Once I was a pacifist, I was an objector.  

A campaigning reformer, I was a protester.  

Now I’m a radical extremist, snowflake moaner.  

Domestic terrorist, another social-justice warrior.  

Someone who’s made a point but won’t shut up.  

Ready to tear society apart, a loon, a hateful zealot.  

Professional agitator, and someone to rein in.  

A danger to our ...

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I never understood why my mother is like that.

She does not like being with people.

She locks herself inside the house.

Sometimes I see her under a blanket,

eyes swollen,

breathing like she is trying not to cry.

I never understood why my mother is like that.

She does not eat with us.

She cooks, then turns away.

Sometimes I see her pick rice from the floor, dirty, s...

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A red kite languidly drifts across field

Tick

A peregrine stoops into the woods

Tick

Pigeons scatter

Tick

Was that a kingfisher?

Probably was

You only ever see a flash of turquoise 

Anyway, tick

Parakeets squabbling in the oak tree

Before they settle down for the night

Tick

Blue tit

Tick

Robin

Tick

Tick, Tick,tick

But I seem to remember 

Lon...

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Thunderous bolts of lightning every morning

Gazing at a screen, still learning

Chess pieces move devoid of doubt

An evil kettle spews at its hot spout

News of the mighty, judging so rightly

Dastardly and Mutley chase us so cowardly

This is not the breakfast I was prescribed

Hot eggs of death on a buttered lie

Where's that decafe coffee I can't find?

When w...

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The cyclical cycle

Wields its surgical surge

While the secret secretes

Its violent urge.

A harmful hand

Wipes the blighted view

From a broken dream

Snapped in two.

The fearful foundling

Abandoned by love

Rebuilt by strangers

Help from up above.

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Remembering an Old Man

The crooked cabin, nestled in a stand

of birch and pocked with turkey plumes and bone,

recalls a gritty, grizzled promised land

of childhood. Gnarly as a bristlecone,

he stood in tractor cap and checkered shirt

and corduroy, a smirking glint of gold

between tobacco-rotted teeth, with curt

retorts in scratchy grunts, a peevish-souled

reclusive ...

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Yes, my friends, time really does quickly fly.

I was just thinking how 50 years have flown by!

I left Cardinal Godfrey behind, one long ago May.

And I started work virtually the very next day!

I became a young Telegraph Boy for the G.P.O.

That was my very first job…over 50 years ago!

I delivered Telegrams to Liverpool area’s 1, 2 and 3.

Sixth Form, College or University w...

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I bought a pair of denims back in ‘63

You couldn’t help but notice they were tight

Better known as drainpipes to you and me

To get ‘em on they put up quite a fight;

They called them “Shrink-to-Fit”s and so us men

Wore them in the bath these proto-types

They cut me near in half around the abdomen

I confess I looked a twat in my pipes.

Salvation was at hand though when t...

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The Reckoning of Verse

Words do not wait. 

They press against silence, 

strain against the skin of unspoken 

thought, demanding release.

Time does not permit softness. 

It carves urgency into bone, 

   into pulse,

                into breath, 

         leaving no room for hesitation.

Poetry often arrives unbidden, 

clothed in necessity-

a for...

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From the storm,  new things shall come

Seedlings will spring forth 

Fragile is the foetus conceived in pain

But soon there will be fire coursing through their veins

New leaves unfurl,  gasping for air

They will devour the sunlight

Roots will dig deep in search of justice

And they will find it

Strength is found in courage

Courage will persevere until justice pre...

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Poem 189 of 230:  TO SEE AN UNCLE, AGAIN - WINTER 2001/2

Leaving the broad scenes of England’s North East,

    From corner to corner, by coach journeys,

For the beautiful hedge-bank boundaries,

    And mazy lanes, that herald the South West.

(C) David Franks 2003 - https://walkaboutsverse.blogspot.com

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We walk this world in different ways,
With different looks and different days,
Different stories, voices and views,
Different dreams and different shoes!

Some speak softly, some are loud,
Some stand out, some blend in crowds,
Some move quickly, some take time,
Each life a rhythm, each a rhyme!

Though our paths may twist and bend,
Respect is where they always end,
For every heart, bot...

