Lurk

Malcontent to stop me dreaming.
A bitter play that keeps revealing.
Scenes upon a static stage.
The macabre heart for this new age.
For doubt replaces it’s bloody setting.
A pumping organ that keeps forgetting.
That you lurk inside this hazy past.
A haunting ghost that always lasts.
And wades on through our murky trauma.
Pining for a love that former,
took the place you now reside.
And kills this love that I tried to hide.

F(l)inch

The air is alive, black on blue.
A multitude of ravens, seizing the world.
Magpie eyes on anything that shimmers.
You unfurl and follow. Placing the ties that bind.
Half asleep, half blind to predicament.
But something murmurs. Something calls.
An unfinished business that followed from before.
Each step, eyes down.
Stepping out from a dream, feeling the floor.
A product of now, naked and true.
Let the feathers unfold, and roll into a climb.
Un-flinch. SkyWest. Un-crooked.
Drop the grey.
The waiting in line.
And sing, distant and near.
A song so many wish to know sincere.
Eyes closed, breathing in the new air.
And let your colours paint the sky.
Wiping across a new dawn.
And darkening their sheltered lives.

Save yourself/serve yourself

Now that we are so anaesthetised.
We settle for blankness.
Without any compromise.
You suck the soul from us every day.
Filling the void with countenance and suspicion.
Such a beautiful paradox, what a time to be alive.
So lazy by design.
You wear the masks of the familiar.
Cutting the ties that bind us to our future.
And who are we to utter, the silent stutter into separation.
Your IS desperation to keep us scared.
There is no oil here, only pits of anger.
Bubbling to the surface.
Such disturbance now at the house.
The roaring of a mouse, of a nation who were followers.
Now numbering the chorus that’s out of control.
Democracy hangs in the air, like the miasma of the 18th century.
Fogging London once more with a noxious distaste.
We all wear our own tin foil crowns.
Crunching the bones of despair.
The Fear of standing for something.
I am but one of many, lounging in my paralysis.
A self-inflicted state of disconnect.
Waiting for the numbness to arrive.

93

Lost, feeling the way out.
Travelling through the veins of god.
Hearing that global heartbeat.
I want to swallow the moon tonight.
To feel the tidal shift in my stomach.
To spit out the bones of the past.
And the well-travelled tin cans.
I touch this earth, and it feels like home.
Yet when my eyes blink open.
I am crushed by the weight of this world.
I belong here, but a million miles behind in time.
Waiting for the palm leaves and ferns to sprout in my veins.
I wish to return, and remain.
Eating forbidden fruit.
Running with the beasts.
Perhaps the change will come from inside.
Washing over me like conscience.
Seeing the divine in all that my eyes lay upon.
This is our home. It’s our only one.
Ninety three million miles from the sun.

Saints (attached)

The blankness of the shadows that pass.
Yet wonders dwell underneath.
Hidden stories that flow like lava mines.
Emotions running deep.
Eyes that meet on the train.
Skin that breathes all the same.
We are each a spark of light.
Glowing intermittently in the cold expanse of now.
Reduced down as the 20th century folded.
The devils may click their tongues, and hide in caves.
Dipping into those darkness pools.
But we are stronger in the sun.
Renewed and burning with a soul-ar flame.
And I move with purpose with an alleviated heart.
Often reminded of the angels I’m among.

Lune à l’esprit

These moments, like pearls on silver lips.
Gently spun and mouthed in wonder.
Consumed by the burning fire of solar saturation.
A golden treasure that I can sit beneath.
Counting coins and constellations.
Never equalling my love for you.
We are but pieces of a shattered moon.
That fell to earth when the world was sleeping.
They never knew how I kissed you, pioneered your love.
Discoverer. Sweet foreign terrain.
Unknown to them in the quietness above.
We are blank space and white noise in their muddled worlds.
Silent, like the dawn.
Tiptoe with me now, to the edge of the unknown.
These transparent moments.
Into the corner of god’s pocket.
Un-stitching fabric and time, eager to breathe the space of the infinite.
And air that sets my soul alight.
Burning the past and dancing on the surface.
Of a moon that those below can only howl at.

So central

This illuminating version.
Drifting.
Loving, only when the time is right.
When it’s uncalled for.
Who knew?
Who cared?
A scorched soul while the film played on.
And all roads led to the same.
Your heart curdled up tight.
Wearing out my mind.
Melting the plastic of the world we once inhabited.
Central now.
Gaining control of a need that was needed.
Crazy, only to know we were always driving.
Using our knees to steer.
Hoping to crash and burn.
In a beautiful, all consuming fire.
So central to our survival.

