Tuesday, 29 July 2014

The one with the maelstrom

Let's recap
because I forget where we are.
Right now, are we drowning in despair
or simply resigned to sadness?
Are we pissed-off at the past
or looking to the future?
The fog between us is thickening
like ice on a window; I can't see you clearly.
Maybe it's not the window.
Maybe you and I are shifting in the air
as dandelion heads blow this way and that.
The way déjà vu feels just out of reach
or hot air makes a jet engine quiver.
Sometimes I'm still some giddy balloon
because you are mine and I yours
and I wonder if love's the same when you're old.
Like, wrinkly and grey. Do you still walk taller?
Laugh more easily? Forget about death?
Other times I see you as incense dispersing
and soon I will remember only your scent.
Perhaps catch a hint on occasion
and have love flood back to me,
making any surrounding seem dull
and anyone present a dullard.
I have original thoughts all the time
of your perfume and orgasms.
Or 'bout how I might fold and stitch
the fabric of space-time, knit us together
into a blissful woolly jumper of delight.
With shoulder detail of stars and kisses.
I need to hear your voice to remember
what it was that made me better.
But I could not bear to disappoint you.
And I forget just where we are.
I forget where we are.

Sunday, 27 July 2014


You would've loved it today.
I took a walk among giants
looking upward all the way.
The light shone through their faces
and they spoke to me of things
I thought I understood.

They smiled when I talked of love
and shook their great heads when I told them
how long I would wait for you.
Time's no urgent thing for them
do you see?

Some were gnarled and armoured
as if dressed for battle.
Another'd a gaping wound in his breast
his heart torn open for all to see.
One had his limbs all hacked off;
some sort of surgical sanction
for what I do not know.

I walked in dappled sunshine
with the silence for company.
I forgot where I was.
Then I came upon a young one
in a clearing, greener than the others
and although he was yet to grow strong
he had a noble air about him.
Here is a future king of giants, I thought.
He had set himself apart and I was afraid
but a squirrel darted up his leg
and I saw he was a kindly fellow
with silver skin and golden hair.

We talked a while as the afternoon idled.
He thought our story a sad and beautiful one;
sympathised with our short lives
and said you'd be welcome to visit.
He told me his people were the guardians of eternity
that they could gift it to a lucky few -
the people made of stars.
He said we would understand
when we laid our eyes upon each other.

I left them there, searching the towering sky.
Over my shoulder, I saw how they spread their hands
to protect the dead and the grieving.

Friday, 25 July 2014

A poem about a garden or whatever

In the garden are all my wishes
Owls awake with bright eyes
frogs leaping, bees working
a hare stretching upward
Life pushes away all the emptiness
colour spills out with confidence
Everything here has everything it needs
I have nothing to give to the garden
The garden has everything I want


What's with all the pessimism
when you know full well
we're awesome together?
You're nuts if you think you're not the greatest
The bees knees, top banana!
Together we could do BIG STUFF...
e.g. start a famous rumour,
an organic food company,
or campaign for better bread.

We could leave murals in funny places
like office ceilings
in the night, like paint-ninjas.
Run the streets like children
Water fight psychology
Arts & Crafts and bongo drums
and finding out where Lucan went - OH!
Yeah, big job.

But we'd be King and Queen
You'd teach me how to read again,
I'd learn you how to talk proper.
And we would think that every day
was a bit better than the last
until we ran out of teabags.

Thursday, 24 July 2014

Colourful Language

Good Morning.

Hello sexy spectrum,        

I will paint you ecstatic,   
and leave you rosy.          

Tickle your green,           
slow orange massage.
Run tongue 'round raspberries,
and kiss your curve of purple.

I lavish lashings of juicy yellow,

spank and squeeze cerise,
run my fingers down the turquoise,
and hold tight to your teal.

Let my lips linger on pale nuptials,

and make a scarlet flush.

Pressing blue on blue,

I slip between the violet,
then finally admire
your smouldering gold.

Walking All Around

Late night. Tired poem.

These days I roam a restless landscape
with views full of feeling. I lose my way
in a sulky wood where the trees mope
and the forest floor is tangled always in gloom.

I see signs you passed through;
broken branches, damaged bedrock.
You have disturbed all the land
and burned the sorry ground.

I cross plains of apathy
climb peaks of jagged anger
and slip down a despondent gully.
The horizon is unclear.

That river is enraged at your indifference.
This spring gushes to your attention.
your silence leaves a gorge deeply wounded
and the sea dashes hopelessly on an unmoved cliff.

Canyons are aghast because you throw yourself
on thorns. Ruin yourself with rocks
when the country only showed some kindness.
A lake reflects beauty but you see something ugly.

There is a shaken volcano on a fault line
and every day it stops itself erupting.
Just sears and seethes. Grumbles at intervals,
wondering when is the moment to explode.

I wander this sensational territory
and always return to a hillside muddled
with discarded care and cast-out love.
Now where to go?

Sunday, 20 July 2014


If you think I am like the sun
perhaps you have a point.
Impotent and unable
to change trajectory - and
it's like I've always been here.
Since long before anyone
felt the heat of my fire.

If you say I'm like the sun
you're right. I burn for you.
Even as I age and die.
Even as the earth turns away her face
and when night falls I just burn elsewhere
but no less fierce.
I sometimes wonder; was I ever alight
if no-one felt my warmth at their back.

If I am like the sun I do not choose
to blaze, here, alone in vast emptiness.
It just is. Has always been and will be
and I ask nothing. And I want nothing
but to smile, cast my light your way
and know your feet will be warm
and your shadow chased away.

If you think me like the sun, then I endure
exquisite agony as I incinerate.
No reprieve, were I even wanting.
My light is everywhere. My fire, infinite
and I ask nothing, want nothing
but to consume every cinder
until galaxies collide,
the stars turn to black
and all is asleep,
forever dreaming of my love for you.