Category Archives: Poems

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I can be your nothing. The thing in your life that doesn’t really matter. A background feeling. An underlying thought pattern. A goose with orange striped eyelashes.

While your everything comes and goes I am there. Washing dishes on a cold day. A cooling breeze on a hot one. Repositioning things on the mantle. A horned lemon with a sweet sweet tangy syrup dressing.

With all the potential I stay still; rarely showing any form. A shadow flickering in candlelight. The feeling of ‘what shall I do now?’ An unexpected hand gesture. A silken scarf with an image of Delia Derbyshire riding a resplendent golden moose represented by colourful sequins.

My best friend

What is this chaos?
I didn’t choose to be born.
What is happening?
I see patterns that are destined to go awry.

My brain is not clear and calm.
Driven by a predetermined tick.
Pushing through the things I do and am going to do.
An addiction is holding on: Don’t stop me yet.

These stories start with a moment of intense change.
Curves flatten out and plateau.
You can be the catalyst for me to refresh.
A starting point in every moment lived.

To feel loved is to forgive yourself.
The guilt the blame the shame.
Start again and learn.
A wobbling cycle where the circles slowly get more unstable.

What is this chaos?
A dream. Nothing more.
What is happening?
Something worth experiencing.

A chicken cross hare across the road in the land of Americana have a sandwich and other mutterings

Gotta comb my opalescent goat hair budgerigar to get it to lay some eggs of pure wheat flour.

Then take the elevator to the goose sky hideout above the mountain top cave where I live for the summer.

Pick elderberries before the cuckoo spit rain wets my obligatory Whisk Day gingham check shirt and shorts combo.

Finally get sweet slumber in the cave with the cat bear violin player playing lullabies into the deep black.

Religious Clout

Bend the Angel’s will. Corrupt her pure heart. Steal her divinity for your creation. Oh my dear old thing; unholy perfection is at your fingertips.

Protect your processes. Nurture your weakness. Curb your strength. For once life is not absolute truth; subtlety is awakening.

God is infinite. Your lifetime is not. Nor are all words ever written. Unlearn everything you know; virtue shall lead you further than knowledge.

Everything came from nothing. The nameless empty. The unperishing void. Not bleak nor sad; for nothing is in everything.

Create something beautiful. Crude but complex. Naive but fully layered. Give your all; save the world. Go forth.

What is God except those dots in the sky at night?

No one

Unapologetically eccentric.
Regretfully chaotic.
Tries to see good in the negative.
Whilst experiencing difficulty in the positive.

Music, painting, drawing, writing, reading.
Sport, running, walking, playing, taking part.

Often anxious. Rarely judgemental.
Sometimes happy. Sometimes sad.
Tries my best. Likes a rest.

This is me. Down to a T.
Sitting down. Drinking tea.

Tenuous links

Fear is a cruel imposter, a charlatan, a crook of the mind.

A false reaction or part of a disingenuous conversation is a recipe for a circle of tiredness.

Cookery is playing with fire unless you have a prescription for success.

Sour is a taste that is needed to feel sweet.

Mental dexterity is needed. Requirements move the mind.

Numbers can help us understand the physical world around us.

Two people trapped in love is the best and the worst.

Keep extremes conceptual. Nothing is as it seems.

Emptiness is invaluable but so is some other stuff.

What I am worth and to who does it matter?

Breath

Grief is the bite of the wind on your cheek. Life is the brace of air against your face and your hair standing on end.

Intertwined like two strands, they stood at the bus stop hand in hand. A familiar memory stood next to you is still there years after you saw them last. Look after your mind. Reign in fear and hate because you might be alone at the bus stop one day.

The breath goes in and out. Your breath becomes someone else’s whether you are on your own or not. Keep breathing, that’s what living is.

Vague Questioning

The things of the world hold sway over us all.
To be free from this influence is an illusion.
To be aware of it is the path.

Objects, feelings, and creatures are all included.
You are part, a mixture, not all this or that.
Position your intent well, this will point things to the path.

Relative to extremes, no absolutes are real.
Happening and moving in flux.
Change is the route the path takes.

There is a place of nowhere. A realm within everything.
Where your creation exists peacefully in balance.
This is the where the path leads.

NONSENSE, I’M OVERTHINKING. EVERYTHING IS TOO MUCH. NOTHING EVER GOES RIGHT. ABSOLUTE DOOM PERSISTS. Or does it?

Hot and sweaty

A trickle, a pore.

Sat together and bored.

Nervous energy and a hot sun ray.

Exasperated tension that lasts all day.

Droplets form in the same place, no less.

Expending nothing still a sticky mess.

Thunder brews high above my head.

Atmosphere darkens and thickens to lead.

Excitement builds inside and out.

A response so primal it sounds like a shout.

A roar in the sky with light and a boom.

Synchronised with a release pent up in the room.