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“Poetry is the journal of the sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air. Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable. Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.” — Carl Sandburg, from The Atlantic, March 1923. 

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When winter’s cold begins to bite

and blue skies fill with clouds of grey,

we must prepare for nature’s night,

when winter’s cold begins to bite.

The world outside, all draped in white

through Yuletide games that children play,

when winter’s cold begins to bite

and blue skies fill with clouds of grey.

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Moths climbing from heavy velvet

Will it snow tonight in Stockport, Aberdeen or Cornwall?

From an ancient marriage cake he inhales every fragment

of deceit

And so Goretti comes to bear....

Time travelling to find the words are hidden in an letter sealed 

before I started out

addressed to Phillip Larkin, still unable to get the sound 

of the tapping snow out of my head

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Restrained by a past that is still haunted

By yesterday's ghosts, within and without.

Notions of possibility daunted

For you are manacled by crippling doubt. 

Self-imposed regret acts as a chained ball

That restricts your future reach into light.

Hopelessness and despair, a leadened shawl

Like life's straitjacket, with its straps pulled tight. 

Nested, because the trut...

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give me a “maybe” 

I don’t expect anything else 

in these times of uncertainty 

nothing’s a safe bet 

until you know me 

take it on faith 

everything I appear to be 

is an incomplete take 

and a maybe 

ain’t less that I’d expect 

“strategize boldly; implement cautiously” 

that’s how I live 

eight billion others 

sisters and brothers 

all wai...

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I’d hate to sit with the poets

their laughter arrives

a second before the silence

something in them stays seated

unmoved

while the rest pretends to live

they carry whole winters

under light conversation

hands steady

eyes elsewhere

pain is taught patience

it waits

I’d hate to sit with the poets

because the page knows

what the room is spa...

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What Keeps Us Returning

What keeps the volunteer returning
three years,
three mornings a week?
The book of notes from each situation,
each client needing an appointment,
the way she wrote detailed and fast,
the surety in the typing of the reports
of what was asked, what advice was given,
impact and resolution,
the face to face and telephone work
of advice giving,
the quiet rhythm of ...

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You’re always wondering where to get a man in black, and that’s the thing, you don’t look for one, he gets to you in the darkest night, I got mine when I was about to die, he knows how to act, he smiled, his magic move, he got that light, I flew with no doubt, he got my mind, before I’d say hi.

The man in black control my mind, my life is a project in his archive, I was an alien classified z, n...

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The streets don't recognize
The struggles, they don't read 
The reason behind a dropping
Smile or a weakening spine. 
All they're invested in is 
Whether or not the 
Perfect looking ship sinks.
I urge you to break 
These widespread links 
And observe the faces,
The traces that they leave,
The stories that they weave;
A little sniffle, a little sigh 
And we're convinced that 
One has ...

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with apologies to Elmore James

The Watergate story was unfolding

the summer I often found myself

covered in dust. Bowie’s Starman

had landed from another planet.

I was a recovering uni dropout

with no clue what to do next.

I don’t remember it raining much.

Still, you could only stand it

for an hour or two. We parked

our bins in an alley out of sight

of the ...

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—some closeness is measured not in touch, but in the spaces we dare to share

Work spouse—HR shorthand for a lived cliché.

X-rays in long-abandoned airports read sonnets under our silk.

Yes, we learned the steps of that corporate ballet.

Zippers silently weep—damned to sulk.

As highways unbuttoned, our days lived out in lost miles.

Blouses slipped one notch—sheer fabric ...

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He stood, a splinter in the light,
A vertical and patient plea.
No more the wrestle with the night,
The gnarl of time, the weight of bee.
The Gate, not pearl but weathered bone,
An arch of tangled, rootless thorn.
A silhouette, on a stark white throne,
Of branches, bleak and inward-torn.

The Arbiter, a hollow growl
That spoke in droughts and dying sap:
“Your ledger’s long. The season’s...

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Some colors are questionable,
why do we keep returning to the same circle?
learning how to breathe inside a bubble,
digging for meaning beneath the rubble,
sometimes I feel I am a stranger.
On the road of becoming a winner,
where some leaves must fall into wonder.
God is the reason to be better,
so I learned.

