Friday, 28 January 2011

Femme Fatale

The junkies itch, deep and hot,
And station tracks forgotten and overgrown,
As the thorn's hole begins to rot
And he weeps, on the soiled mattress alone
The blackened wound, stenches, seaps
With the ache of what could have been;
Plaster crumbles inside walls as a rat creeps,
As the whole world folds inwards, and the walls upon him lean
He cooks the supper and into the blackness, the knife; the need
Yellow skin swells and the yellow teeth, grip the hide
The nihilistic strain of selfish greed,
No remorse or atonement; it was never tried,
Magician's smoke rolls past his eyes
And the world, now different from what was known,
Shines it's son through the blissful lies
And the darkness waits for him to be alone.
The wounds can heal and fade
In time, All junkies do know,
But deeper wounds from the blade,
And that dull itch and ache will never go.

Monday, 24 January 2011

Will I Remember?

Will I remember when I am old and grey,
Will I remember when I am thirty-two,
Will I remember how we used to play;
I dont want memories of everything
I'll be happy with just a few.

Will I remember climbing trees,
Will I remember playing in the dark,
Will I remember the cut and grazed knees;
I don't want to forget your face
In Summer, on the bench, in the park.

Will I remember the first kiss,
Will I remember our first time,
Out-of-control fires splashed with our piss;
We done a lot of crazy things:
The love of life, our only crime.

I want to remember laughing uncontrollably,
I want to remember playing on the sand,
Our differences overcome inexplicably;
As we ran through the woods
And ran through the fields, hand in hand.

When I am old and grey,
When I am in the month of December
Upon my terminal day,
I hope and pray to God, that
I will remember.

Thursday, 20 January 2011

Confession To My Love

I've fallen in love with someone else,
Someone different and new,
I wasn't expecting it to happen
I'm at a loss as what to do!

She's beautiful and charming,
She's also cultured and smart;
She is picturesque and calming,
And I dare say she's captured my heart.

She's a breath of fresh air,
And she lives life without a care,
Which is all well and good
But she's also got no hair.

She has got many different faces
But don't worry love, don't fret
Because she's overgrown in places,
And quite heavy set.

Please, love, don't hit me with that pan,
I was hoping she could take share with you of me,
Don't worry though, I am not her only man,
Because her name is Saltburn-by-the-sea.

Wednesday, 19 January 2011

Like a Young Charles Bronson!

I call you Bonny,
Even though it's not your name,
You excite me to no end:
Make me treat life like just a game.

You worry and fret
About having hairy legs -
And the growth of your moustache.
You look at me in the car and hold my hand,
Which I think is rather grand;
But I am more concerned with trying not to crash.

I call you the names
Of my favourite food,
I talk dirty and crass when we're apart
And your craving being screwed;
Now readers may find, this
Somewhat rather rude
But I can honestly assure you, that
It is nothing compared, to
When we're in the nude.

Tuesday, 18 January 2011

Lonely Mornings

I rise on the morning, alone
In bed, sometimes later than I'd like.
Breath struggles on the morning air,
Stretching itself in dense clouds
Before climbing into the sky.

Looking through walls, ether,
Land and sea; Seperating my love
And I, the facetious face
Bound to the tormented tomb:
The serious soul within the book,
Written in a language, you could
Never fully understand.

I sit in silence, watching time
Ebb and fade, like the moon
Sitting in the morning sky,
Praying for a glimpse
Of my love.

My love;
To which I owe my glow,
My smile and my energy;
Much more that I have,
An artillery
Bunkered away for the day,
That my love
Rises in the morning,
Next to me.

Monday, 17 January 2011

New Friends on New Days

People we meet in life, every month and year
Day in, and day out
People that come and go;
That may never know, what they instill
In a person, and imprint on the soul:
Memories doused in happiness,
Memories of moments draped in bliss.
The people that make these moments,
Are those that we will miss; their smile
And the things they taught, Make up their image
And leave no space for ill thought.

Good food, good drink
And even better company; perfect
Times that will remain indefinitely,
These that make up better parts, of my life:
Burnt-on images in grey matter
Of the two hands, grasping at a single knife.

Best friends of best friends,
Feeling already like best friends of mine
As we all stand together, linked in a line.

I am blessed to have met, and look forward
To meeting again;
I hope this is sooner, rather than later when,
I come to ask myself; when?

I am so glad to have met you, it is always
Who you are
Not what you do.
I consider you good friends, friends so true;
I can only hope you feel
The same way too.

Sunday, 16 January 2011

Celebratory Seizure

Yesterday was the day
That I had my first fit,
I didn't tell anyone -
I just got on with it.
I stood up too fast
As the world went black,
Down onto my head I crashed;
Big sore bump left at the back.

As my body descended and hit the ground
I rolled and shaked my body around.

I picked myself up, and sat
Myself in a chair,
I was aware for the moment
The feeling of panic there;

I took some deep breaths
And drove it away,
Nobody wants to be a pain
On someone elses wedding day.

