Wednesday January 01, 2014 at 14:34

3 notes

Living/Her Hands





The difference

Is subtle,


Separating vodka

From water

Which glass would you pick?

Alive is

Your heart beating


Driving through your veins

Air hauling

In out

Your lungs pushing


Living is

A 5am wake up call,


A hazy night of smoke, beer, gin/rum/jack/vodka/

The success of a long-time goal

Or the ordinary warmth

Of your parents home

My idea of living is

Her hand locked

Around mine and nights

Where to lie

With each other

And share each other

Means more than

We could ever imagine

Love poems are overdone

But Her hand around mine

Is my


& without her

living would be


Monday April 01, 2013 at 18:52

3 notes

Conversation Voyeur

I like conversation

When you don’t have to talk

And you can just

Sit and watch

Their mouths

Move in ways

They’ll never get to see

Their teeth clacking like dice

Their lips dragging saliva like melting ice

Their tongue gyrating like a wild fox

Trapped in a darkened wooden box

In that moment

You are the voyeur


Looking in a mirror

Is never the same

As when life

Plays out at its own pace

A reflection is an


Of what’s really


On the outside

And a reflection

Never smiles back

Of its own accord

The sound of



And Rattlesnakes

Dancing under dripping water

As each word and


Repulse you into

Turning your head and

Watching the cars pass by


But the mouths are still moving

Behind the windows

And for one moment,

You wish there was silence

But the world

Does what it wants

And everyone

Will keep on moving their mouths

To the rhythm

Of the conversation

Tangling wires

Through their lives

Conversation is the sound

Of broken clocks

And silence hides away

In the crannies


In a hoarders dreams.

Wednesday January 09, 2013 at 22:18

1 note


My sleep pattern

Has gone to shit


I woke up at 2

In the morning

Couple of days ago

The moon


Against my window

And gazed


It turned me sick

So I closed the curtains

And shut the window


The clock said


And the dog

Next door started


As an ambulance

Wailed underneath

The moon and stars

I thought about

Getting up

And finishing off

The bourbon

While watching some

Porn but I was

Lying to myself

I wouldn’t get up –

I wouldn’t/couldn’t

Do anything

Because it was 2:22

And I was still pissed

From the bourbon earlier.

There was no way I could get hard


I opened the window again

Lay down and listened

To the dog’s howls

The stars were so far away

But they flinched, too,

As each howl sliced

Open the night

Monday August 20, 2012 at 22:29


She said

Before this goes

Any further

I have something

To tell you

I knew

What was coming

But I sat there

On the cold concrete

And waited

And chewed

On the ice

From my empty glass


In double JD

She looked down

At her hand

And touched

The ring

I’m engaged

She said

I smiled

And pretended

That I knew –

I guessed from

Your ring –

But I didn’t know,

Or didn’t I care?

Either way,

There was

No point


So I made

The excuses

Told her I’ll

Be back in


And went inside.

