The Small Community

I'm in trouble; if you know what I mean

I'm going down on my knees,

Don't hate me too much!
She is over eighteen.

My step-brother's - and a tease.

The Critic with No Chance

I want to shout,
I want to scream;
I want to direct it at you,
And I would say that you are wrong.

If I don't know left,
How could I have ever known
What was really right,
To teach respect you give a little,
Like the puppy off the lead;
The fall of respect
Is met by discipline
And discipline is followed,
By second chances and respect.
The thickening fog
Keeps a skippers course true.

The unknown voyage set upon, scares
But only out of learning
Can grow understanding and respect,
And as soon as you are in need,
And you will be,
Just be here.
You are the foundations of life.

I might never see what can be,
I might never feel it just so
I can't judge and I don't know,
So you don't need to listen to me.

I love to see strong families,
It makes my heart sing out;
Sometimes I see individuality,
Panda pawed uniform bear hug,
Lost: double or nothing pout.

One day I might have my chance;
To start my own voyage.
Then maybe I will see, how
Wrong that I have been,
Or maybe I'll be right
And my crew will be
So variously skilled
That we could be vaudeville,
Instead of just a dream
Played out past the window-sill.

The Fox

The city fox lives on the outskirts of town,
Venturing in at night to feed taking what
They see as waste; it could be the
Country-side or the beach, he
Would find his food regard-
less. He mates if a mate
Be there but it isn't
His motivation or
Drive. He knows:
He is smart,
Calculating
Risk, supply
And environment,
He does this alone
And knows what he must
Do to survive. So often
Eyes catch glimpses of his
Friendly, caring, cute face;
They don't see the teeth tearing
Flesh from bone,picking the weakest
And most vulnerable prey, Feeding on
Babies, feeding on those unsuspecting;
Unsuspecting and dumb. He sits in covert
And stalks in the shadows and only he knows.
Only this little fox knows the solitude and the
Loneliness, of surviving. Already pushed out before
He has ever been close, He sits afar watching: Never
Noticed All alone, Living.

The Morning of the Second Day without a Cigarette

In a ritual that dates back many a year,
I remove shoes, socks, trousers and shirt;
In that order and bag them with care.

I walk awkwardly through to the shower,
Across the wet floor that just feels so dirty;
Around me the white ceramic tiles tower.

I wash off the dirt on my way through cold air,
Out through the archway and on to parade
In my skin to the others, half hidden there.

I brace myself and throw my body in,
It feels warmer than I had expected
As I find a lane, kick off and begin.

I look around and feel out of place,
And everyone else seems twice my age;
I ignore and avoid eyeing anyone's face.

I struggle with stamina and often rest:
I know I am unfit but it still annoys,
As the youngest I should be the best.

There are lots of women going up and down,
And a few men vigorously with speed;
I battle on, often fearing that I might drown.

I am proud, and in an hour swam a kilometre,
Which at times I thought I wouldn't achieve
But you just have not to let those fast old folk deter y'.

I climbed out, showered off and dried:
I found it all quite fun,
I ate some fruit as I walked into town,
Day two has just begun
But at least I have day one down.

Lulled to Sleep on a Cold Winters Afternoon

It's bright but cold outside
In the world beyond the back doors;
It's dull and grey in the dining-room
Where the table and chairs and the dog's crate lives,
It's cold in there too. I shut us in
And draw the curtains, both doors closed,
We begin to relax and find comfort
In the rooms solitary heat. After much scrambling
I reside myself to lowlier climes; I lie beside her
On the floor, in the fire glow and fatiguing heat.
My eyelids raise and fall, like an ocean's swell;
As whip-cracks and the grinding of bone on teeth
Fill my ears. We lie, hind-quarters outstretched;
The dog to a bone and myself to sleep.

Second-Hand Significance

The clock trots on like a horse
Ridden but with nowhere to go.
I watch the second-hand
And at first it appears to count backwards.
It takes a lifetime to get back around to twelve
And I find myself counting in thousands;
Just to make sure.
This little white travel alarm-clock,
With the square face,
With the curved corners, and
Glow-in-the-dark features
That have long since faded.
This clock,
And its incessant tick-tocking,
Are all that holds me
And the fabric of my world, together.
Right here: at this moment in time,
Without that clock, there would be nothing.
The skies outside would fade to white,
Washing with it all the colours of the world;
Like the paint off a brush
Under the hot-water tap.
The condensation on my window,
And the mould that has built up in the corners
Because of it would be no more.
I would be but an empty pen:
The quill dipped in an empty inkwell,
Writing on a blank sheet off paper.
Without this clock
And its gentle pace,
There would be no ringing
Of my tinnitus bell;
And no more amiable chatter
Out of it at the back of my mind;
The dull voices that squeeze
Through the bricks to my ear
And the rush of cistern water
Would be replaced with an
Unbearably loud silence,
In which even I couldn't hear my screams.
There would be no flesh nor bone
Upon my spirit
And no thoughts or feelings in my mind:
There would be absolute nothing
And in all of that nothing would sit everything
That existed in the nothingness.
And so I pray,
And I watch and I count;
I listen and I feel,
As my body synchronises with this clock
And relies on it, because
Without this little white travel alarm-clock,
If it was to ever stop,
This life and this existence
Would stop with that
Slender second-hand,
And we melt: flooding into the drains
Draining out into the vast uniform
Nothingness.

Defecate

Sometimes I don't know what I'm saying
And sometimes I don't know what I do;
I do stupid things when playing
And don't really mean to do what I do.

It doesn't help that I'm drunk: not at all
And it doesn't help I don't know who you are,
But what really concerns me is that you are a wall,
And your getting very close to me and my car.

I fell out with the car and am sulking on the path,
There is a pain that stops me from playing,
I stop right here and have a little laugh
Because I don't know what I am saying.