Tender

Like the night. A soft velvet expanse.
Reaching through time.
Through misty eyes which open wide.
They devour me.
In a kiss that kills me, over and over.
Yet tenderly I swim down.
Passing jagged words you keep inside.
Released, only to the moon.
As you howl them into nothingness.
For tender is your way.
Sweet bruises of affection which stay,
within us forever.
As we nestle into the tender wings of love.
Slipping into time.

Weekend

Strained and untested.
(You’re not the only one)
Friday night and frantic.
Planned to get arrested.

They’ll pick up pieces of you in the morning.
Who flew your sanity out of here?
Drunk without a warning.
Stabs at conversations so unclear.

Saints be praised such holiness.
Washes over these tired feet.
Picked apart then slowly undress.
This divine and damaged piece of meat.

Blood is thicker

The red lights blur inside my skin.
Casting reflection on the mood I’m in.
A soured feeling of discontent.
The angry ebb of self-descent.
Yet neon blood flows inside my veins.
A pumping pressure which starts to gain.
That travels north from my deep south.
And splatters the truth from out my mouth.
Though shock is not my best intention.
Or to hurt, out this invention.
But to state boldly and from love.
That the only thing we share is blood.

Turning blue

Why is my world painted red?
No home, no hope, no heart.
Cast on a raft headed to the end.
Your vermilion tongue spits these thoughts.
A fever and the fakery that expands.
Yet these lies break in my hands.
And the hope swims beneath.
Blue and enticing. Like the ocean in god’s eyes.
A Sweet expanse of blue.
And nothing like you.

The ballad of Nancy Stokes

Clouds rolled in, all over the small town.
The air alive with the smell of chip shop grease and cheap aftershave.
Saturday night, alive and loud.
But not Nancy.
At least not by the end. Down in the canal.
Left to be found by old Mrs Clarence, off to the shops on a Sunday morning.
Her small dog Terry, sniffing at the banks where poor Nancy rested.
Her head covered in an old Tesco carrier bag.
But that night before, she’d dressed up to the nines.
No Tesco tiara threatened her styled hair.
Scraped back with mouse and anticipation.
For the dancefloor awaited, and the eyes were wet.
Leary sockets soaked in her moves.
The jostles and gyrations of decade old motions learned to entice.
To ensnare.
Those oiled men, with receding hair.
Nancy left her friend, who’d found Jesus in the bottom of a vodka bottle.
And then in the stall of the toilets which stank of desperation and piss.
With sticky kebab hands soiling her jeans and soul.
Where Nancy went, nobody knows.
But they left her her clothes at least.
Soaking in the green waters of the canal.
Where Mrs Clarence found her.
Nancy Stokes. The 40 year old girl who loved to dance.
But never learned to swim.

Indemnity

‘Stay’, was a word that hung in the air.
Everything else was torn down, packed and registered.
Brought out of the vault to tally up.
Staying meant deserting me.
It was something they could not understand.
The pieces of a life quietened.
Dormant dreams that may never awake.
‘I need a love that’s stronger.’
Was all that could be mustered.
From a breathe that was losing air and strength.
‘Then never think of me’, they said.
Closing their eyes to a mounting disaster.
One that came in with the rain.
That day I left.
Impossible words ringing in ears that had heard such sweetness before.
Closing doors that would never again be opened.
The price we pay to save ourselves, when our worth is so low.
Pales compared to the devil, who sits in the shadows.
Tallying up our souls.

 

 

I miss my ocean

Sand. Dirty sand and soil.
Dust in my mouth and coating this skin.
A film of sweat covers me.
Sticky heat and restless.
I miss my sea, the ocean that bore me.
Tranquil and deep like the pools in my mind.
To drift and meander across its aqua stretches.
Calms the blood that torrents through me.
I miss my sea, my ocean.
At times stormy, but full of life.
Threatening to pull me down to the ocean floor.
Where I can be alone, and able to heal.
The arid heat and air of this desert itches my eyes.
Scratches at the very thought of going on another day.
The salty air calls me back.
A maelstrom of reasons directing my compass.
To ride over waves and rise with Atlantis.
Reaching a trident back up to god.
So I shall make my way, and crawl back into the sea.
One which always welcomes and cherishes me.
Washing everything clean, and cooling my soul.
I miss my ocean.
I miss my sea.