Us

I was lost, vision grown dim
Hands outstretched like bones to touch
Feeling nothing, voice for no-one,
And you came to me,
Eyes glittering, lambswool in the morning dew,
Filaments aglow.
Your hands were my hands,
Skin on my bone, the world revealed,
And we danced, and the sun was alive,
And the shadows fell back to the corners.
I was lost, but you came to me.
I was dumb but you breathed your voice through me,
Forgave me, with a whirl of feathers and pine needles
You spun me. Now I'm yours.
You loved me and we built
Us.

Candles and catholics

The venom in the fog
Deep and green the fetid breath
Motion becomes stillness
Paralysis of eye and arm.
Squirrels in the hanging tree
Ravens crack their beaks in joy,
The silver's left the mercury
And barren ground births mud. 

Ladders climb into the sky,
Lianas writhe like beaded priests in ecstasy
Hearts in thuribles, blood in mist,
Red and black it drips.
The fan-tailed hum of broken glass
As footsteps tread on radio waves
And flowers shade the children's eyes
From the poison in the air.

Mechanical music

With a flick and a spin the spindle spits
The marble clean along the track
And mirrored metal guides the ball
Through fly-wheels geared to increase speed
And floating corners banked to feed
That pinball hurtling back.

Through a tunnel into the light
Of a flamboyant heretical chef,
With utensils used in unknown ways
Under a grater into a sieve
Where it spirals round and shoots out with
The bass whirl of a clef.

Sparks and dust

Poet's ear
Devil's thumb
These things are mine
Like pentecost belongs to christ,
Creased and unsubtle,
Warm and dangerous.
These things parade around my thoughts.
At night, the dark is full of sparks,
Crash and burn they filter down
Like thunder, coiled and hot.
Dust is spread.
Dust is spent like gold upon the temple steps.
The sun is made of weightless specks.
Spinning through space
We find our gravity wells around us,
Dense and curved like pie dishes.
Thoughts made physical.
Dreams of ice and stone.
Writ large bituminous sky's ebb.
A pie with my thumb thrust in.

Mary had a crocodile

Mary had a crocodile
Its skin was green and scaly
She kept it calm and docile
With her six-string ukulele.

She sung it songs and nursery rhymes
It kept time with its tail
She walked it through the park
Every lunchtime without fail.

But then one Thursday morning
Her highest C-string broke
The crocodile's eyes flickered
And its tail stopped mid-stroke.

Mary had a crocodile
Or should I rather say
The crocodile had Mary
For lunch on that Thursday.

Three lives

The calm of pigment leaving the brush
As all those gestures fade
Pinks and blacks predominant
Flicked and planted

Pulling a ploughed comb
Left to right
His furrowed crown
Hurtling to a standstill

The brickwork splits
Corrupted steel
Persistent flecks of mortared life
As curtains flutter in the final breeze

Bed time

And so it's done
Warm, well fed
Presents unwrapped
Children in bed
Crackers pulled
Legs unfurled
Santa's flown
Around the world
All is peace
All aglow
A bit too warm
For any snow
Yawns all round
That cake can keep
Let's wrap it up
And go to sleep.

4, 3, 2, 1

I had four legs in the evening,
Three sheets to the wind,
Two more hours to go tonight
To that one day of the year.

But there's one little problem,
There are two too many chairs,
Three days ago she left me
With my daughter and four teddy bears.

1, 2, 3, 4, no more.
4, 3, 2, 1, I'm gone.

Humbugs

A long night wrapping presents
A long day prepping food
A CD full of music
To get us in the mood

An angel on a treetop
A hoover round the house
A tissue or two under a nose
A trap out for the mouse

A fridge and freezer fit to burst
A wreath hung on the door
Christmas comes but once a year
I'm glad it isn't more!

Insomnia

As Nature turns her head and snores
I lie awake and read some more
Read until my eyes are sore
Look at the clock, it's half-past four.

I don't know why I cannot sleep
It's been this way almost a week
As thoughts of work and worries creep
Into my head, then sit and steep
And my internal alarm continuously beeps:
Why can't I sleep?
WHY CAN'T I SLEEP?

History

In the heat and the smoke the muskets fire
The shot flies true, the redcoats fall.
And in the future those who fell
Will find their names upon a wall.

Is it enough to remember?
Is eternity worth the price
Of thousands of wandering ghosts
And thousands of ruined lives?

History is written by the victors,
But only the commanders in chief.
No words are heard from the mothers
With their boys six feet beneath.

The seven pointed star

The seven pointed star
Pressed between the night's empire
Half a fall and half removal
Blessed with rhetoric
Cursed by birth.
Gentle is the touch of gravity
Separate from the magnet's spin,
Liquid sand made clear
Heart in a canopic jar.
I give my darkness
You take my light.

Timings

Timings and how wrong they go,
A subject dear to my heart,
Everything crawls to a slow
Pretty much right from the start.

The biggest problem seems to be
Guessing preparation times,
I've barely trimmed the broccoli
Before the minute minder chimes.

The worst of these are small shallots,
Those perfect pearls with paper shells,
They fill my eyes with tearful spots
And make me curse their name to hell.

The skins rip no matter what I try,
The bulbs split into tiny shapes
Impossible to chop, but I
Cut fingers on them anyway.

They make me screw my eyes tight shut
As I skin those beasts alive,
Take forty minutes to cut
And I only budgeted for five.

As a result, the sprouts are burnt,
The pies have sighed their last, I fear.
You'd think by now I would have learnt,
I do the same thing every year.

Green

Butterfly wings and curtain ropes
Such things too green for nature glow
As the moss that grows on mountain streams
Or the young man's buoyant hopes.

The night's torches cut through dreams
As illness cuts a life too short,
And the scent of immortality burns
A lustrous iridescent green.

Alone in company

Out of place and out of time,
The razor swings unfailingly
As friendship's blade withdrawn, withdrawn.
No space to think.
Too much space to think.
Drowning in an uncertain lake,
Calm and silent as I sink.
Cemetery faces turn tombstone eyes
And I close mine.
Dreaming of a church of trees
Boughs of solitude sheltering me.
I open my mouth and let the water in.
No choking, no struggling as I leave.

Meandering fog

Lost in that fog of frozen ghosts
The mind makes mountains of misted sheep.
An edifice of crumbling brick
Takes form and substance step by step.
Alongside dwells a slow canal
Still and silvered, no certain ends.
What magnetism pulls my shrouded feet?
I cannot tell, nor need but trust
Instinct's map is accurate
As vision's vaunted truths belie.

The man who would be a cat

He sits like a cat, licking the backs of his hands
Purring and pausing to rub his cheek.

The train is full of whispers
Private conversations
Apologies and arguments
And they notice
Notice the man who would be a cat
And they whisper
Poison spreads like laughter.

He sits like a cat, curling his whiskers
Giving no heed as the train winds and whispers.

The house

A blur of chambers
Hall to hall
Questions parried, decisions made.
The mace on the table
Time waits for no man
Voices and voices but nothing is said.
The listening stones
Grey and honeyed
Broken by glass, statuesque.
Candles burning
End to end
Smoke and mirrors surround each desk.

The circus

Circus at the edge of town
At night I thread through straining ropes
One tug could bring the whole thing down
All those dreams, all those hopes.

Ignoring the devil's mischievous cry
I leave the pegs and move on through
Into the light and noise inside
Clowns and crowds and chaos and you.

Werekids

My children must be werekids
That's the only explanation I see
For why when the moon is full in the sky
They lose all sensibility.

They see that shining face up there
And it eggs them on to madness,
Hyperactive sleepless nights,
And in the morning sadness.

Building a Castle

Like a puzzle the pieces fit together
A jigsaw with only a mental image,
Curtain wall to near-side turret
Lift the peg to fit the buttress...
The keep's fallen over!
One hand hold the battlements
The other secure the inner wall,
As a foot keeps shut the drawbridge
While the other dangles in the moat.
Gently now, ease tower tab to tower slot,
And in.
Gate posts locked,
Machicolation aligned,
Balconies arranged just so,
Crowned with a flag, victoriously perched.
All ready for tomorrow's battle of the princess and the unicorn.

Mince pies at midnight

The butter's too cold, the mixer's bust
The pastry will never have a perfect crust
And now it won't roll, it's way too short
This recipe's far harder than I thought.
There's bits sticking everywhere, what a disaster
10 o'clock already! I've got to go faster.
Oh, just squeeze them in, no one will know
Squodge them and bodge them so the cracks won't show.
Didn't make enough, did I roll them too thick?
None for Dad, then, but sugar makes him sick.
Now for the mincemeat, don't overfill
There's nothing worse to wash if it spills.
And into the freezer, just squash the peas down,
It still won't fit? Throw them out on the ground.
Now slam the lid closed, sit on it tight.
They'll be fine until Christmas night.

In the blue of night

The world is ringing
It never stops
Forlorn hope for
A silent pause.
No space to roam
That dream discarded
No respite from
The closing in.
Like a knot in wood
The path is blocked,
In a weakened state
The pain is real.
No end in sight
But the one not taken
Demands not met
No tears at the close.

The picnic

Orange blossom water evaporates
Leaving but a giggle
A light echo of scent in the sun
All of us but this is gone.
We picnicked on prosecco-poached peaches
Melting dolcelatte figs
Dukka and full-fruited oil-dipped bread
We savoured that as it dripped and drizzled
Warm from the sun and spiked with conversation.
Biting on primed tomato bombs
Pulling rich strings of mozzarella and polenta
We lost ourselves in that afternoon
In meringues floating on morello lakes
In muscatel and pear granita
And laughing, we locked our eyes
Muddled strawberries flecked with orange blossom water.
The sunlight eased from the afternoon
With nothing but scent behind us.

Two terrible limericks

There was a penguin from Antarctica
Who didn't know how it should start-a-car,
It pecked at the clutch,
Which didn't do much,
And so it's still stuck in Antarctica.

