Poetry Blogs (2012, guilt)
Getting acquainted with the moon
we exchange so many glances
and on my back
a thousand heart-attacks roll past
My fingers beside, cross and uncross
as you sleep, so black
back in the real world
paid up entirely
on your subscription
to actual reality
O would you bring me a souvenir
from the envious depths of endless peace
perhaps a child or a patient nurse
or some cont...
Tuesday 20th November 2018 6:29 pm
Friday night we walked along the beach
talking over a static sea
through all we wearily witnessed this year
still we speak in riddles
the way men often can
it only gets harder as you get older
weighted with expectation
You didn't turn to face me
kept your eyes fixed on the horizon
said 'she's pregnant'
with a pregnant smile
Black boots kicking stones across wet sand
choking out cong...
Friday 5th January 2018 8:22 pm
My studies have given me a legacy of interest in many and wide-ranging social, moral and ethical fields and concerns, as well as the politics of power. This piece is a manifestation of that legacy.
"The world is splitting open at my feet like a ripe, juicy watermelon." Sylvia Plath.
On her gravestone: “Even amidst fierce flames, the golden lotus can be planted.” Wu Ch'Eng-En.
Sunday 31st December 2017 11:44 am
i am never one to say ‘i was only kidding’
i am the type who experiences guilt
physical and mental
never mad at those who snap at me
patience is something that i need
Monday 20th November 2017 8:54 pm
Can starlight fathom the distance it has traveled?
Does it count the time in hours, parsecs, even knots?
If I turn on my DVD, will I thunder through the
Cosmos as another wave of noise until the hand
Of time comes to switch off the hearing-aid of God;
And then, even as the webs of interwoven disruption
Traverse the galactic heavens, the only ears to hear them
Will have been deafened by the ...
Friday 13th January 2017 11:35 am
Within that morning abyss,
I saw an imposing figure -
Shamed from guilt,
She shied away.
Oh, the sight I saw -
A figure so small,
Hunched over -
A lack of senseless pride.
Wednesday 29th June 2016 12:22 pm
And now I must recover myself
Left, after centuries of fearful neglect
Washed up to dry on a sunless beach.
And now I must plait my hair
Dull, after nights of washing in grease
The guilty searches for lost affection.
And now I must return home,
Home, where I’ve never been
And sit a while and say sorry, I’m sorry, to me.
Wednesday 16th March 2016 3:27 pm
I pull you out
Smoothing your creases
Lying you flat so I can
Fill you with
A sweet mixture of guilt
There's artistry in my fingers
As I roll you expertly
(From years of practice)
Along your length
Into the shape I desire
I lick your edges
Firmly sealing you with a feather like touch
I place you lovingly between
Flicking the flame
That will bring you to li...
Monday 22nd February 2016 10:26 am
Glass sides tip away the hope of perception and cameras flash away any hint of reflection
at this hub of metal minds and stiff bodies.
This soft grey raven digs for existence among the steel nest of discardment.
Every sip a taste of us, our residue his everything.
Around me, gold fingered bird-watchers with their fogged up binoculors,
tasting their uncessary glory.
Molten pride down th...
Thursday 20th November 2014 3:30 pm
Send away my sweet caress, bring me nights of guiltiness,
Break my heart and break my bones, this is the only way I've known. I fade to grey so suddenly, not half the man that I used to be, The peace in my heart has gone, I wonder whic...
Tuesday 2nd September 2014 8:06 pm
Digital Clock Blues
the pulsing dots on my digital clock
are slightly out of sync
with my thumping heart and spinning head
I’m so drunk I can’t think
I see your face like neon taste
it makes me want for home
my hair’s a mess my clothes un-pressed
Oh Christ! I need a comb
my love’s shot down in rainbow ruin
I’ve played the game and lost
now the drinking’s stopped me thinking
Monday 5th May 2014 7:41 pm
you are ticking the subscription of a shotgun smile
the restless reminder, the stranger behind you,
twice barrelled quarantine of lush glories
tar fingered around the ringed copper, broken and unworthy,
smoking in the buttoned up knowledge of hereditary tracts,
winter tracks and the plastic penance of a youthful slaver
“x” shan't mark the spot where we shall bury you
Saturday 15th February 2014 9:14 pm
That Which Autumn Leaves
The clowns were funny in the ring,
as they joked and tumbled and fell -
but in the camp, after the show,
they made our young lives hell.
Still in their masks of garish paint
and drunk on Vodka shots,
they cut and bruised and beat us,
hatching cruel, twisted plots.
I never saw the demons
lurking safe behind the masks
Tuesday 14th May 2013 11:50 am
Encounter (This Motorway’s Mine).
A black crow struts down the central reservation,
pecking at the remnants of undefined road-kill.
The white dotted line stretches out forever –
reminds me of the perforated slip on a tax form –
something that’s required but causes great effort
to tear along regardless, and sod the consequence.
A lemon-curd sandwich, parke...
Thursday 21st March 2013 11:02 am
I know I’ve got a lot of stuff and no, I don’t need much more.
I know advertising’s full of guff and persuasion is what it’s for.
I know others needs are greater, but too often I forget
As I’m a self-berating splurger, oft wracked with deep regret.
No matter if you’re measuring in common, pounds or pence,
Too often it would seem that we have more money than sense.
Thursday 27th December 2012 11:11 pm
August spawned a raging storm
four nights we watched our TV burn
we wrung our hands in shock and shame
then looked for someone else to blame
gazing over the fresh grown rubble,
the long term surplus of borrowed trouble
it begs a question with which we must wrestle.
if it’s only the threat of burning petrol
that makes the truth of now more palpable
Friday 24th August 2012 3:21 pm
I’m stuck for what to buy for my 11 year old
So big sister prises herself off Facebook
to help spend my money
(an honourable cause, in her books)
and suddenly we’re flicking through the years
as she remembers the day Santa died
a friend’s house, a dinner table
how adult and child laughed as they stuck the knives in
how she’d wanted to cry, but joined in
Friday 30th December 2011 10:00 am