The music was


Off the walls

It was hard

Not to


Every girl

Who passed by

So I turned

To the bar


And a double

JD and coke –

No ice this time

And waited

For a familiar face

To keep me



I’d have waited


I headed back outside

Lit one up

And everyone

Was laughing,



And I realised

That some people

Are never alone –

But it’s the

Only thing

That keeps



Monday July 30, 2012 at 17:36

4 notes

The Driver

He drives around

All day

Just to see the

Men digging up

The roads and

The women

Pushing the prams

And the children

Running on the pavements

And the teenagers

Huddled like wolves

On the train stations

And the old people

Peering out at him

From the exhaust-dirt

Windows of the buses

He drives around

All day

With the radio


To full volume

Just to hear a voice,


Competition winners,

Phone-in debates,



Complaining about

The current economy,

The troops still dying

On unharvested

Foreign soil,

The lack of prospects for

Their kids –

Too much

Too soon

He drives around

All day

For some sort of


Human touch


He stops at

A red light

And smiles at

A couple

Crossing the road

They don’t take

A second glance

He gets home

As the sun

Is shrinking

Behind the mountains

And hooks

His car-keys

In their usual place

Behind the kitchen door

Shuts the curtains

And reaches

For his medication

In the cupboard

Above the kettle

He twists the cap

And swallows one

Then empties them all out

And wonders if it

Would be painful

A knife would hurt more

But realises

That the news

Is on soon

10 minutes

And he wants to hear more

About that shooting

In America

Your son’s coffin is

The heaviest thing you’ll hold

So he settles into the chair

And watches the adverts

Until the anchor

Smiles at him

And wishes him a

Good evening

Good evening to you, too, Michael

And the day’s events

Begin to be repeated

But then there’s a


And a


And static replaces the burning

Buildings in Syria

But he still sits there


And watches

The black and white fuzz

Pop and fuse

Together –

Waiting for the anchor’s


To re-appear

Outside, an owl

Watches a mouse

Run between the

Blades of grass

And footsteps

Echo through

Dark lanes

One thing that

Never changes



Thursday July 05, 2012 at 20:33

3 notes

The Glass Church

everyone is lonely

but it’s easier

for some

to admit

than others


eats away

at their soul

and they find


in a job

a university degree

a new car

a new city

a new body

to warm

the bed

and keep

the days shorter


the nights longer

but as the rain

lashes against

the window -


its own

lonely voice

swelling and


in this

glass church

i look out

through the

bleeding window

at all the tired


and the houses


in ashtray joy

and listen to her laughter


morning dew

tangled in a cobweb

and turn away

from the rain

and close my eyes

but her laughter

won’t let me


Sunday June 17, 2012 at 16:02

Summer Drunk

It was summer

And we were drunk

Sat in the beer-garden

The umbrella

Shading us

From the 2pm sun

Pint glasses

Placed around us –

Chess pieces

Waiting for one of us

To make the next move

The pub cat

Sprawled on the table

Her silver tiger fur

Warm to touch

Even though

She’d been with us

Under the shade

For an hour

He drank half his pint

And cracked his knuckles

And started to roll

A cigarette

But I passed him one

Cheers, he mumbled

And lit it up

He blew the smoke

Into the air and it

Got thinner

And thinner

Until it finally disappeared

The cat yawned

And stretched and got up

And walked around

The glasses

She was the queen

To the pawns

And knocked one over

As she brushed

Her silver tiger fur

Against it

And then lay next to

The glass

Smelling the pool

Of liquid

Dribbling through the cracks

In the table and


The concrete floor


What are we doing, he asked

Existing, I answered

And finished my drink

We both got up

And left

And walked

To the next pub

It was his round

And we stayed inside this time

He brought the drinks over

There was an old man at the bar

Drinking red wine

He was grey all over

And looked dead already

His veins were

Rupturing his hands

And he kept talking to himself

We tried to ignore him

But we couldn’t

And as he finished the wine

He turned around

Looked at us

As if he’d lost something

Then he burst out laughing

And laughed

And laughed

And laughed

Sunday June 10, 2012 at 16:56

Frightened Buffalos

The streams are

Frightened buffaloes

Cascading down the


Bulging /


The desiccated


Embedded into

The flesh

Of the land that

Gushes from green to


And crumbles away

The remnants of



A lingering



That tears

You apart

As you

Look at the mountains

Through glass

Bleeding with the


Of the sky

And you wonder

How long it is

Until the

Frightened buffaloes

Stop running

Tuesday May 15, 2012 at 23:23


Perhaps Hell

Isn’t as far away

As we imagine:

All those faces

And eyes,

The laughing


Curling like a dying cat

The twitching


The dust and carbon

Monoxide clinging

To the membranes


Into the brain.

The fingernails,

Manicured and cleaned –

The claws of that cat

15 years ago.


Whipped and thrown

By the wind  –


Frayed tendrils.

Nurturing new blood,

Each exhale of breath

Another one arrives

To the flock

Of leather-backed chairs,

Wooden desks and the click-

Click of the mouse.

In the reflection

Of the computer screen:

Mollusc horns and

Grinding teeth – the eye-


Chasms of black; the ice


More vulnerable than


But deeper than

The Velebits.

The ivory white


With the overhead lights

And rebounds

Onto the windows

And outside.


With the rays of the sun:

Drilling into the earth

And beyond.

Our Hell.

Saturday April 14, 2012 at 12:04


In a stranger’s bed

The sun

Snatches through

The curtainless


A neighbourhood

Of pigeons

Live in the


& they wake,


Good mornings

Like a heart monitor’s

Endless hum

The muted drumbeat

A chord only they can play

& Understand

a private party you’re

not invited to

But you can eavesdrop.

they shake their wings –

a battlecry

or a white flag


A disparate troupe

Congruent, ancestral

One takes flight

The rest follow,

The shake of that wing

Has left a

Feather behind

It’s times like this

I think of you most with

An hour’s sleep and

A swathing haze behind the eyes

Someone’s naked back

Facing me

I want to trace my finger

Down their spine

Bump over every traintrack 

And plunge


Into the reservoir of

your hair

I still remember the smell

But I don’t remember your

Smile or your voice

You’re just something that was -

Something that collected

My heart & kept it for a while

But you haven’t given it back

Even though you don’t 

Want it anymore.

Slowly pull back 

The bed-covers

She’s still sleeping

open the front door

another face of regret

in a world of collectors.

One step forward,

And breathe

Just keep walking

Empty cars

With the headlights on

The pigeons return

And the feather falls.

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