There was an old man at the Pole
Who constantly begged, borrowed and stole,
His reindeer groaned under
The weight of his plunder
As he flew them all over the globe.

Sky songs

Sing out, pale sky, the sun it falls
From mountain top to valley floor.
Sing out, pearled cloud, reflecting rays
Of silver, bright crack of a closing door.

Sing herringbone falsetto
Farewell to the days of June.
From each cardinal point, sing
Lullabies to the pillowed moon.

The Pathroom

The orange button flashed invitingly as my finger descended, and was met with the sharp crack of a wooden ruler.
   "Ow!"
      "Don't touch that one. Not yet, anyway. We don't know when we're going."
   "I thought we were going now?"
      "We are going now, but we don't know when we are going to."
My partner was a slightly too slick scientist by the name of Reinhard Yabuttie, or Yab for short (well, a lot of people called him Butty for short, but not to his face). His hair was slightly too smooth, and in a slightly too greasy ponytail. His slightly too hooked nose hung slightly too low over his slightly too droopy moustache. None of the other detectives could stand him - especially the other ladies - so by virtue of the fact that I could stomach him more than most, I was sent on this pointless assignment.
   "So you saw the suspect run into that chamber, but he didn't come out?"
      "Nothing comes out."
   "And we can't go in there because...?"
      "We can go in there, just not yet. I need to track down when he went."
   "I thought you said it was about half an hour ago?"
      "Please, Miss Simmons."
   "Detective Simmons."
      "Detective Simmons. Have you listened to a anything that I've said? That chamber is an...Aha!"
A screen suddenly flared into life, streaming characters and strings of numbers that Yab excitedly jabbed his finger at, his eyes dancing excitedly.
      "I've tracked him. Quickly, press that button now."
I did what I was told and pressed the orange button, with no answering thwack this time. Instead, the door to the chamber clicked open and Yab hopped over and slipped inside, beckoning impatiently for me to follow. Inside was a single table with a chair at either end. It looked a little like an interrogation room. Yab sat down and the door automatically clicked shut behind me.
   "So what do we..."
      "Sit, Miss Simmons!" Yab ordered, and for once I didn't correct him. There was something strange about this room, as if the edges of my vision were blurred. I sat, and Yab reached out to grab my hands.
   "Hey!" I said, instinctively withdrawing, "What do you think you're doing?"
      "Please, Mel, this is important."
Something in his tone made me believe him, and I reached out and let him take my hands across the table. As he did so, there was a beep from the machines outside and then ... I don't know how to explain it. The corners of the room neatly folded in upon themselves and suddenly we weren't sitting in that sterile chamber, we were sitting in an enamelled bathtub in the middle of a large, almost circular room with doors all the way around it. Slightly too many doors.
      "Oh, we're in the pathroom", Yab proclaimed, looking around.
   "I can see we're in a bathroom", I said, "but what the heck are we doing here?"
      "No, not the bathroom, the pathroom. The nexus. A place rich in mythomechanical energy. These doors can lead you anywhen."

The Thorns of Love

Erase, erase
And lock away the thoughts of you.
Withdraw the offered arm
And shiver, standing proud
Old Harry Rock against my sea.

Collapse, collapse
Pull away supports from you.
Flush juvenile habits, touching dreams
That warm your nights and cool the morn.
The thorns of love around my rose.

Destroy, destroy
And mute the words I brought to you.
Force silent nights of charity wasted
In callous song, huddled round
Dying embers of my fire.

Menmes and Menus

Three weeks to make one sauce,
You can tell it's Christmas.
The endless cycle of cutting and cooking.
Still don't really know what to make,
But there's bound to be gravy.
There's always gravy.
A pie? - Too dry.
Nut roast? - More common than most.
Cauliflower steak? - We'd be gassed before cake.
Root vegetable stew? - I wouldn't if I were you.
Tarte tatin? - That's not in the plan.
Squash boiled in Coke? - Is that some kind of joke?
Cheese and leek plait? - More festive than that!
Cranberry kedgeree? - What? Are you kidding me?
Well I give up, it's your turn to try. - How about pie?

Life and the spinning of the earth

I begin in springtime
As the snake's head bends
And bursts from the grass in chequerboard.
The ecstasy of youth has no end.

I dance as caterpillars wake
And take their first taste from Nature's cup.
Curling to my knees I plant my seeds
Both sacred and corrupt.

In summer, as gardenias bloom
And virgin petals drink the sun
Echoing that splendour in the night
Calling the moths to come.

As I, too, savour night's caress,
The long light warmth of song,
But footsteps in the shell-strewn sand,
Are temporary, as we all become.

I hang my head as apple boughs
Bear fealty under heavy fruit,
As every day brings solitude,
Alone in this mocking pigeon suit.

And as the glut of windfalls builds
Wasps crowd above the speckled rot.
What I thought I'd sown in spring
Turns out I did not.

Winter doesn't hide its light,
From field to field the cold earth bared.
All that grows is broken skin,
Though it's long past the point I cared.

Here in my life's December
There's nothing left to save.
And as the frosts blacken the rosemary
I steel my soul for the grave.

My own private kubla khan

This morning, in a flash of inspiration,
Three lines came to me.
Three perfect lines.
I knew I had to write them down quickly,
Had to capture that magic,
But we were late, and school waits for no man.
Walking up, I repeated them to myself,
Over and over like a mantra.
Navigating children's conversations,
Keeping threads untwined,
Those perfect lines glowing,
Guiding me home.
And there, paper snatched, pen poised,
The phone rings and it's gone.

Natural law

The zebra shakes its tail and laughs,
The lion roars with all its might.
The zebra scampers on all fours
As the lion tries to take a bite.

"Ow, Max, no!" the zebra cries,
"You shouldn't bite me in real life."
The lion gives a wicked grin
Flashing teeth as sharp as a knife.

Zebra runs, lion roars
While upstairs, daddy snores.

Catechism

Black as soot and just as soft
The woolen carapace wraps your form
Quiet as night's collapse you flee
The sermon and the hawthorn.

The writing pressed into your palm
The eagle's head upon your back,
The devil take you now for sure,
You and all your tracts.

Advent

Picking and packing the pieces
Filling the envelopes one by one
Like blind mice leading a grizzled cat.
Equality is sacrosanct,
One piece out of place a morning disaster.
I need tweezers for a job like this,
Fingers too fat and cold,
Pinch too hard and all is lost.
There, carefully drop and seal.
Another done, 23 yet to come.

Chilly tonight

The frost is hard on hoary ground
As salt is thrown and boots crunch grass.
There's nothing in these whitened morns
To warm the heart as seasons pass.

Ears and fingers burn alike
With cold worse than any fire,
As head plunged into the wind I stride
In a wardrobe full of wool attire.

An urgent undoing

Gently, gently,
Stop at the pain,
The sickness born of raging nerves
Enflamed and bent
Those muscles rent and torn from health.
Take care of yourself, your limbs
That guide and carry
Day to day are worn,
Tired of movement.
The weary neck for too long
Bore aloft your golden head
And now rebels.
Telling its own tale,
Singing to be heard
Through stabs and fatal electric jolts
Triggering the brain.
Triggering the pain.

HM

The glass is thicker,
Harder to parse
As she moves as a muffled shadow behind.
Colours bleed and blend,
Shapes become her
As she moves east along the balcony.
Dressed in pink
She seems surprised
Thousands upon thousands raucously greet her
Flags raised and waved.
She reflects them,
Smiling and waving
Uncharacteristically, anachronistically
Warm and proud of her people
Only to be upstaged.
Resentment is born behind that smile.

Shutting down

Close those apps,
Put them away,
They're probably meaningless anyway.
Let Facebook sleep,
It's your turn, too,
I'm sure no one will notice if you do.
Power it down,
Let fall the lid,
It's time for bed and time you did.
Close those eyes,
Put cares away,
They can wait for another day.

It's time to sleep.

A good day

Full,
Replete,
Quite enough to eat.
Round,
Rotund,
Rolling and jocund.
Calm,
Content,
Time well spent.

Weekends

The weekly sigh of relief
Breath out, it's over
Curl another page of the book.
Line up what's done and let it go,
Give those things time
While you take pause.
Breathe in the comfort of the familiar
And rest.

The game

God, the euphoria
As the final card's played
The table is clear
The last hand laid.
I can see how gamblers
Become so enrapt
When it falls into place
And the last piece snaps.
After losing for weeks
And casting blame
There are smiles all round,
We won the game!

Windy

Fart, parp, bottom belch,
Let's get that out of the way,
I'm talking about the ferocious wind
That's plaguing me today.

It started not that long ago
While passing some young ragamuffin
On the streets of Lewes
When my bum began a-puffin'.

I quickly scuttled off while he
Was coughing in my noxious wake,
I've never left such virulent gas,
Why start now, for goodness' sake.

But little did I know that
It would only become worse
As my derriere decanted
Gross emissions like a curse.

Clouds of steam erupted
From my trousers in the cold
And as the day went on
Those vapours multiplied tenfold.

Lonesome bees fell from the air,
Cats went into mass hysteria,
Dogs trotted up to greet me
While wildly sniffing my posterior.

I ran for home, but as I did
I shook those chemicals in my belly,
And you can probably intuit that
The resultant burst was rather smelly.

But that's where you'd be wrong,
You see, the shaking caused an overload
As all that acid mixed and churned
Until my stomach did explode...

And I awoke in bed with a start
Sweat dripping from my midriff,
It was just a terrible dream, you see
(though there was the echo of a raucous whiff!)

The touch

The night hymnal
Horse's tail and shake of rein
Sound of bell against the dusk.
The smile creases at your skin
Black hair pulled
Bible gripped.
One hand holds your hat against the wind.
"Not long to go".
Church behind, road ahead,
God be my witness, nothing passed.
The air condensed
You wrapped a shawl
As the clouds wrapped
Around me enrapt.
Hooves, rain, bells and tack,
The constant rhythms gave me pause,
I drifted as we drifted
Out across the rutted track.
Dreaming of blue eyes and blue ice
Cold and cracking.
Your hands are warm.