From purple to the jungle.
I found a miracle.

I cannot meet all the expect...

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A modern poet studies nature
from a little honey-pot park
close to his streets, traffic still audible
the day nothing happens, he muses
on all the wonders of the world
and kicks plastic bottles.

No shocking news report
need he re-dress as a poetry
on the day nothing happens
all is tranquil riding alpha waves
and ready for a giant leap
the poet covers the distance quickly.

For ...

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David Bowie 10 years on
Left this world right on song
David Bowie where did the time go
Too soon you departed don't you know
David Bowie 10 years gone 

January 10 2016 changes unforeseen
The thin white duke has gone and been
The jean genie had sound and vision hey
All the young dudes jump they say
Oh you pretty things loving the alien more
Diamond dogs they howl and  roar
Let's dance ...

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A ROCK, THE DEVIL

AND THE DEEP BLUE SEA

By the Urban Poet

A rock, a hard place, an impossible choice

A voice of reason or one of despair?

The stark realisation that you have no voice

As you concede defeat on a road to nowhere.

Around in circles your thoughts and feelings

The pro’s and cons continually revisited

Over and over, back and forth, looking for solutions, b...

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QUIDDITCH FOR THE NEW GENIACK

Take a look at an F. What is in an F? It comes after E in the alphabet; which reminds me of an experiment I conducted as a boy. My boyhood book back at seven performed at least four scientific functions: it encrypted a node to do with Gravity, stored the idea of the net in writing in the attic to give it a chance to grow all around the world, conducted an...

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The merchant rises before the dawn

And sees the darkness fading

For another day of trading

An existence so degrading

In its repetitious gloom

And soon it will be time to start

The grinding shift, its end so far

Away from where the two arms stand

Into the strand and down the hall

Up the escalator to the end of the mall

And the sliding doors, they open wide

The hungr...

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Love and Other Lamentations

There are so many sad songs I told her

But she said it’s okay to cry.

Love recited in every lament

Reflects in life’s watery eye.

Affections, although temporary,

Are only thin disguise.

Faith is the delusion that

Haunts us ‘til we die.

Religion nestles somewhere close.

Constructed by dream-weavers,

It affords them absolution.

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We’re not the type to shed a tear;

We’re rather stoic as a rule.

Our jaws are square, our cheeks stay dry,

And yet you’ll know the reason why

We’re crying for America.

The tinpot sheriff waves his gun;

His henchmen giggle from the back.

The landscape is replete with lies;

As one more blameless victim dies,

We’re crying for America.

The air is thick, the coin...

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Never never never again 

Nor ever

not one drop, one glimpse, one glimmer

bright beauty needs no amplification, authentic souls need no gilding; true and deep speaks for itself, knows no glorification, cannot even recognize gilded glory

C'est fini 

      never is also for forever 

Dance, fly, leap, crawl, dance away villain 

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Evil tyrants craving self- importance

Leading armies inflamed with destruction

Till such time - - -

The pages become human sacrifices.

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Certainties

I’ve been thinking about the challenges of singing a fugue and its relevance to everyday life. A quick and crude explanation for the non-musicians reading – in choral music, and elsewhere, a fugue consists of a theme, or themes, sung in one part and taken up by the others at different times, with some variations, overlapping and building, weaving together an interlocking a...

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As I embrace the internet
I feel like I’m the conduit

Amassing knowledge at a cost
I feel my sense of self is lost
I watch my life evaporate
Restart now for new updates

Reading through the latest blogs
By some well known clever clogs
I scarce remember my life before
Look out – its error 404

Always, always online browsing
What’s the current price of housing
Here's a house that loo...

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My toys had a difficult time when I was young.
I'd spend hours building models of ships,
and then set them on fire in our backyard.

Imagining them on the losing end of a valiant battle,
a terrible conflagration off the coast of some faraway shore.

This was repeated many times, cementing my reputation

as a terrible fleet commander.

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the beach

not just a sandy haven with an ocean

no outside world to bother her 

only the sand and the ocean 

and the tranquility 

which allow for possibility

and hope - for something different

the beach

the promenade 

the liminal space

between intuition, time

and the quest for

truth

taken, borrowed, inspired by:

Not All Travellers Walk Roads:...

