Thursday, 29 September 2011

The Weather Man (Today We Set Sail)

We cannot be together, you and I:
We cannot be apart,
Everything I've ever said to you,
I meant with all my heart.

I meant that I loved you so,
And I honestly meant it when;
I say we can never be together,
Never ever again.

So take your platter attitude,
Your a buffet, with a complete lack of will,
I gorged myself, I had more;
But now I've had my fill.

Your pretty, your perfect,
A catch, and any man can see,
I see this too, but I'm not any man,
And no any-man is me.

So forget me, move on,
Or risk turning Tangerine-sweet into tangerine-sour,
And by-and-by I'm gone, just as the days
Fade out, within the witching hour.

I may never return, and never whisk you off you feet,
I may never protect you from your fears;
But live each day with a smile of no regret,
And I will live with these lonely tears.

Your body is an anchor, mine the sail,
We cannot survive together,
Our spirits would fail, tear us apart,
Nothing lasts forever.

We cannot be together, you and I,
We have to be apart,
But everything I said to you,
I meant with all my heart.

Wednesday, 28 September 2011

A path that crosses twice will only lead in circles.

People always want
When they know they cannot have,
And people always take
More than they will need;
Of the seven deadly sins
It is always envy, lust and greed.
They swallow up a soul,
They hide away what was pleasure,
They keep you wanting more,
And to dust they turn your treasure.
See what made you happy
Has long since fell from reach,
Leaving all behind in search of more
Your left alone, stranded on a beach.

If you had listened to wind,
That whistles in the wood,
The simple joy that brings the love
You would have had: you would have understood.
But now the current in the glen
Picks up in the deep and off you sail,
This place is lost;
It shall never be again.

Tuesday, 27 September 2011

A Kodiak Moment

I could crush you in an instance,
My little friendly fly,
Instead I let you be;
I let you fly, fly, fly.
You grow big and bold,
Around me flying,
Testing and trying,
You only see the soft warm fur,
And not the inside, cold,
The animal: the bear.
You prod me and push,
Your greed has gotten the best,
You want more than the flowery lush;
But with it comes the rest.
Teeth, too much and I will bite,
You do not cage what cannot be,
Your life has gone on much too long,
A meat stamp saying; 'trite'!
Don't push it, don't push me,
No one outlives the bite.

Monday, 26 September 2011

The First Coach of the Morning

A deathly silence
In a waiting room,
Like everyone was leaving for good;
Itching and shuffling,
Itching and shuffling
In their there seats.
Creeping eyes,
Creeping spidery eyes,
Creeping spidery eyes on doors
And walls,
On windows;
Digesting my substance,
Sucking it out from my skin,
Leaving me wrinkled and empty.
Creeping and slinking,
Like a scream
The creeping slinking rustle of a crisp packet;
Creeping and slinking around the room,
From their bench over there,
By the stairs;
Where the stares breed stares.
The creeping slinking rustle
Like the pitter-patter of mice feet.
I sit, unnoticed, seen,
And ignored,
With every inch of me examined
And judged.
The sun sits on top of me,
Baking me,
Like a meringue,
Slowly, so ever so slow,
And the silence only gets louder,
And the stares become sinister
As paranoia creeps up the stairs;
And I sit there baking alive in the sun,
Half dead,
I sit there and I don't move,
I sit in silence;
Just a fly on the wall.

Wednesday, 14 September 2011

There Is Always A Sequel

People ask me nothing;
I have no answers to give,
To any questions that can be asked.
Can you answer?
Then answer this,
And lets start at the bottom,
With the easiest of all,
Can you tell me what our purpose is,
Can you tell me why we live?
You can utter a pretty argument,
That looks pleasing to the eye
And might fill a big dusty book.
Why? This life,
Our existence, it does not give a fuck!
For what reason do we look for love,
For what reason do we feel emotion?
Do we live to fight and kill each other,
Do we live to expand our theories?
Should we live to smile
To never grow old or get sick,
What will we do when they drop that bomb,
Or there is no more room at the Inn?
No questions have ever really been answered,
Only guessed at, because
No one really knows where to begin.
Please don't ask me for any answers,
I only know as much as you.
They never reveal the plot,
Never in the first half,
So lets stick around for part-two.

Monday, 12 September 2011

The Baby Blackbirds Nears It's Winter

As little Katia rocks our shores,
A baby blackbird puffs up,
As he lands within the lawn.
I look from out the window
And wonder for a minute;
Will these little birds in the garden,
Survive the cold winter.
I sit, elderberry pips in teeth
And purple stained fingers,
Watching the early Autumn winds,
Dance gaily through,
Those sleepy Summer trees.
And all around there is a journey beginning,
A transition, through time and through space;
But I'm lost, on the wrong track,
Keeping the wrong pace in the wrong place,
And I don't know if I will ever find my way back.
I shall keep walking into the Winter's light,
And keep that baby blackbird in mind,
For he is either food for thought,
Or in the distant sweet Spring's
Sweet spring-song I shall find.
Will he hear me there,
Among the fresh grass-shoots too?
I doubt it so, for hungry I shall be,
In the shadows and trees
As I am used to,
And always shall forever be.
Yet in this early Autumn wind,
I can hear the call
Of a home I do not know,
I hear this call
And like a dog to his master, I just want to...