Lost

Somewhere at the shops sits an old owl
Alone and sad amongst the shelves
As bustling shoppers come and go
Thinking only of themselves.

The owl stares out at other toys
With a feeling that it doesn't belong
It shouts out a little girl's name
But can't be heard above the throng.

And somewhere far away that girl
Pricks up her ears and looks around
The hairs rise on the back of her neck
As if she's heard a familiar sound.

"Mummy, where's Soft Owl?" asks the girl
And Mummy's stomach turns to stone
Somewhere there's a girl in tears
And somewhere there's an owl alone.

I'm the one

I'm a tyrannosaur with two tiny claws
No one knows what they're there for.
I'm a killer robot sent into the past
I'd fire my laser but my batteries won't last.
I'm a shark rising up from beneath
I'd bite your boat but I'd break my teeth.
I'm a nuclear bomb high up in the sky
Falling so fast but I don't know why.
I'm a knight errant sent into war
But my sword's too heavy to lift from the floor.
I'm a suicide risk with a gun to my head
If I wasn't so scared of life I'd be dead.
I'm a star on the brink of supernova
One more push could tip me over.
I'm the grim reaper playing at chess
Ignoring the board because my hair is a mess.
I'm just a man staring up at the ceiling
Deaf and blind, devoid of feeling.

First touch of silicon

The machine hums to life
And with a boom-beep
Announces its readiness,
Flashing its cursor.
This is it: a black screen, a glowing prompt.
Daring interaction, but reassuringly dumb.
I press a key and the letter instantly appears.
I press another and another,
Jam my hand down on the keyboard
Producing strings of gibberish.
This is a mechanical mirror for all my words and non-words,
Reflecting genius and idiocy alike.
Imagine the worlds that can be wrought,
Imagine the fusion of mechanical and human brains.
I hit Return to begin my Ovidic opus.
"Syntax error."

Jingling

Dashing through the rain
With a child in each hand
Splashed by puddles again
Today's not going as planned.
Bell on mobile rings
Mummy's train's delayed
Can we grab a few things
And make sure the milkman's paid.

Oh jingle blow, I suppose so
Jingle all the way
Oh what fun we're going to have
On this wet and windy day!

Spelunking

The ceiling dips to meet my hand
And fingertips relay its texture
Of moisture hung on damp stone
And heart rock frozen within.
The calyx of a newborn stalagmite
Juts like an anemone.
This limestone is alive
Moving and growing at the pace of ages
Profound and passive
It marks time in drips and echoes.
I pull my hand away
Unwilling to disturb the dark.

Misadventure

Death by misadventure
The verdict given here
Is black and white like justice
Though nothing's quite that clear.
The nomenclature covers up
The tracks of history's shame
Where the victor calls the shots
On who's right and who's to blame.
The bias is inherent
In every written word
The only truth is here and now
The past is long disturbed.

Moonlighting

There's a moon out there somewhere
Hidden in the clouds
The weatherman said it's the biggest
Moon we'll see around

A supermoon he called it
But I think it flew away
All I can see in the sky
Is a neutral shade of grey

The biggest moon in 70 years
The dampest of all squibs
I think that silly weatherman
Was telling rotten fibs

The catch

I caught you like a vampire bat
Dropping from the sky,
A bad disease,
A swarm of fleas,
Or grit blown in my eye.

I caught you like a flat tyre
Driving down the road,
A hornet's sting,
A wedding ring,
Or a plague of falling toads.

I caught you like a catkin
From a hornbeam high above,
A rhino horn,
A cactus thorn,
Or a bad case of love.

Feeling peckish

Please don't eat me Mr Cannibal,
I don't contain much meat,
My arms are thin and stringy,
My legs are sticks with feet.

Please don't eat me Mr Cannibal,
I'd probably taste quite bitter,
I've never done much exercise,
Always been more of a sitter.

Please don't eat me Mr Cannibal,
I wouldn't cook very well,
I burn in the slightest hint of sun,
That's how I can tell.

Please don't eat me Mr Cannibal,
I don't go with any veg,
Potatoes and peas just make me sneeze,
On that you have my pledge.

Please don't eat me Mr Cannibal,
I'd serve you better alive,
I could fetch you fruits whenever it suits,
And fresh honey from the hive.

Please don't eat me Mr Cannibal,
Have you heard a word I've said?
If you're hungry for a slap-up meal
Eat my friend John instead.

Night visitors

The moon draws blood as it passes
Under a clutch of harpies prowling
Beware those winged knives in the night
And the witch at the window howling.

The wind pushes tears aside
With teeth that nip at fingers
Beware the banshee's keening wail
As those echoes of the underworld linger.

Night waves

We own the rolling ocean waves
The dip and curl and thunderous roar
From silent depths black as the grave
To breakers hammering the shore.

We walk the coastal paths back home,
Wind-bent gorse and marram grass
Laugh at the two of us alone
And whip at our skin as we pass.

The taste of salt is on our lips
As we kiss goodbye at the cottage door
Then we part in the night like ships
Never to link eyes or arms once more.

Pies

Mincemeat made
Pastry chilled
Rolling pin ready
Flour spilled

Pastry rolled
Cutter pressed
Cracks appearing
Don't get stressed!

Into the tins
Twelve neat cups
Spoons of mincemeat
Filled right up

Into the oven
No lids here
Crumble topping's
The thing this year

Soon the kitchen
Breathes that smell
Of spices, fruits
And booze as well!

Out they come
At frantic pace
Leaked everywhere
Always the case

Leave to cool?
Who does that?
Into the mouth
In seconds flat

Ow! Ow! Ow!
Tongue blazing
Well worth it
Tastes amazing

Truth and lies

Above, the sky was blue
But nothing is ever what it seems,
There's a time for selling truths
And a time for selling dreams.

Promises are well and good,
But they cast a shade where lies can grow,
The ground had seemed so firm
But cracks were beginning to show.

Nobody could ever predict
The strength of the river running beneath
Exit paradise,
Enter the garden of disbelief.

What you must

Standing at the corner walls
In lurid dress your finger curls
To beckon febrile marks inside
As every blackened flower unfurls

Salome avert your eyes
Hand dealt and frankly played
With sweat and skin in that green light
Ambitions and morals then mislaid

With dark rimmed eyes you stalk the night
Your service to perform
With a basket of lies to choke the cold
And keep your children warm.

The end

Dust to dust we said goodbye
Laid the wreath above you,
Snow fell on that shovelled earth
And stopped the flow of time.

We gathered in a nearby church
Exchanged our tales of life and laughed
At all the things you'd said and done
And papered over cracks.

Face in a dream

Eyes aglow with winter's fire
Reflections of Aurora's spark
As thunder peels from chasmed skin
That parts in a cavernous scowl.
A single curl juts from a mole
High up on his left jaw side
Limpet-like it grips him
Pulsing as he grinds his teeth.
He turns to spit and leaves an ear
Of dense black hair regarding me
Then turns again and leaves a note
Dull as earthenware, open voweled
"No".

The Fifth

The flames have come
Held aloft with bitter fingers
They march tradition's beating drum.
Colours together in common cause
With the smell of paraffin rags burning.

Remember! Remember!
The smoke hoarse call
Rings from boarded streets
As black boots tread the hills once more.

In the dark they walk those paths
The light comes first and then the noise
The cordite crack and then the horn.
Beware! Beware!
Bonfire has come.

Tigers

Click clack
They're on their way back
The tigers in the park
Are on the attack
With eyes on fire
And padded claws
The jungle home
For them no more
Where children laugh
Their curious games
The tigers stalk
Their night campaigns
The universe
In pupils shine
The advent of
The cage consigned.

The break

A shout up the stairs and down I come
Amid the dust and debris lies
The curtain pole with drapes attached
And one poor boy, dark hair dusted white
Looking at me with apologetic eyes
Plaster drops from the wall to the floor
And I don't know what to say.

Harry had a headache

Harry had a headache
He had a heavy heart
He didn't know how things would end
Or even how they'd start.

There was a tingle in his fingers
And numbness in his toes
He rubbed his itchy eyes too hard
And bruised his snivelly nose.

He went to see the doctor
Who hailed him as a friend
"Is there something really wrong today,
Or shall we just pretend?"

Harry showed the doc his toenail
And the soreness on his knee
He told the doc he was in shock
But the doctor didn't agree.

"My prescription for you, Harry,
Is to go and drink some soup,
Then to make things right on Thursday night
Attend this support group."

He handed Harry a little card
Which gave him a paper cut
At the sight of blood his head went thud
Like he'd been punched in the gut.

He fell like a sack of spuds,
Banged his head on the doctor's table
And though he strived to save his life
The doctor wasn't able.

From F'narg to El Kelcarrow

The goblins of F'narg are angry
They've gone to make war with the elves.
There's no particular reason,
But they're bored of punching themselves.

They crossed the River of Grumble
Where water boils like fire,
They went around Mount Baraduke
Where some of them grew tired.

They bickered and they squabbled
Through the Caves of Korrogo
Some believed North was the quickest route,
Others they said no.

At the Pass of Harmal
They met a wandering mage,
He turned a few of them into pigs
When they were rude about his age.

They slid down the Ice Fields of Noolon
But some of them slid too long
And ended up in the gaping maw
Of a giant snow dugong.

They endured the Deserts of D'ump
Where the sun beat down too hot
Some followed a murderous mirage
A lucky few did not.

In the Slurping Swamps they struggled,
Lost boots and sometimes legs.
The sensible ones turned back for home
And all that were left were the dregs.

At last one goblin arrived
At the elf city of El Kelcarrow
He picked up a stick to throw at the wall
And was slain by a single arrow.

'Weening

Out in the night
Moon-blurred and curling
You run for the light
Of flame drenched gourds

Teeth on the outside
Cape lets the wind run
Face lit with pride
At your sugar-wrapped horde.