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An afternoon of healthy sport
At swimming pool or tennis court...
The prospect makes me turn and run, 
I hate such so called 'good clean fun': 
   Oh Christ, before I lose my mind,
   Give me some of the dirty kind.

An evening walk, a meal with friends, 
A game of Risk that never ends,
A holiday: the surf, the sun... 
I'm sick to death of 'good clean fun':
   Oh Christ, before I lose...

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While the controversial Shakespeare Authorship Contention was in “full swing” towards the beginning of the 21st century another academic supposition emerged amongst Shakespeare scholars, researchers and cryptographers, namely was there any hidden structure, code or cipher contained in the 154 verses of “Shakespeare’s Sonnets”? And, furthermore since they were assumed to be of a ‘biographical natur...

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Scratching the surface - that's business as usual
Life as a random series of etchings
Occasionally digging a little deeper
Finding love or beauty or kindness or understanding
But rich furrows become ruts - it's their nature
As joy disintegrates into weariness we climb back onto the surface
To take a breath of different air and continue our scratching

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I’ve gotta channel this — pain that comes with the abandonment.

Your heart was a ruse, something I couldn’t handle then, but still managed it. 

Now you’re gone, the pedals that brought light to your hair have slowly decomposed.

It’s all for nothing, the gifts that we shared have also lost their home. 

It’s almost crushing, how I still feel your touch beneath my soul. 
 

So, why are...

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The Cailleach

Beara

The Cailleachan

The Queen Of Winter

Calls to the pale children

Crouched before their screen god

Gently coaxing

With icicled words

That chill their veins

Draw their eyes

Away from the magic box

Onto the glass

Of a mist-cornered windowpane

Stumbling to the door

Turning the handle

Falling into the soft cold world of reality

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The unplanned morning unfolds

And It makes your blood run cold.

For lurking on a coreflute sign

An unseemly fate foretold..

Of a conveyance hated by the masses

Since it’s very first trip.

When somebody, after riding it said, 

this is really shit…

The faces of those onboard

read like a horror novel.

As they sit there fiercely seething

While being shaken, b...

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These early in the year days are a waste of time

as dismal as a job centre

opposite a bookies

next door to an amusement arcade

that used to be Woolworths

where we could scoop sweets with little shovels

on the way home from school

When friends planted stink bombs

and scrumped fruit to use as grenades

on streets where drunk men puked their wages

and crow pries...

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I triggered a dent in the pool
Because of all the coins I'd tossed, hoping they would be eaten
By the ghoul who makes wishes come true,
So he and I are both well-fed.

But my world is small and ambition boundless,
I realize, as I stare at my potential,
An arched sunbeam, a half-hearted caress,
A constant reminder seeping through the walls of my shell.

But I can't make peace with what I'...

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I open my chest like a book

Spine bending to allow this move

Both arms in use

I’m the shape of a hook

As though a hollow recess nooks

In the shelter of my wings 

But instead: colours and depth expose

Crumbs of my world escape

They’d talk for us if they could

You’re far away

Stiff, a figure from wood

Unable to reach out 

From where you’re stood 

Or even from n...

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Remember those who have passed on,
Who were once with us but now have gone.
For themselves they cannot speak,
So remember when they were strong or weak.

Happy memories can be shared
With all of those who loved and cared.
We may sort out different selections 
Of special times and recollections.

Remember their laugh and their smile,
And think of the good times all the while.
All those ...

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Right now, as I sit here and pour my heart out onto these pages, tears stream down my face, and my chest tightens with the weight of a thousand burdens. I am engulfed in the grip of a panic attack, suffocating beneath the weight of my own despair. Yet, even in the midst of this darkness, I feel compelled to put pen to paper, to give voice to the anguish that threatens to consume me.

In the vast...

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Mornings that feel like leftovers
once you put the Christmas tree away.

The snow that everytime it comes down
takes you further away from your childhood.

The cold that gets underneath your coat
every time your train gets cancelled or delayed.

The calendar on your phone tells you
that in 37 days it will be light at 7 pm.

The month that asks for patience 
you simply don't have.

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