Wednesday, 12 January 2011

Disdain and Despise for a Life that Never Dies

A bright white shade of grey
Fills the sky, with waves
Black and foaming at the mouth,
Nipping at the skin;
retreating and regrouping
over and again.
Pebble banks edge out;
Spat from the mouths, of dogs
Defending the deep black,
Secrets dormant beyond its
Burning watery gates, bubbling,
Frothing and foaming, As steam
Clouds hide the horizon
And blot out the sun glowing
Dim, fearful and pale, cowering
Behind clouds in the distance.
The crows sit on the beach, like boys
Outside bookmakers, waiting on a beating
From contemptuous fathers.
Driftwood coffins permeate, the pebbles
Stones and sand; inadequatly numbered
For all this dead scene holds:
Just pieces of shit on a dump.
I sit in disgust; waiting
For something to move, a murder,
Beauty, in serpents dislocated jaws
To slide inside.
Not a sound, nor whisper
As I open my eyes to the sun, breaking
Forth from clouds, spewing bile
Yellow, melting away solid blocks
Of grave, bitter and hateful words
That hang on ears in gusts,
Like harpoons and spears, to the skulls
Of seals, on broken glass beaches
Now arid and soft; feet lying in troughs
Of velvet, waiting on the pigs
Of men to pave over, this paradise
Empty and abandoned, the dog fighting pits
Sit desolate and still, as blood
Stained earth attaches screams, and yelps
Inside the ancient amphitheatre,
Whose ruins, now this bay.

Before The Shopper Arrive

The smell of breakfast lingers
On the air, in pubs
And the greasy spoons.

The morn still fresh,
A nicotene stained
White-washed world.

The feet breaking apart
Rainbows, preserved in the water
Upon a diesel soaked street.

The traffic spills out
Onto roads, rain water
Off the dunes in Spring.

Doors bang and buses hiss
As the kettle rumbles on, and
Teaspoons ting within teacups.

Little faces to match little voices
In the bustle before the bell;
Mid-Summer midges in the shade.

The ties are straightened, hair set
In place, the check of breath, before
Poodles and the ponies parade.

Nine O'clock -
The tide rushes out;

The parade begins, in meeting rooms
And office blocks; as the midges fade out
In the sun, teacups settle on desks
And the chairs squeek and roll,
A nest of mischievous mice.

The traffic hum now silent
As the last cars crash, into
Car parking spaces, and the pot-holes
Now homes to water, diesel
And the rainbow.

Monday, 10 January 2011

The Day the Day Drowned

The empty plastic carrier bags
Search and scour, the sand
Dunes: the eternal labrinth,
The spirits of dead dogs
Searching for lost owners,
To which they are all
Long forgotten,
Rekindled only in mistakes
Spoken, in deaf ears
About death to dumb dogs.

Condensation rolls in, across
Skies flooded with ambivilance,
The ominous hue of grey
Across the window pane,
Uncleaned, the glint of white
Teeth through smeared glass,
Tears burdensome yet benign
Lose grip, slipping off
The face;
A million craters in the sand.

The hypodermic nip
Of Ammophila, through polyester
And skin, a silent itch
with no face to blush,
As they applaude, Cheering
In the wind,
The rusty coke cans
And tampons, lying
At their feet.

A Laridae queues, silently
In the zephyr,
As a couple of corvids
Crouching over,
Rotten remains of a mermaid,
Stripped and naked
She slowly melts,
Back into the earth, Alone
Forgotten from birth.

Frayed rope anchored
By the rock, telling tales
Of frayed loves,
And curses, spat out
From the mouths of men,
Swept overboard in the storm;
Purged from the land
To be purged from life,
The cruel puppetry, of bodies
Bobbing and beckoning in the sea.

From wet lips the wet tongue,
Suffocating kisses, Against her
Sandy breasts and thighs;
Legs spread, edging towards
The shore, giving herself
Like a cheap whore, Taken
Without emotion, only remorse
Is left, the tide turns
Down a beach of withered rock,
And empty shells.

Sunday, 2 January 2011


Eyes filled with joy
And curiosity, oversized paws
Exaggeratedly raised,
To the pounce or bound.

Flick of white, trembling
Atop the tail,
Glistening drops of morning dew
Twinkling with desperation,
As claws click fabric;
Climbing clothes
In unblinkered happiness.

Wet strip of bobbled leather,
Tonguing tastes anew
On skin and material,
Inquisition giving lend
To nips and nibbles.

Patter and scrape of paw,
Haphazard sprints
Through furniture legs,
Across linoleum floor;
Bass filled thuds
Quickly follow the inertia
Of quickly changed direction.

Monotinous squeeks
And mud smeared patio doors,
Yelps, whimpers and whines;
Fill empty silence
Nuzzling close into
Sleeping protected
Inside the heart.