Bed bears

How do you sleep in a bed full of bears?
Don't you get scared when you wake
And all of those eyes are staring back at you?
Don't you feel their paws on you in the night
Or dream of those smiling mouths full of teeth?
Don't you suffocate under all of that fur,
Or itch as those things rub upon you?
I don't know how you sleep
As those things creep in and out of your bed.

Pushing

So much to do
So much I could be doing
So much I want to do,
But here I am...
Pushing.
Push... push... push...
She says she wants to stay on the swing forever,
And I believe her.
Every now and then there'll be a giggle
Or a comment on the trees or the dogs in the park
As I push... push... push...
We sing a song
I whistle to the birds and she tells me what to say
Other children come and go
And I push... push... push...
We talk about ponies and pink things
Of school and friendships forming
She tells me tales of the teachers that I don't believe for a second.
Clouds come and go, rain drizzles,
And I push...push...push...
She counts to twenty, missing half the numbers
Tells me she wants to go higher, faster
Face fixed wide in a smile
For a simple swing.
And I realize there's nowhere I'd rather be
Nothing I'd rather do
Than push... push... push.

Pooh Sticks

There's gold in the trees
Trembling, expectant
Waiting for the wind's caress.
We walk below,
Flinching from thuds of sweet chestnuts and conkers
Covering our heads at the tell-tale crash
As they batter through branches and leaves to the ground.
Gathering sticks, bark clutched to hearts
And long fingers curl around spindles
We're on our way to a bridge,
THE bridge,
On the edge of the Ashdown Forest.
Others have gathered there,
Throwing from one side,
Rushing to the other.
But today, the current is old and tired
Half dammed with the weight of children's fervour.
We add our own to that obstacle course,
Throw acorns to try and dislodge them,
Our reward arriving with squeals from the other side.
And then it's back,
Back through nuts and leaves
Climbing fallen trees
Investigating old dens
Clearing the path for clattering horses galloping through,
And home.

The meal

A restaurant picked on passing
Ordering unseen from the mind of the waiter
A quiche - Stilton, apricot...and something.
An innocent enough question, salad or garnish?
We plump for salad and the wait begins
Entertaining the children with stories from old magazines.
Time passes quickly enough,
Behaviour better than expected,
And then if comes,
Quiche lost in a heaving bounty of salad
Every vegetable imaginable dressed and coloured
Textures and flavours fighting and combining
Mouthfuls merged and new pairings discovered
The quiche is the jewel buried within
Name already forgotten, but to be discovered again.

A mermaid plays

Wooden skeleton, broken back,
Fish for friends in desperate lack
Of light beneath the ocean waves
Where wake and crest are long forgot save
The memory of the moon's pull still
Threaded through a thousand krill
And fins and flukes to reach
The place where a mermaid leached
Of colour rests with hand on harp,
Plucking eternal sonata notes
Each feathered with seaweed floats
Back to the light above where
Birds asleep on the ocean dream but care
Not for music, but carry those
Echoes in their cries.

The exhibition

Layers of letters
Architectural archetypes of the alphabet
Fonts of fun and future fruits
Carved and curved, carefully curated
Massive and minute, meticulously mingled.
We walk in wonder with white gloved hands
Peeling pages, perusing panels and pillars
Of ornament and ordered objects.
It's incredible.

Western

Hammers flick and flints strike sparks
Powder lit and then the fire
Fists thrown and baggage stolen
Running down the iron line.
Hidden actions in the darkness
Leap from roof to roof and down
With lithe movement step
And turn again avoiding law.
The winner takes the gold.

Book and beauty

Hallowed be the bookbinders
Stitch and gum the quarto leaves
Trim the facing edges
Revealing winter skin.

Fingers tremble over ink
Where fibres swell with that black blood
Like braille, nerves in ecstacy
Leap at roughs and smooths.

Pages turned with each full breath
Of old and new, of dust and lampblack.
Hold that heavy air, as the rush of capillaries
Cuts to the core.

And finally crack the eyes
And crack the spine, widening both
Extracting every energy of text
As from symbols pulled verbatim.

Hands and feet

They run and run
And all we can do is chase
An eternal truth
From age to age.
Big hands follow small,
Desperate to catch
Before they fall.
Boots and coats surround their warmth
And in the snow they overheat.
Drifting on the pearl-white thatch
Pink gloved fingers find the latch
And kitchen floors grow new damp feet.
Their laughter is its own reward
Play fighting as they call out names,
Hunched over the chopping board
I cut and catch their homespun games.

The season leaves

Bronzed and falling
Carpets of shimmering damp
Litter the path like phoenix tongues
Still steaming.
Step by step we tread them down
Discussing new life as we walk those bones.
A subtle skeleton
The softest I've known
Bone turns to mud, mud turns to stone.
Ring the change
Beat the Autumn drum
Of beech nuts and acorns
And low golden sun.

Oblivious accidents

Hard of hearing
Devoid of action
Clouds bereft of rain wheel by
He whistles at a passing plane
Shakes fists at chimney pots
As his chair creaks on.

The next day
Behind four bigger wheels
Too busy cursing at scaffolding
He doesn't stop
Doesn't brake
Doesn't even notice what he's done
Until the knock on the door.

Journeys in the dark

Feeling the lights as much as seeing them
The rhythm and rumble of rolling stock
Cities pass like fading scars
That crumble from your skin like rock.

There's a country out there somewhere
Writhing nature in the dark
Plants and animals alive
With hungry phloem and throbbing hearts.

And I can see electricity flickering
And flashing through the night
Floodlit buildings pulling focus
From the world outside my sight.

Every now and then I see
A clear reflection of my face
Hovering in that darkness
Like a spirit out of place.

And time stands still in winter
No quivering leaf or rippling lake
To break that frozen silence
And keep the world awake.

I close my eyes and close my mind
To any outside influence
Breathe out the worries of the day
And give myself to providence.

Artificial intelligence

Could a computer ever get bored?
Could it do things for its own reward?
Could it revel in bohemia
Or excel in academia?
Could it put itself to the sword?

Could a computer ever know love?
Could it look for meaning up above?
Could it discover its own id?
Would it go to war in our stead
Or fly the peaceful dove?

The Indolent's Prayer

Please let me get what I want
Let nobody else take it from me
Please let me get what I want
And let me get it for free.

Please let me succeed
Let me always take the easy route
Please let me succeed
And let all my dreams bear fruit.

Please let me be rich
I don't need millions, just enough for life
Please let me be rich
And have a beautiful wife.

Please let it all come soon
I'm not getting younger, I won't tell a lie
Please let it all come soon
I need it before I die.

The Space Cat

I once met a cat from outer space
Who said she'd been all over the place.

Past Reigel, Mars and Betelgeuse
In and out of comets' tails
Rode slingshot around Saturn's rings
With solar winds filling her sails.

She'd seen space dogs and aliens
And other creatures of that ilk
But maintained that the best thing in space
Was an ice cold saucer of milk.

...

Recruitment drive

Calling all heroes
Rich men or poor
Come and fight
For the man who gives more.
He's just won the fight
Against the viking hordes
He'll provide you with food
And possibly swords.
So come on, come all
Join up for the fight
With Harold Godwinson
Your true king by right*.

*King by his own right, some dispute.
Not all men will be given swords, please see your local liege lord for details.

The blacksmith

Strike fast as the glow fades
White to orange to dull red, then black
Black as the hammer that falls and falls.
Rebound, lift and redirect
Ring about the restless camp
On bellowed forge and squat block anvil.
Back on the embers, cover again
To perform the alchemist's trick
Of softening iron with heat and light,
Tapering and tempering
Until the edge sings for blood.

The writer

Building and breaking
A life spent in letters
Writing them down and tearing them up
Hands deep in verbal clay
Drawing form from primal mass
Sharp points and smooth lines
Created with purpose
Each word extruded
Lines constructed
And all for nothing.

Too Much

The cake was good
Too good for words
Which itself was good
As words were impossible.
Mouth so full
Fit to burst
But hands still grasp the next course
Eyes glazed over with sugar
Head aglow and buzzing
But it's so good.
A gulp of tea
Wash down what's left of the last
Before the next.
Stomach rebels but it's too late for that
Loosen the belt
Slouch to spread out
Flowing like icing over the chair.
The cake was good.

The evening dance

The evening dance wears them out
A ragged pas de deux
They take it in turns to lead the floor
And tonight it's her.

They kick and spin around the room
Tired but dressed to kill
Clattering on the wooden boards
Connoisseurs of the thrill.

She throws her arms around his neck
Tightening as she goes
He breaks her grip and staggers as
The music crescendos.

They hiss and spit around the room
He foxtrots into her
These final steps are always when
Most accidents occur.

The Clank on Shale

It was a dump,
A shack by the sea,
Somewhere to escape
From modernity.
An ancient place
Of rounded stone,
Cold and damp,
No one's home.
The water claimed
The floor and walls,
The sky broke in,
No roof at all.
And inside
In that black and white,
I sit and dream in colour,
And write.

The losing game

It's plain to see the pain between us
A disease that spreads from night to night
The cure is always out of reach
Should we give up without a fight?
We move between our comfort zones
Arguing over who is right
Like pieces placed upon a board
Reading rules in the half light.
We each have our special skills
To pierce the other's nervous plight.
Will I stab you in the back?
I say I won't, but then I might.

Cold clarity

The option is yours
Hands in pockets like an urchin
Fingers curled with the cold.
You chose a direction,
Who knows what method
Finger licked or sniffed on the air.
Foot follows footfall,
Twigs broken like echoed promises,
Impressions driven into ice grass blades.
The clouds are building,
Head held high into the heart of a thunderstorm you stride,
An accident of consequence.
Breath sucked as heels jar on frozen ground.
Clarity of thought and reddening skin.
You thought that clarity brough direction,
But that decision was made on a whim.