I can't find my way back,
If I can't ever remember leaving,
I'm just that little baby blackbird,
Out in the Winter's snow, freezing

The Line Up (Wooly-back Big Brother)

He wakes up every morning,
A quarter hour before going to bed,
And hangs his washing
By an open fridge instead.
He learnt to swim,
From a wayward motorboat,
And he always bathes, in a duffel coat.
Now, when he goes out,
On a date with a lady,
He always gifts her,
A large jug of gravy;
But if they spill just one drip,
For them,
It's a punch in the lip,
For he learnt that from the land navy.
Now he has got green hair,
And eyebrows that meet,
But nothing distracts,
From him having hands as feet,
This doesn't deter him much though,
As he is the only woman I know,
Who talk on the phone, knit, make tea and hang the washing (by an open fridge),
All in one go,
So it only goes to show...
That we all know what we know,
And if haven't seen this girl,
With the beard that meets half-way,
And the bottom so rotund,
You could balance the dinner tray,
Then it is probably because they don't want to meet you.


Love is what we see,
When we pass by shop fronts,
Stroll by restaurant and cafe windows
In the streets.
It is what we feel
Before any touch;
Long before
Any words are spoken.
It is the birth of an idea,
The flourish of light
Within a cloud-filled sky,
And the flash of a camera,
Capturing all that is good,
But not something seen.
The oil rainbow on a puddle,
So perfect and pristine.
So long as it is left alone.

Love hangs
Like a black cloud,
Threatening to rain at any time.
Love gives people wrong ideas,
And bad impressions.
Love kills more men
Than hate ever could;
It takes judgement and morals,
Crumples it up with what you once cared for,
And throws the whole lot out of the window;
And still
People are looking so hard for it,
They miss it almost every time.

Love is here,
It is always just a moment,
And never a lifetime.
Love is that smile,
Exchanged with a beautiful stranger
As you pass them by,
Probably never to pass again.
Love is the wind and the rain,
When you reach saturation
And stop caring;
When you look to the heavens,
Stare the storm straight in the eye,
And laugh.
Love is in that moment,
When you look out at the world
And all its grandeur,
When you see yourself
As nothing more than another
Worthless animal,
Love is when you see this,
Love is when you feel this is right.

Or maybe I am wrong?
Maybe I face the wrong way,
Is love not this?
Or is love in the unity of a man and a woman,
Those that live within each other;
That compromise,
And work out something they can both enjoy;
Something not quite what either would love to do.
Maybe this is love,
Maybe putting yourself within someone
For long enough to reach, at least a little, dependency
Is what love really is.
Either way love is something to live,
To live in fear of,
To view from a distance,
And to enjoy at your own risk.

Saturday, 10 September 2011

To Those That Fall (In Protecting Us All)

O glorious giant glowing bow,
Forwarding into the unknown;
And taking with you some good men,
Whose bodies they have outgrown.
You move silently
Into the nighting North sea,
Taking these good men back home,
To where these good men should be;
In Heaven, in peace,and in rest,
Their bodies all angels doth bless,
And lest we are
To never forget;
These men,
These boys:
Our best of the best.

Thursday, 8 September 2011

The Sustain Of a Day

The symphonious wringing of wiring;
Loud inside the lamppost shells,
Accompanied by a harmonious hum
Of wind whooshing,
Rushing through the reeds
Of ladders,
Atop the white transit vans:
Speeding home and sputtering off,
The dust of a day.
The bass of piston and petrol drum,
Sits beneath the beauteous cacophony,
The wringing wiring and harmonious hum:
This moment the world,
Singing such a perfect song;
For a day that is almost done.
This music so sweetly sounded
On a blustery early Autumn eve,
In front of a setting Summer sun.
My heart floats so light,
And calling loud, begs the encore;
'Play on, play on.'

Tuesday, 6 September 2011

Climb Down

I am the sandstone block,
And your just a little drip,
Yet you still wear me down
Bit by bit.
I look into your eyes,
Devoid of remorse
And so cold to see,
But you don't look
You don't look at me,
You don't see the love within,
Past the tears that begin to fill,
This eye,
This me,
This I;
And all I want to do is be with you,
I want to pick you up and shake you,
Until you tell me why!
Why, why, why?
Why do I lust for you so,
And why do I love you more,
Why do I hold you so close,
And in a heartbeat let you go?
Why do I cry with pain
And get angry with you;
Why are all my happiest moments,
When it is just us two?
What is it you do,
To make me feel so high;
So high I can never come down,
So high I can touch the sky,
So high so high,
When I am with you,
I can feel it die.

Thursday, 1 September 2011

A Tightlacer To Chase

Like a blind man feeling his way,
Touching, learning,
All curious excitement;
Like the thrill-seeker,
Mapping the outline of a coaster,
His eye following every curve around;
Like a boxer in the ring,
Worked up and ready to go,
His breath nearly matching his heart.
It oozes out of every pore,
It burns deep with his eyes,
Like a wild stallion horse
I cannot be reined in.
Like the instincts of cat,
The hunt will always go on.
New pray, new quarry,
New goals.
Sometimes you catch,
And sometimes you don't,
It doesn't matter much,
And it has never been the case,
Because the most thrilling part of the hunt,
Is captured in the chase.


In the alleyways and side-streets,
I see Mona Lisa's,
I see Vettriano's,
I see bombs, tags, throw-ups and pieces.
I see art.
I see art that is fine,
But not the art that is taught,
I see the art that is mine;
We risk to transform and to change,
We risk being caught.
You see the bricks and we see the canvas,
You see the paints but we see the apparatus.
And you will never put us down,
Though you may paint over our art;
We shall come around again
To make a fresh start.
Take a step back,
Take a look out and see,
And for a moment
Just look at it and imagine,
Your in a gallery.