Saturday, 29 September 2012


                  
               
                    
Someone slipped me a mickey at the Robey.
Kev hard driving home on a pill,
shooting clean down the chrome tunnel.
Talking to me through tin can ear horns,
his car sick road bitch,
pulling colours off the street lamps.
~
On my own;
should I walk home through dark car parks?
If I drove in I'd still have to walk out.
~
Someone called to sell me car insurance;
'you never fancied driving?'
'No.'

 

Wednesday, 26 September 2012

Out Late

Out late in the

big city

for the first time

this century

alone

aware of my watch

not on my wrist

where I wish

I could feel its strap

if I lose

my way

at least I'd know

the time

in a place

I once felt was

my home

I walk careful as if

the pavement could hurt me

you are here I see

the moon

one edge away

her cheek on the blanket

I catch hold

with a sound

when I see her over

the sea

and walk

ballerina sole weight

I follow the

I want to be home

of suitcase wheels

only us

does she know the way

the girl turns

still walking

afraid.

Coach number 1 of 8


The next station is
East Croydon
the sun's out
lighting the carpet
bless you says
the transport policeman
a man not of
English extraction
sneezed
I thought as much
time for me to go
be careful
The Strand
an exhibition
no parallel
on the way home
I'm going Embankment – Victoria
one rabbit listening
Faris
ink factory
rainbow
not over the bridge
Waterloo and all that
I'm taking gloves
Alex said you need
gloves and a mask
the direct route
when you make
your own
kiss
get that in your eye
one magpie two
you could go blind
deer!
green men in my
favour
you're pushin' too hard
you're pushin' too hard
astro turf doesn't
I want to go
this way
soak up the water
I got levitation
men and boys
horses
an orderly queue
and some girls
hands in pockets
and guitar cases
outside G.A.K.
thank God
what's going on
long black hair
dyed
in a field
black cattle
streaks down his face
the rain's stopped
Kerry King from
Slayer's
in town
a leather jacket
all runs off
hot and dry top
legs all wet
I know
I'm wearing mine too
made to measure
for his sister
thank God
the rain's stopped
I got it cheap
allotment
can you please
change these coins
what time are you
travelling home
we are now
if you're quick
approaching
East Croydon.



 

Tuesday, 18 September 2012


    
   
Look down,
I am in a tower
with brick holes
letting in day and
played by the air.
Prison.
I can hear time passing
and storm battles,
but they cannot touch me
through ancient walls.
Dust glimmering
on bridges of light.

 

Thursday, 13 September 2012

There are times

There are times when a spotlight blows

like a heart night out

streaming open

and I wonder

'what would tomorrow be like if I were in….?

Patti, you name the place?

Russia.

Closer on the office wall map

than the United States.

A news story

a reality

as I write what I think

and publish

and note that someone

in Russia is reading

my working organs

dressed and shaded

dreams

undressed and re-written

opinions of………

it's not very clear.

But just to fill the silence

what do you have for dinner?

Yes Patti, I like fish too

and the sea

and I would love to listen

and talk to you

for longer than a show

about northern hills

planted with graves,

living and

lovers who are dead.

One of your broken strings

connect me, please.

The girl upstairs

has just come home.

Talking on her phone,

'yes Dad, sunny but a little windy'.

She's out on the roof garden,

a red admiral flying between us.

In a country I could travel to by train

there are two girls in prison

her age, young voice,

dyed hair and tattoos.


 


 

Pride

With zen acceptance

I should feel blessed

that I keep throwing up

anything I can't stomach.

Can I keep looking through

this open wound on my eye

and be proud?

Or is it a curse

jarring my nerves

when the lid bangs on the wall

as I put my foot down

to throw out more rubbish?

How far is my tread allowed

for you, or for me?

No one to pass this down to

or interrupt

so I have to finish the job myself,

no excuses.

There's something rotting in there

makes me gag every time

but I don't have the time

to take it out

and start a fire,

I'm busy.

And someone will say

'I didn't think you were the type'.

Someone always does,

but I mustn't be judgemental.

So do I glitter myself pink

and poke in some feathers

suitable for my size?

Try and sing in key

or fire rounds from a machine gun

disregarding anyone trying to sleep?

Oh dear, I forgot

it was me trying to sleep.

All that decoration

the trouble it takes

industrially constructed underwear

under a painting

a Pre-Raphaelite masterpiece,

now what was it I was

preparing myself for?

Oh yeah, that fire

but I've left it too late

and this party dress has instructions;

keep away from fire.

Please don't credit me for this,

I might not feel

up to the challenge later.

~

Just a cosmetic burn,

don't tell anyone,

it really is the tonic.

I don't qualify for

some mothers little helper

and a scold indoors

saves me the shame of

raising my skin in public.

How can anyone be ill

if they're not swollen and livid?

Yesterday I looked down

on a polite English queue;

alphabetical.

But tomorrow

even if I get to the window

that surname, I try not to use,

I'll be reminded is at

the end.


 


 


 


 

Saturday, 1 September 2012

First of September

After a deeper silence

in the mirror

I see a lighter black

than the solid block of night

by a near full moon.

~

I'm forgotten, don't exist

washed out in the spinner

over and over

they made a carving

on my temporal bone

I can hear when I'm quiet

waiting for her

to come of age.

~

Feeling like I've had too much

this week

last night a girl years away

behind the veil of clouds

though the day had been

clear

enough to walk by Lois

and a grey cat almost invisible

on a grave

moving to comb through some gold

and let me

lie down.

~

But we walked on

and again before bed

to see her

and an antique moth

through the window

body like a saint

owl eyes on his wings.