Mud, leaf and child

The field is full of acorns
Cupped and uncupped
Smooth as eggs.
We move amongst them
The slap and kick of wellies in the wet grass
And russet leaves rotting to fairy nets.
He climbs first, she follows fast.
He slides and shuffles low for safety,
A stick dug into the earth with every step.
She scrabbles and scurries,
Straight with no fear or heed of warning.
It's there to be overcome, for fun,
What's the use in worrying.
I am at the bottom,
Watching and waiting to catch them,
Mud, leaf and child.

Jerusalem

Taller than they have any right to be
Like stalagmites on a cave floor
They stretch ever upward.
A dark moss green
Ringed with flat leaves at every stage,
And at their crest
When they have reached as near to the sun as they can
A sudden burst of bright gold.
Whether they imitate that great star or reflect it,
I do not know,
But all that splendour is a glittering mask of distraction.
The real gold lies buried in the dark
Revealed with muddy hands
Pale, gnarled roots, obscenely bulging
Blind fingers reaching wildly in the gloomy loam.
These are the earth's prize.

The gathered meal

The food is arrayed
Places taken
Hubbub and happiness rattles the air
Bread is broken without solemnity
Crumbs drop and glasses raise
The family is together
In chaos and camaraderie
Flavours and tales intermingle
Hands take their fill as requests are cheerfully called
The warmth within radiates out
Puddings are passed around with impatient gusto
The orchestral clang of spoons on bowls
And drinks warm and bitter
Final clearing as youth disperses
And age digs deep into well-worn chairs
The creaking of wood and bone
Loosened belts; girth and mirth
There is nothing quite so good

The wind through the window

The In tray grows and grows
As fingers of wind riffle the pages
The steps are long
The door flung open
There is a voice
Ignored and acknowledged
As nib scratches
Head scratches
Cat scratches
The slam
The steps
The wind
Days are long and lived before and again
There are no lies, no truths
Just words floating on the wind

Daydreaming

Drifting from street to street
Where corners curve away uphill
Seeing the moon in the noon light
With the air skin-warm and still.

I see through an open window
A face young and serene
Catching my eye and turning away
Embarrassed to be seen.

Walking a little further
I glance o'er my shoulder once more
There's nobody there at the window
But her figure steps out from the door.

Nonsense

Curling tongues of hybrid fire
The case of love within the loft
Drying ice reeking of camphor
From the machine that never coughed.
The stairs that lead ever upward
Jugglers on each carpeted tread
The magpie's dream of gilded grains
And owls that twist and twist their heads.
All of this is written down
Sequins on the silken page
The gift of beauty bottled for you
So that you may never age.

The memory

The quiet man stood
Turned off the light
Rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger
Her image was there as it always was
Hair short and messy
Somehow animated in his mind's camera
He sees her in a crowd
The beacon of recognition draws her out
And she smiles
Silent in his dreams, but colourful
Then he opens his eyes to the wall.

The Torn Letter

The letter came between us
With its loosely gummed flap
That happened to fall open
As it dropped onto the mat,
And out peeked your notelet
Like a little pink tongue
And the scattered rose petals
It was nestled among.
I'm not saying it wasn't lovely
To get such a perfumed letter,
But a sheet of plain white paper
Might have been a little better.
I bent to quickly pick it up
But my hands were just too slow
As a high heel stamped on top of it
With your letter crushed below.
"I'll get that", she hissed at me
With a tone of molten metal,
As she lifted up her heel
revealing one poor skewered petal.
She opened up your missive,
Started reading it aloud,
"Who's 'Pinky-poo'?" She asked me
With the voice of a thunder cloud.
"Maybe it's for the neighbours?"
I stammered to my tie.
"Frank", she fairly poison-dripped,
"I do wish you wouldn't lie."
So I told her how I'd met you
On that holiday in Kent.
When I left early on 'business',
But that wasn't where I went.
And that next week I'd been planning
To book another trip
And that just that afternoon
I'd got the brochure for the ship.
She looked at me intently
As I told of our affair
And stood silent when I'd finished
While I cowered under her stare.
Finally she spoke and simply
Asked me "Is she better?"
And when I shook my head
She calmly tore apart your letter.
She strode out of the room
And that's the last I heard of it
So I gathered all the pieces
Every tiny little bit.
I've spent weeks out in the garden
Pretending to pot seeds
While instead I'm jigsaw-piecing
Every word that I can read.
I think that in my haste
There might be some bits that I missed
But I can read enough of it
To figure out the gist.
You said to meet in Dover
But I couldn't read the date
So I'll head down there tomorrow
And if you're not there I'll wait.
I hope it won't be too long
And I read your letter right,
As I've only brought enough food
To last me for one night.

Coffee, rain and the future before us

Coffee in the rain as the barges pass
And the river gurgles slowly by
Coffee and and a pot of tea,
We push the boat out, you and I.

Ravens drop from dripping boughs
Talons splash in gravel pools
They scream their throaty cackles
As the air around us cools.

Night pulls its curtain over the sky
And stars like popcorn burst awake.
You stand and move inside
I follow, always in your wake.

The light goes on behind your eyes
As you silence the light beside the bed,
Fearful in your symmetry
As tigers growl within your head.

I am a man made up of smiles
The night is ours to tame or let roar
Hand in hand we make our future
Yours and mine and nothing more.

The wait

Waiting by the phone for an incoming call
Fingers tapping as the seconds drag
Never knowing when to leave
Chores to do but should I risk it
Better to go now or wait some more
Tap, tap, tap
A familiar tune stuck in my head
Wait or go
Go
Machine emptied, washing hung
Back, refresh
Sorry we missed you,
Nooooooo

The Waking

Darkness as the city snores
With engine roars
That never pause.

Darkness as the country sighs
A barn owl cries
To soft replies.

Darkness as the house exhales
With children's tales
As moonlight pales.

Darkness in the dreams of man
Unconscious plans
Grow out of hand.

Daybreak brings the blood-tinged skies
When bleary eyes
Prepare to rise.

Monsters of the mind

He says he's scared of zombies
And vampires in the night,
Of werewolves, ghosts and other things
That crawl and groan and bite.

I've tried to reassure him
That none of those exist
But he just reads more stories
And adds more to the list.

A child's imagination
Can make those monsters real,
And nothing adults tell them
Will alter how they feel.

Games

The bluff,
Hands to the side, face blank
Accusing every other party
Sowing discord.
It's always me, the spy
Hands close to chest, face open,
Agreeing with every accusation,
Feigning truths and sheltered lies.
Three times the cock crowed,
And three times the liar stood amongst the proud.
Three wins.

Deadlines

Panic at the end of month
Targets looming, wheeling dealers
Fretful fingers type and tap
Emails and extended feelers.

Time is short now, furrowed brow
Nights of problem-solving dreams.
5 contracts in 4 days, you say?
That's as impossible as it seems.

The visitor

The lights are on but no-one's home
I knock but the cat's just there alone
Pawing at the window pane
Going round the curtain again and again.

I try the phone and hear it ring
From the inside it comes echoing
But no-one picks it from the base
There is no human in this place.

The car is missing from the drive
And there's no-on in at number 5
Maybe they're all at the shops
Or on their hols in their flip-flops.

And so I let myself on in
Trying not to upset anything
I pocket some jewels and a nice antique
Then quick back out the door I sneak.

The Shadow on the Wall

The beast lies still as I enter the room. Every time, a shock to see it slouched there, head hanging low over a pendulous necklace of flesh. It has been nearly two years since that first day, two years of steady decline. Flies buzz about it as above a rotting carcass, hideous onlookers jeering, dancing a maddening tarantella. They know the beast is too weak to move them on, limbs too heavy to lift and swat. Instead, that foul mouth rasps, spits and wheezes; those dark eyes spin malevolence like circus knife-men. The flies revel in their spittle shower, and those dark eyes turn my way, showing the same frustration and hate.

Will it be today? God, please take it away.

A throat that has lost the mechanisms of voice instead pushes out a single thin line of drool and accompanying whine like a torn grass-whistle, slack and flapping between two thumbs. I know what it needs. The only reason I enter this room. It raises a finger my way, yellowed with a band of sausage pink where the ring was cut away. Jabbing the air with a mildewed claw, at once commanding and repulsive.

Three perfect tubes spring from that mass, feeding life in measured drops. I unclip an empty bag; reaching for another I send a shaft of light cutting the dusty air, and I see the shadow of my mother.

The Modern Life

It's been hard these last few days,
The heart it beats erratically,
Clinging to the fraying edge,
Small mercies taken where they fall.

The tinnitus of modern life
Where pressure is a constant curse
And ulcers underline the hours
Of spinning wheels and turning clocks.

The cycle has no end in sight,
A rising flood to struggle through,
And molehills very soon become
A cumulative mountain range.

We do what we do because we must,
Face what's thrown at us head on,
Each new day we start again,
Exhausted from our sleepless nights.

The Autumn Cat

The mist flooded the dawn-lit land
As the cat took up her lofty perch
On the flat roof of the school room
Beside the lightning-struck birch.

She flicked her tail thoughtfully,
Lazily swiped at a passing fly.
A sparrow trilled a warning song
And the moon still hung in the sky.

The cat stretched out a toothy yawn
And closed its heavy eyes to dream
Of kittens, mice and balls of twine,
Of home's warm aga and saucer of cream.

...

The iceberg

I'm sorry for taking it out on you
Had no right to shout and curse
Make mountains out of minor things.
What you did was wrong without question,
Through intent and action
Provoked my reaction
That was out of control.
I'm sorry for the way I behaved with you.
Typical trigger response
To something much deeper,
Totally unrelated.
Another floe collides with the iceberg.

Too tired to write

I'm so tired that I've forgotten how to write.
Hand pushes pen, but brain lags behind.
Words get caught up in that tangled ink,
Rapidly spidering out of control.
Eyes lose focus and fingers press on,
Writing as my head slips into sleep,
Jerking awake with the sharp tick of the nib.
I read it back the next day, rewriting it,
Replacing strings of nonsense words
That made subconscious sense.

The day to day

I wonder as the mornings flow
If this is all there is to life
A constant repetitious wave
Dawn to dusk inside the hive.

