfriend calls
From kitchen near
Dreaded words I can’t quite hear
Of how it’s done, it’s dusted, it’s us
We’re through…
He’s the new guy, a boxer no less,
My twisted mind thinks it’d be cool
To rant and shout, for surely
It’d be his bad if violence ensued,
Bad publicity at best
Maybe his job lost…
"He’s retired," she says, before I spout…
"Enjoyed it too much, needs to calm down."

So I pack up a bag
Head out the door
Only to see
A big brand new car
I’ll have my revenge!
Down both sides with my now useless key
Doors kicked, dented and warped,
And after several goes window-screen breaks
Sweating but joyous I’m now aware
Of my neighbour
Looking angry, mobile in hand


“That’s my new car…”

Monday, October 22, 2007

And and and...on and on...

At cessation God twisted heaven and earth.
And earth was again without form, and void;
And lightness was upon the face of the deep.
And the Spirit of God departed these waters.
And God said, Let there be dark:
And light was no more…

Saturday, October 20, 2007

Recurrent Itch

I’ll scratch that itch
With blade from razor.
Try to slice that itch away-
Yet now that itch migrates
Settling once more
Along the brachial artery...
I'll scratch it this time...

Monday, October 15, 2007

It's Nurture

I go now.
Rope in hand.
Limb of tree,
To find and
Rope secure...

It's Nature

I need
A new rope,
And I’ve nearly
Worn through
This branch,
From constant
Though that branch
Appears higher now,
Due to
Constant erosion
Of ground below
As I traipse to and fro
Perambulate, mimicking,
That dangling sway and swing...
Swing and sway…

Wednesday, October 10, 2007


Today I die
That’s it.
Nothing to be down about
Nothing to fret about
Life ends.
Everything dies
And today it is I.
But tomorrow…
Ah tomorrow…

Wednesday, October 03, 2007


My fathers’ house
Has many rooms

Most are filled with clutter
After all, when immortal,
Things accumulate…

And So...

And then
Then they had the nerve
The nerve to say that
In front of my kid too
Had to slap ‘em down smartish
Can’t have that sort of shit
Going down around your kids can you
It’s just not the done thing
Anyway that’s why I got the new paint job
And a new wing.

So, anyway...

I was minding my own business,
When out of nowhere, nowhere I tell you
Out of nowhere came the biggest fucking one of all
Out of nowhere and slapped down right next to me
I thought I’d lost it for good
Thought I was for the white room
I can tell you.


I whacked that
Pustule ridden monkey fucker
About the head a few times
And told him to leave it out.
Though I doubt he’ll listen
I doubt he’ll learn

Monday, October 01, 2007

Warm Happiness

Sat at sea’s shore,
Watching land slowly drown
Fingers caressing smooth shells
Glistening in early morning rays
Finally to select
A single golden cylinder
Slip it in a chamber
And raise it to my mouth

Further Exposure

Figures of light and dark - these two are walking
To watch me watch drowned snow lift from the lake.
Figures of light and dark…
They’re returning to a town
Rattling, gasping its last.
Your blank slate, you’re black on white,
To run, as in apoideas’ time of seeking
Down the road, at Cypress Gardens, a woman
Snowflakes are swirling - boiling out
Winged winds, captives of that age-old foe
Dim, and die tonight
I think fifty six was a killer.
That last day, endless and genderless,
To listen, by a sputtering, smoking fire,
To matter, for flushed boys are muscular
My mind groping in mud
Blotting out -
Scrawny wolves, and you,
Clear-voiced despite its years,
It's snowing, it's returning to a town
Strong, eloquent—
Dismal, endless plain—
Centimetres—that height of canvas
Your impenetrable wasteland,
I know,
Snow haze gleams like sand.
And still,
It's snowing, drowned snow
Now I figure you for one of them
Of light and dark
Pallid waste, rattling, gasping its last
Returning to a town