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?

Love.

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.

Love;

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.

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.

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.'

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.

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.

Colour

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.