Every day begins the same
The sun fails to keep the clouds at bay
The earth shakes off its weary sloth
The birds say what they have to say.

The hills roll up their bedclothes
The raindrops puddle rings
The routine runs like clockwork
And I wonder what tomorrow brings.

Camping with the moon

Stories as the smoke rises
And laughter lights the evening sky.
Coiled in a camping chair
Hands reaching out to draw
Every wave of heat.
Burnt-sugar-tipped sticks litter the ground,
Sign of the children finally asleep.

Sounds of singing carry over,
Friend of a friend on the mic, should we go?
Taking it in turns, one leaves
The other huddles closer to the fire,
Throwing on the sugar sticks that spit and crack.
The moon is high and full,
And in good company,

A passing storm

By an old bucket split and discarded
Home to snails, nothing more
Under the tree where fruits fall like thunder
An easy place to be ignored.

Curled and tired at the roots of the walnut
Wreathed around by rose's thorn
She lay huddled, cold and whimpering
Sheltered from the nearby storm.

She could see the lightning through the window
Hear the crack and crash indoors
So she chose to hide in the tangled bushes
Until the clouds had passed once more.

The rush

We're never on time
Constantly rushing
From meeting to meeting
With nary a breath.
I can't work out why
We're always pushing
The deadlines, competing
Not to be the last left.

Dream travel

Caged in a bubble of light we fly
Skin pressed against cool walls
The blue of time races by
As inexorably we fall.

There is in view a golden end
A door that leads us out of here
Opening into atmosphere
Or at least we can pretend.

The spinning wheel will one day stop
Our bubble craft will cease to drop
And out we'll climb and blink and breathe
Free when we thought we'd never leave.

But for now we sit and wait
Wondering if we'll hit that date.

It's. So. Hot.

It's. So. Hot.
The flies are wearily buzzing around.
It's. So. Hot.
My sweat makes a 'plop' as it lands on the ground.
It's. So. Hot.
My clothes are piled up on the floor.
It's. So. Hot.
I don't think I can take it much more.
It's. So. Hot.
The nights are warmer than most days.
It's. So. Hot.
Stay out of the sun's rays!
It's. So. Hot.
My pen's starting to perspire.
It's. So. Hot.
This notebook's catching fire.

Getting older

There are wrinkles where there shouldn't be
And vex where once was cave
Skin that sags round eyes in bags
And many more parts to shave.

The memory's not what it was
Both eyes are fading fast
Aches and pains and varicose veins
A pining for the past.

There's still much to look forward to
The best times are ahead
Retire on £30 per week
And before too long, you're dead.

Notes on Walking

It's bluer than I remember
Free of shade
Just a beating sun
And around me the cracking of ripening wheat
And the crunch of boots on fissured earth.

Pigeons clatter and scatter as I pass.
Turning through a harvested field of sweetcorn
I fill my pack with discarded cobs
A good meal tonight.

Crossing the boundary,
Dipping into a tunnel of trees
On ancient tracks
Shade thick with flies
And greener smells.

In the heat of the sun again before long
Cutting the corner of a churchyard
Winding back through spikes of stubble
To the roar of a modern road.
And home.

Long distance

Jet trails puncture the morning sky
And I think of you.
My sun rises as yours is sinking.
The song of night we sang, a memory
Warm, gin-tinged clouds with pin-pricks of clarity.
A week ahead of me.
A week of forevers,
Of emotions piggy-backing electrons.
Love in a time of wi-fi,
My electronic wife and I.
Come home safe.
All pales to the physicality of being.

Theft

Drinking at the grave
Where we stole the stone.
Alone this time
With a cigarette
Where your hand would rest
And test the air
As the cold rang out across us
Stinging our lips.
I stroke the lighter,
Elicit flame again and again
And watch the dandelions
Blow across your name.

Whirls and Girls

The boy bit into the Viennese Whirl,
The jam and cream they splodged.
The biscuit crumbs rolled down his tum
Into the path of his striding mum
Who nimbly changed her gait and dodged
The crumbs but crashed into a girl.

The girl was drinking fizzy pop
The lid it popped right off
She slipped and tripped and dropped the cup
Which at the time was quite full up
With bubbles towering in a froth
And washed over her brand new top.

The top was once a glowing white
But now was a murky brown.
Sagged and bedraggled, the girl stood still
And let out a shriek, short and shrill.
The boy stood up and handed round
Viennese Whirls, which made things right.

Buds and bad moods

The buds that break and softly fall
Never dream of being trees at all
Those years of verdant growth ahead.
But now they're dead

...

Me and dew

School days as the evenings shrink
And birds descend on hedgerow fare,
Feathers push the temperate air
And I step out the door to think
Of rhythms natural and perverse
That rule my morning, noon and night
If what I do is wrong or right
My life a blessing or a curse.
This tendency to think at length
But rarely turn 'think' into 'do'
The opposite, I guess, of you
Our differences become our strength.
As I walk, the dew that gathers
On the grass soaks to my skin,
Pushes me to head back in
Where this worry never matters.

September

September, the end of it all.
Holidays run their course
And all that goodwill fades in the fog
Replaced by a nervous fear
Of children starting a new school year
And parents returning to the grind.
No matter how familiar,
It's never a welcome feeling.

Rain on the way home

The rain falls.
It's inevitable.
The tent curls and uncurls in the wind
As 100,000 beads of water
Glue themselves to the fabric.
We give it a frivolous shake to no avail.
It goes away wet,
As do we all.
A glorious week bookended by torrential rain.
At set up and break down, of course.
Packed a day early to try and avoid it
But nature was wise to those plans
Bringing the rain forward to greet us.
At least home is in sight.
Wet, wonderful home.

Boats by the Cobb

Wires bend like ghosts of sails in the wind
A shrill whistle and a tap-tap against the mast.
The sea has come to claim its own.

Crashing over the cobb in a white curtain
As flecks of spray repaint the sun-bleached wood.
The sea is here and all shall know.

...

Glow sticks

They've found the glow sticks
We enter to yards and yards of fluorescent chain
Snaking from wall to wall
And everywhere in between,
Lighting their faces in rapture.
One dances from toe to toe
Bare foot and bathed in a multitude of colours.
The other kneels in the middle of a huge coil
Like a steadfast monk
Carefully fitting sticks end to end.
A week's worth of fun gone in one.
We just smile and jump in.

Keening stone

Keening stone
Struck a blow with tempered steel
Reverberate to find the tone
Split and fall like citrus peel.
There inside
First breath for 80 million years
Waiting for the longest tide
No water of life ever appeared.
Trapped in mud
Fossilised and hard as rock
'Til woken with the thud
Of another dull hammer knock.

Stars in the mist

And from the mist
A trail of lights
Explodes into the midnight sky
Into the hollow dark
They fill the air with diamond glints
Each a legendary Greek
Or animal arrayed in line
3 points a celestial sword
Or four to form a farmer's plough
As they glow the mist comes in
Thick and low
So I can't see the hills around
But those stars still blaze above.

Passing notes

A corrupt exchange
Furtively passed
Between spider crab fingers
Cold and chitinous.
A whispered accompaniment
Meetings arranged
Between pig hearts
Exposed on biology slabs.
You will, I will.
Yours, mine.
Windows mist
With teenage heat.

Chase and return

Passed the walls of lichened stone
And loose lattices of cobbed silk
Dipped with bulbs of dew
That my fingers trace a line between. 

These stones are home, eternal
These spiders' forebears
Spun when I was young.
I worried their webs
With a hockey stick
Always chasing balls down lanes
Some feral canine instinct
To chase and return.
And so I do.
Chasing dreams through hills and years
And always returning home.

Birmingham

Sitting on a window sill
16 floors up
Only a piece of glass
Between bed and jam.
Watching buses mill below
And a building site,
There always is.
No matter the city
You can guarantee the view
Although I can't actually tell
If this is construction
Or destruction.

A round poem

Cradled in light
The circle is born
Waving like a cobweb
Held in a storm
Locked in a maze of nets
Carved into a fisherman's head
Silent as silver deep underground
The coal within is yet to be found
Once birthed and twice dead
Known for what it forgets
Lamb-like and warm
Waning with the tide's ebb
From the earth it is torn
Smooth and bright.

Bankers to broad beans

The retirees are on the allotments
As Monday morning comes again
Pushing earth as they would push pens
Out in sun and snow and rain.
The lion with his six-clawed rake
The tiger with her spade
Digging like she dug accounts
And money that she made.
Though the plot is beautifully tilled
And filled with every seed they know
I've never seen those gardeners
Eat a single thing they grow.

Planes and Trains

The plane comes in low above us
Surely something so big cannot fly
Like a swan treading water
Impossible, but then away.
The horses in the field below
Don't even raise their weary heads
As all that metal rends the air
And bends the barley in its wake.

And yet to be inside those roaring hulks
I find that fear gives that wonder pause
My eyes tight closed and fingers gripped
Until we're high and flat and smooth
And all my senses fool my brain
To believing that I'm on a train.

The Valley

There is a certain valley
On the way from Haywards Heath
With a viaduct above
And pasture flowing beneath
Emerging from a closed wood
The bridge's gate posts beat
Out time and mark the space
Until nothing but that rhythmic
Void and views of fields and
Grazing beasts.
Long enough to gaze upon
Short enough to hold enrapt
Until by woods again you're trapped
And all those perfect views are gone.

Something in the air

There's something in the air she walks
A lightness almost fae,
Transparent bounce from heel to concept
Mind follows foot to anchored ground.
She's reading a book
Holding the spine and thumbing from leaf to leaf as she goes
Words in the air as footprints
Thoughts that fall and rise again.
Her musical hair accompanies
Each beat of body building higher
And clears the path of consciousness
That marks her daily grind.