Pilchard Paul

Pilchard Paul washes his wellies in the rushing river.
The skies sadden as the wintery wind keeps coming.
The sodden soil is certainly saturated this stormy stroll.
The loud lion roars raucously as the gloomy grey clouds close in.
A clap and a crack as frightening fracturous light lands on the loam.
Lion licks his colossal coat, wringing wet from the ridiculous rain.
Suclulent scent sniffed by the Lion’s lust for fantastic food.
Pilchard Paul runs and rushes toward the car on the corner.
Crafty clever cogs Lion lives not far the pride in from the periphery.
Low lionesses spring sporadically seemingly out of nowhere now.
RIP Pilchard Paul. Fishermen. Father of 2 bonny boys. Tim and Todd.

Living With My Cat

Things aren’t all bad.
Things are mostly bad with some good.
Nothing is absolute.
Everything can change.

Relativity and uncertainty.
Are how I understand.
Focusing on the process.
Not the result.

I remember things I do.
I forget things I’ve done.
Improving without knowing.
Happening by it’s own accord.

Seeing with my eyes open.
Doesn’t halt my dreams.
Holding you with warm regard.
I am living with my cat.

The Valkyrie

It was raining in Fishguard for what seemed like an age.
She lived in an old wooden hut that had been built in days.
From a distant land, she was a raider from afar.
Settled down with a lobsterman she met at the bar.
In an outpost quite ancient – it had it’s own ways.
Their calender would deal celebrations on different days.
Blue rocks lined the valley – significant this stone.
Used to build henges and circles unknown.
She knew of this tradition but was a warrior by trade.
Settled dispute without force, with the wit that she made.
The lobsterman was abusive – he took her by force.
So one day she killed him – self defence of course.
The next day the sun shined and flowers did bloom.
Yet she was put in a prison to face her ultimate doom.

Happy

The shadows of the leaves
keep moving
as my face feels the breeze

The sky is as blue as it gets
My face is flush and warm
Momentum carries me along
Breath feeds my lungs

The rustle of the trees
keep sounding
as the birds do what they please

One foot then the other
I’m feeling light and free
Bounding across a stream
Happiness heals the past

A poem written on the bus home from counselling

Dreamlike imagination stems not from a wilderness, but the void. All ideas come from this same source. Ideas may arise from each other yet can remain separate concepts.

Memories exist like lucid footprints in the snow. The fall of expectations meets the pressure of a successful outcome, covering past happiness in a lack of nowness.*

In the present I’m a star seer looking out through the window at the night sky. Enjoying the moment for what it gives. Sadly, this will change, but I must accept it. Acceptance is the root of all self improvement.

*I apologise for this monstrous sentence of pretentious twaddle in particular.

Winter

Sitting at my table drawing because I don’t want to pay my TV licence.
Everyone’s overdrawn. I’m lacking inspiration. I’m losing patience.

Draw the curtains because the night is closing in.
It’s too cold to go out. I’m sick of living in my own skin.

People are being encouraged to do it for themselves.
Where has the community gone? Where do I belong?

Not knowing what is going on in the age of information.
This is the new normal. Caring is becoming informal.

Pandas

Pandas are solitary creatures,
who sit around and think until it hurts.
They feel stress more than most,
as they ponder over problems and worries.

There is a place where pandas gather.
Together stronger, not facing the world alone.
Sharing hope, helping each other recover.
They keep in touch and give one another hugs.

Attempting to heal can be simple.
Support can be the smallest thing.
In their minds, they begin to thrive.
In their hearts, ever closer they come.

Pandas are solitary creatures,
who sit around and think until it hurts.
Never will they suffer alone,
For all pandas help those in need.

Seabear Tree Arms

An old bear paw, sitting in a jar.
Under a tree that never grew any leaves.

A light blinking through the branches.
A clouded mind clawing at the calm.
Wandered towards the timber,
bent and twisted.
Sanity falls.

Laying there in a daze.
Next to chlorophyll
functioning in the grass.
Every blade as important as the next.
Together creating a habitat.

Storing hope for new roots.
Sparking aspiration to be well again.
You can really find yourself, in losing your mind.

Pencils and Pens

I like pencils and pens,
writing materials and paper.
Lions and tigers,
cheetahs and leopards.
I like jumping and puddles,
getting muddled and confused.
Plants and flowers,
flour and bread.
I like eyes and ears,
sensing life and feelings.
Thinking and reversing,
negative photos and drawings.

Someone

I saw a photo of someone and I want to smoke a cigarette with her,

just her, just because…

Well because… She looked lonely as me, she was a pea in a bowl trapped under cling film, I was a glimpse – an image, a moment in time, seemingly screaming alone in an unspent void!

I don’t even smoke anymore.

Take a seat, I’ll be your chair for this evening.
Tired, it won’t be long before you’re leaving.
Take some heat, I’m highly strung tonight.
Giving off warmth, you might, just might, just might pluck my branches until tomorrow afternoon. So let’s fight!

****

Tomorrow afternoon, we can play and have a sight of the sea, draw the rocks on the beach, weigh up options, how much balance does it take to say thanks for being a snapshot.

Lass, you move differently to how I guessed, but you leave me shaking, dissecting truth from my words, you are everything I need. Of course you might never know if the mirrors aren’t set up well. If the angles are wrong and the camera isn’t set.