Master of None

Blue suit and tie-less
He surveys the track
A miniature suitcase
To free up his back.
Pasty and coffee
Gripped in one hand
As into the other
He barks out his plans.
He's a leader of course,
Just look at his strut
Wide-legged and powerful
With turnings abrupt.
The ladies look on
With lust in their eyes
Or so he believes,
Though I'd be surprised.
He gazes at one
As he makes his next sale
Trips on the platform
And falls on the rails.

Shelling Peas

I remember my mother shelling peas
Pod deftly split
Each bright green globe
Gently prised like a babe from the teat.

I have a genetic memory of hundreds of mothers shelling peas
Those hard rounds tumbling into bowls
Husks piled on aprons
Pulled taut across their laps.

So why can't I shell peas?
Nature's joke
Too much force
Those daft marbles
Tumbling into the air and across the floor.
Any crack a pea-sized crack
Waiting to trap those devilish sprouts.
One in the bowl for every five without.

Pods and tempers snap.
A hundred mothers' laughter echoes
With every bounce on the hard floor.
Dead flowers and detritus
Bulk out the meagre reward
And I walk in shame to the freezer door.

Once and Future

The knight removed his winged helm
And gazed o'er the fray
Twenty thousand men had come
And few saw out the day.

He finally saw the standard raised
Above the gold-encircled head
Of his king and countryman
Bestride a hill of dead.

He was locked in furious combat
Against a black clad man
The king held firm and fought
With a stout spear in his hand.

The black-clad knight was known to him
His sister's craven mate
Known to his friends as Mordred
Though his friends were few of late.

...

The Flying Scot

Gold again for the flying Scot
It's always the Scots.
Do they have nothing better to do
Than sit on saddles
Dourly pushing pedals around?
Wasn't the pneumatic tyre invented by a Scot?
I guess the scenery's good for it.
Three mountains before porridge.
Bag a couple of Munros for lunch.
And his legs back it up,
Each one a caber
Being tossed to and fro
As he circuits the track.
By God it's impressive.

The Toad

There is a toad by the drain
Round-eyed like a fish
And darkly moist.
Both shocked by the other's appearance.
I back away as it stands its ground
A squat pulsating alien
Heavy like a meteorite or a cow pat
I run to tell the children
But when we return
It's gone.

Sunday Morning

I watch through the window pigeons pass
The ghost of a reflection fading fast
A tile slip in slow motion on Dianne's roof
The spider's spiralling search for truth
The strengthening sunlight warming the bed
The flop of the paperboy's heavy tread
Waking and falling
Rising and snoring
The nonchalant chaos
Of a Sunday morning.

Growing Garlic

And there it is
Three fat cloves pulled from the ground
Each the size of a normal bulb
With an immediate garlic blast on the air
Rubbed and tied to the washing line
A week for paper-white skins to form
For wet garlic to dry
Flavour and scents concentrated
And a smile of triumph.

The horizon

The magical horizon
Touched and broken
Blue as blood
Through cradled pain.
Eyes unfocused
Planes expand
An inward infinity
Forever out of reach.
Home is there
A firm island
An escape from it all.
At the end
At every end
Light overtakes dark
Punches through the horizon
Circles back again and again.

Murica

The Hair is there
Foot in mouth while tongue lolls free
Amid bone-white glints from tombstone plot.
Pointing into the crowd
"You, yes, you"
Approving nods and winks to nobody
The words don't matter
Performance is all
And those stabbing fingers
Could start and end
The next world war.

The leap of faith

Scrabbling like a burrowing dog
She attacks the air
With hand-formed claws.
This preparation sacrosanct,
Before the leap, the pause.
Then dips the head and long legs bend
Crouches tight and arms extend,
Then BANG,
With an explosion of nervous delight
She springs in momentary flight.
An unshaken belief in what's to come,
Caught by the waiting arms of mum.

The split

He pulled and she pulled
With a predictable split
Two forces acting as opposites
And neither one would quit.
When fighting over a spaghetti string
It's just a bit of fun
But when a child's the object
There is more damage done.

Ear of the year

I find it quite peculiar
How body parts are fetishised
No matter how the same we are
Our differences are amplified.
That lady's bottom
Is the best one on the planet,
While that man's trousers
Are the tightest ones in Thanet.
Maybe it is just because
My own body's not spectacular
Unless there's some reward
For having skin as white as Dracula.
But actually I think that there
Are more important things to recognise
Than inside leg and size of waist
And measurements around our thighs.

The pool

Calm is the water
A reflecting pool
Still and unbroken
Not even an insect
Skimming there.
Calm and blue
The colour of polar ice
With the slightest hint
Of a windward ripple.

Under Pressure

Doctor, Doctor
Can someone come quick
I drank something strange
And I feel a bit sick.
It might have been off,
I couldn't quite tell.
I can't say I noticed
A dangerous smell.
Oh Doctor, please,
I'm going to burst
My stomach is feeling
Considerably worse.
I should never have taken
That final slurp.
Excuse me  - oof
It was just a wee burp.

Leaving Lewes

There's little to be said
As the white Cliffe turns red
And the sun sets over the hill.
That glowing face of chalk
Over which we have walked
A hundred times and more still.
The calm of evening falls
On those proud Sussex walls
And the waves push back the Ouse.
The curtained castle stands
Sentinel o'er these lands
Every twitten, lane and mews.
It kept us in its care
But our path leads somewhere
There is a fortune to find.
We turn our heads away,
The close of our last day,
Leaving our Lewes behind.

The moment

Each muscle carefully locked
As bones are pushed beyond belief
One arm raised to signal
And the spring is released.
Everything united in movement
Toward one goal
One focus.

The painted morning

The morning sun glows through the red curtains
Like a torch held against fingers.
The same glow through my eyelids
As I hold them closed against the light.
Grudgingly I open them
To see the shifting rays carve you from the dark
A single line defines you like an artist's sketch.
How can you still sleep with that weight of light upon you?
I tickle you with my smile
Willing you to feel
But it's too early
This lady's not for waking.
Instead, I run my eyes around the room.
Exercising the lenses on every corner
Counting the digits cast on the ceiling
Until it's time to make the quiet climb
Trying to lighten heavy feet
And another world awakens.

Another morning

There's a rattle in the air
The white noise of 1,000 Lego bricks
Being pushed and tipped aside.
They're awake.
With the usual 'Mama' and 'Dada' dawn chorus
And time begins again
With eyes full of half-dreams.
'Where does the shield go?'
'The doctor will come and help them'
'Is there a battle?'
'The doggy's going shopping'
It's sometimes hard to grasp
The foggy tendrils of reality
When bathed in so much fantasy
Before the cock has crown.

Cats in the dark

We're like two cats
Rasping through the long grass
Stalking a tight circle
Eyes locked
Heckles high
With a low devil sound
Boiling in our throats

Pills

Take this pill.
A guaranteed dream
Of purple leaves falling
Like raindrops thrown from
Flying parmesan saucers.

Take this pill
To see the sound
Of snails laughing
At a thistle's wind.

Take this pill
To smell the thoughts
Of the cleverest people
And see if they are
Green, blue, or calendars.

Magnets

This invisible force
Pushing and pulling
Flowing through iron
Weak but strong.
I don't really understand
How those ions repel and attract
Keeping the balance.
Making energy seem so effortless,
Infinite.
I wonder at that,
The promise of perpetual motion,
Of solving the energy problems.
But then I remember
That all I have is a toy.

Eureka!

Struggling and getting nowhere.
It must be right.
It's not right.
Try again.
A different angle.
A scratch of the head.
A furrowed brow,
Frustration.

And then,
At the point of giving up,
The brain wanders
And WHAM!
That's it.
And it is.

Skin

The skin off his back
Peeled like cellophane
Or the page of a book
One thinly opaque layer.
It was heavy like rubber
Not quite organic enough
To be part of him.
The edges were tougher,
Wincing he pulled and tore
All along the curves
Of his shoulder blades.

The ebb and flow

The Water's low tonight
The ebb and flow have got me thinking
Of where you are tonight
And with whom you've gone out drinking.
We had our usual fight
Insults smashed upon the floor
There was no wrong or right
There never is any more.
From the porch I see a light
It's Alfie on his way home
When I ask if you're alright
He says you left an hour ago.
I run down to the lake side
You always swim when you've been drinking
The water's low tonight
And from the edge I see you sinking.

The race of air, land and sea

Trees march like cattle
At the crest of the hill
And clouds roll to over take them.
In the tumbling hurry of eternity's pace,
The hill dips its nose at the finish line,
Glacier formed and still in the running.
A cut at the knee where once it stumbled
Only to rise and run rampant,
Incline to outcrop,
Foothill to cave mouth.
Breathtakingly effortless;
Breathless from effort.
This time earth means to win over water.

The snake

The lawnmower hummed and ended a life.
Head on one side of the blade,
Tail on the other.
No blood to speak of.
No notice.
No pain.
I went back later to move it.
Balanced between twigs
Like a pair of chopsticks.
The head was the hardest part.
So small and smooth
Slipping and falling as my shame grew.
Silly really, but something precious died
And nothing I feel will alter that.

Magnetic

He came upon her
Bright with the blood of youth
Flowering through his fingertips,
Not touching, but tracing her lines,
Each hair lifting
To meet his smooth hematite skin.

The birdtable

First is the sparrow
Nervous and stuttering
One on lookout, one feeding
Short wings flickering.

Next comes the starling
Boisterous as a teenager
Loud and brash on crescent wings
Squabbling and bolting.

Until with a chatter,
Down swoops the magpie
Too big but determined
cleverly finding an opening.

It's scared off by the jackdaws
Descending in pairs
With a clatter of caws
Strong-beaked and willful.

Last is the pigeon
Slow and grey
Standing in the water tray
Picking at discarded seeds.

The glance that shook the cobwebs

I was a quiet man
Socially awkward,
Digital pastimes,
Happy in the world
I'd wrapped around me.

You were a lofty gem
Ambitious and adored,
Floating through Winter
Wrapped in scarves
And silent music.

Together we trod the same boards,
Gave ourselves to the same cause,
But never spoke further
Unless strictly necessary,
With heads bowed and eyes averted.

The one day in passing,
You lifted your eyes
As I raised mine
And in the space between two moments
A spark leapt.

The Grinnifang

Wild is the Grinnifang
With teeth that ting
And claws that clang.
On cold nights it quivers
As it stalks its prey
With a tail that shivers
Every step of the way.
Beware you with the golden hair
And with your eyes of blue.
The Grinnifang is coming,
Coming for you.

There's no way you can stop it
Nowhere you can hide.
No matter the locks you put on your doors
It'll find its way inside.
Its teeth are the knives of the North.
Its breath the moist air of the South.
Its eyes are pale as the winter moon
And a thin tongue flickers from its mouth.
Beware you with the dark brown hair
And with your eyes of green.
The Grinnifang is coming,
Coming in your dreams.

The animosity

Again, the animosity
Flaring from you
Fresh and raw
And bristling ire.
What have I done?
Did I say something awry
Or forget a task or a shopping list?
Or is it just that I'm just not the right one?
Never quite who you wanted.
A stone in your shoe,
Uncomfortable,
But not worth the effort to discard,
Until I cause enough pain.
When enough pressure is put upon me
Then I'll be ripped out
And cast away.
An impediment removed.

Ladies and Gentlemen

Carefree and cunning,
The ladies of Lima.
Hearty and humorous
The men of Macau.
They gaze at each other
Across the dancefloor
Anxiously waiting
For the walls to come down.

Skipping stones

Sometimes times and people change
When sinking stones begin to fly
And skipping swiftly scattering light
And memories like a toffee hammer.

The Woodlouse

A woodlouse scurries, makes a break
But those divine digits descend again
Lifting it from its path
Placing it back in its cardboard home.
A world of dead flowers
And freshly picked leaves.
Back to where friends and family sleep.

The meeting

It was good to see you
Hungry and vital
Laughing at life
And all it contains.
Red lips and pale smiles
Fleet-footed innocence
The voices of children
The clack of toys on wooden floors.
The dream is still alive,
Reborn when we're together
That someday the fates will align
And shower us in bounties.
Always just a dream.
The next day sees reality.
Sees stresses, worries, pressures
And a longing for the next time.

The Taming of El Rey Diablo

Captain Clara sat and watched
The rain clouds race across the sky.
The sails were down, but her crew were ready
To set and make the Gold Lamb fly.

The Lamb was the fastest ship she'd sailed,
Light and frisky on the waves.
She could outrun any of the Spanish fleet,
And very rarely misbehaved.

She was born to skip the surging crests
Chasing a caravel or cog,
And at the helm Clara stood,
A young cat, not an old sea dog.

She'd built a reputation
For the speed at which she struck,
With a knack for being in the right place
That was more than just blind luck.

Like a swallow on a silent lake
She'd flit down at her prey,
And before they knew what hit them
She'd already sailed away.

But today the wind was changing,
For the first time she felt fear.
Sent to catch El Rey Diablo
And his ship, The Bloody Spear.

...

Nut and Thistle

The smell is the first thing,
Cobnut sweet and thistle sharp,
Two-stroke kicked and castigated.
Gravel scattered,
This heavy confetti
At a wedding of blame.
Wooden people air their thoughts,
One leaves as another returns.
Cobnut sweet and thistle sharp,
The acrid air coils in.

A two-cup morning

Birdsong and bad memories
Drift on the morning wind
Lifted away.
Nothing a hot cup of tea can't heal.
Cupped in bare hands like a baby bird,
Sipped in measured doses.

Branches bend and leaves turn their faces
As the dainty nodding of grass heads agree
It's not so bad, this life, this morning
And there's still time for a second cup of tea.

Running home

Her face is painted bright blue with nursery tattoos,
A caterpillar across her forehead,
Butterfly on one cheek,
Penguin on the other.
No reasons are ever required.
Running and slipping,
Skipping and skidding.
She rounds the corner and heads for home,
No thought, no brakes.
Pure energy perched on a pair of legs.
"I'm first!"
And she always is.

The walker

From the top of the hill he waited
As ragged breath found its cadence
And the clouds spun above him
On the wheel of a hawk.
Greens and blues of the world
Broken down into colour.
The heat of his walking soaks away
As the wind pulls in like a boat in a storm
Trying every crack to find safe harbour.
He crouches, sits, slumps
Using his pack as chair-back and pillow.
Where he is and where he's been
Are forgotten in the morning sun.
Only the route ahead is important.
On cue he swings and stands.
Second hand throwing the pack up
As he starts the path afresh.

Life and a Game

Calm as an apple waiting to fall
You played the game
Queen to King's Knight 4
Stubby carvings clutched like thorns
And blood welled from your angry palms
Hinting at fractures deep below.
The plan had not gone quite to plan
Fate bursts like a rotten plum
Each detail caught and catalogued
Each avenue explored and closed
Only one weft thread remains
One path to tread upon.
A consequence of all that truth
A labyrinth of your own design.
You stand and face the vaulted arch
The judging lines arranged en masse.
A step stretched out on Einstein's line
It's time itself can't take the weight.

End of an Evening

A packet of biscuits, coffee and wine
Bag shouldered and on her way
Spoils of another night
Door left open a needle's length
Scabs reformed and picked away.
A black cab throttles past
A lamp post winks the night goodbye
And foragers fill the air with wings.
She stands at the corner of Methen Street
Fingers spidered around an iron ring.
There is only one route to follow now.
She sets her heel to the dusty road
And pulls her woollen hat down low.
The city cats prick up their ears.
The leopard is awake.

The Bonefire

The difficult abstraction stood
And stole the branches from the wood
Left every tree bereft of birds
Bare trunks echoing tumbled words
While swift and true he ran the ditch
That led beside the loathsome rich
Piled the wood, let flow the oil
Carefully laid the peaty soil
Then rested every turn of the clock
Remaining 'fore the crowing cock.
As light's first feathers shook off the night
He rose and mocked their glittering might
Stood naked winged with mist and dew
Laughing as their arrows flew.
Answered their charge with a final spit
Turned and signalled the fires be lit.
Took up his horse and rode away
As all in that bonefire burned that day.

Acid Rain

Your words are poison.
Flint-tipped spears
That drip like rain
On stony ears.
Pedantic clouds
The perfect pitter-pat
Of rhythm erupting
Damp and fat.

Cooper's Hill

Steep and swift the falling lee
The drop that lifts the spirits so,
Grass as high as the eye can see
And a cheese at the summit ready to go.
With a roar the cheddar churns the ground
And cheesecloth shreds the brittle mud
As piles of bodies tumble down
With broken bones and scuffs of blood
Inexorably those packed curds roll
Like wild boar clearing a woodland path
That lactic gyre takes its toll
Cheese always has the final laugh.

Broken Bones

Of the mountains that we struggled on,
Of the valleys we never enjoyed.
For every step out of sync we took together,
Arrows from all sides, friend and foe.
The only certainty was forever.
We had our moments then,
You plump with the burden of life,
Me pretending help was sought by failures.
But there was too much underneath.
Every cupboard stuffed with broken bones.
Our child was never born to be our saviour.
So we agreed we'd never again contact,
You left on your road, and I turned back.
I thought any life was better than none, but I was wrong.
There's no one here to miss me,
Kiss my tears and take the pain away,
And no-one need notice now I'm gone.

The Goat

Let me tell you a story of whitest fear
A tale of terror inchoate.
In your madness to stop you'll bite off your ears
To silence the telling of ... the goat.

A spirit cursed to walk the earth
Barred from its rest below.
Death, the power that gave it birth,
And death is all it knows.

You'll hear at first its low dread moans.
What? No, of course there is no bleating.
This phantom wails the bassest tones,
A sign your grasp on life is fleeting.

A cloak of phosphor lights its frame.
What? Horns upon its head?
I suppose if there had been some game
Or a trophy hung over its death bed?

Where was I? The goat, oh yes, the goat.
An apparition from the grave.
What? On four feet like a stoat?
If you saw it you would not be so brave.

Its coming heralded by the rattle of chains,
And the very air grows stiller and colder.
If any of you fools had any brains
You'd run for your lives if you want to grow older.

They hate the living, the disinterred,
They hate those who wronged them in life the most.
Hang on a minute, I must have misheard.
Apparently it's not a goat, it's a ghost.

The Rite

The blister wells surprisingly fast
As you hold your finger in the fire
And I count in reverent seconds watching
Your bitten lip and flickering eye.
With a gasp you plunge your hand in the water.
Six seconds, our record time.
I worry I'm counting the seconds too slowly
But you assure me I'm doing fine.
And then it's my turn to prove myself.
To join the club and closer to you.
You suck your wound, eyes raised, expectant
As I move to the flame and pass right through.

The Painting

Why do you look at me,
Hand in your hair,
Recalcitrant gaze
Daring to welcome me.

Why do you sit
With that flower in your dress
Low-cut and leaning,
As tactful as sin.

You whisper, I mishear
You beckon, I wait
Careless and languid
My fate in your grasp.

Why are you still,
A painting in freeze-frame,
Hanging in silence
Your game has been played.

Inflatable

Two thumbs bruised
And skin removed
No other torture but my own
Perhaps too soft to work machines
A life of typing
Left me ill prepared.
I huffed and puffed
And blew my house up.
Pegged it down and leapt inside
But next came airbeds, sofa, pillows,
and my puff was not enough.

The Question

The great divide
A chasm of doubt
Which way will it go,
In or out?

The fence long ago
Fell in the sea
There's no middle ground
To dilly-dally.

For all the blast
And counter-blast
I don't think the true question
Was ever unmasked.

I never once heard
A single 'truth'
That wasn't countered
With equal 'proof'.

...

Two Thumbs

The zip stuck
And the rain came down
Coat held tight between two thumbs
You ran on tiptoes through the floods
To the sound of mermaids laughing
Hair dark and dripping
Smile never leaving your eyes

I loved you then as I love you now
Everything entranced
Water could not douse my heart
As I followed you out into the storm