Scratched and worn,
I wear a coat of guilt.
It hides my shame.
Pride wilts in greyscale norms,
Society’s potential colour wilts.
No reason not to choose your own names.
The pandemic’s shine is becoming worn.
The party engine will be at full tilt.
Dancing alone; no longer my forced aim.
You couldn’t sleep,
I wouldn’t think.
All our fears were here,
We had started to sink.
You were so uncomfortable
A mouthful of cotton to mend.
No moment felt finished,
Gravely gathered at the end.
We held Time’s hand,
We held onto each other.
As we sat this one out
In the safety cupboard together.
A stopwatch and a timer
Couldn’t stop it either.
Sound to distraction,
Calls to the ether,
Rising tides so far away
No blip on our meter.
We held Time’s hand
We held onto each other.
And all the luck in the world wouldn’t find you here
All the same things happen every year, I hear
Changes come and go but you are always the same
Ideals fluid enough to know who win this frame
A double kiss then pulled off early before the next sesh
I couldn’t look at you but I still knew you were a mess
The tension mounted all around
Out of position I couldn’t bear it when you frowned
I love you.
Is that what I should say?
I don’t know what will come of it
But I’ll say it anyway
Cold winds blow through my wide open window.
Freezing in this moment; I look and listen.
You’re asleep. Outspoken in your dream.
An electric shiver up my back.
A foot kicks out. A cat climbs on.
Floating uphill I have been taken by the night.
A technicolour sky and bright green grass.
The tightrope bridge falls and I with it.
The cat jumps down. You’ve farted.
Alpha had small touch of my cardigan.
A nice way of saying hello with warmth.
She was happy to see me that day.
Walking through halls of an old school.
A beta test for future studies with some of my favourite people.
My anxiety was high that day.
Like gamma rays flying straight through me.
A panic on some stairs.
Overwhelmed with the attention.
Her model’s features were hidden by her smile.
It was as a wide as a delta.
Her hair was thin.
Her heart was not.
Her blood flowing through me so fast.
If the quality of our differences outweighs the quantity of them we can make a good team.
Since watching the world together we can see the same scenes from our different views.
The set will be constructed by us for us. Outward looking at the illusions we perceive within.
Two is greater than one over time. Encounters may come and go. Together with time on our side. We build foundations.
The only enemy we have is selfishness.
I like to read books slowly. Digesting what I’ve seen. Yours is a book with no end which I can never put down.
How are we so different
but essentially the same?
How do I care so much
when I have nothing to gain?
Why did I stay when you
gave me that pain?
Because you showed me hope in a way
where it never can wain.
You are a star that will never supernova.
All I want is your suffering to be over.
We can heal each other and show the world what’s good.
And value ourselves and stay alive like people should.
Vast universe. Not afraid.
Hard feelings. Gently expose.
Soft inside. Be kind.
Love you. Always.
Close your eyes. Where are you now? Open your eyes. You’re somewhere else. If you ever need to refresh; just blink.
A tired voice sounds sexy to some ears. It’s ok to be worn out. If you are not feeling sexy time tonight, eat something, get some rest.
A goblin could devour every nerve on your skin and you’ll live inside your isolation tank brain forever. Enjoy the fleeting because it’s not sticking around. Remember that when you’re in the depths of the bog.
Quieten your sense of subjective self. A part that feels like a whole is still a part. And when that black hole inside makes itself known then tell it to swallow the bits you don’t like.
Feed others and your brain will be fed. Keep people happy. Provide food, shelter, and an open heart.
Today is a break in the cloud of yesterday’s depression and tomorrow’s anxiety.
A point of light, almost piercing in its clarity, highlights the gift of the present.
Do not fear this focus; this freedom: It is a vacuum playground for you to fill or observe.
As patterns are set here they can easily be unravelled. In this moment knit together your life as you see fit.
Past loss and future gain are dreams kept either side of your real life. A plain cup that sits between decorated spectres.
These ghosts of prize and pain in years from now and times gone by are with you now only because you have been given the present.
The skill you were born with was to just do things without intention. Use this and yesterday’s depression and tomorrow’s anxiety will disappear.
Beans climbing up the bamboo canes
Wigwams reaching for the light
We could grow if we didn’t know your name
Steady and solid like a tortoise preserving it’s might
Houses lined up in the streets
Each their own universe
Food tonight provides a treat
My own recipe for these leftovers it could be worse
Hiding away with my favourite sounds
Nothing much could be better than this bass
I found nothing and nothing I have found
These moments are the greatest gift – they’re ace
A colossal foundation for an ideal life
From the ashes of branded waste
Self sufficiency and recycled joy frees our strife
Our wants illusions frequenting at haste
Slowed water but not still
The ashes can settle
The feeling of will
Thoughts wrought by metal
The ground we cannot refill
Our wares smash – so brittle
Trees we kill
Burn for our kettle
Tea revives our energy unspent
Groups of believers tell us to repent
Guilty of the same crimes if not more
Do we have to tell them the score?
Time is on our side
one day the pope will be an ai programmed to guide us away from sin
there was an eyelash stuck to my slice of cheese so i closed my eyes and ate it
announcement. we are having a party at 8pm to join you must lie on the floor of a cold dark room alone and listen to erik satie gnossienne no 1 on repeat for twenty minutes. there is a strict policy of no alcohol only lukewarm salt water. dress code is dark. pets are mandatory
Sometime ago. I came across a fellow. He looked so bright and gay. On that sunny day in May.
It felt so good with him. Somehow we just fit. So I asked his name. He looked at me with disdain.
He said “you are not desirable. I do not want you”. My heart sank. Was this a prank?
“Please, I beg, no.” I cried out to him. He walked out the door. I dried my eyes and looked at the floor.
Several years past. I grew my beard out. Maybe he won’t recognise me now. Maybe he was just a silly cow.
we don’t know what paragraphs are for. i hummed along to the same old song – a song for the encumbered #instapoet
Holland is not the Netherlands, Colin, what you say and what is
Mackerel sky dotted with hungry birds
Deflated poet, pen in hand, running out of words
Fallen seeds sown by the late summer wind
Take sprout next spring lest the birds find
Isolation. Taking pill after pill. Quell the screaming. Yet still making myself ill.
Turn your backs. The help is for themselves. The darkness that cannot be lit. Not even by the elves.
Systemic failures. Arise in solidarity. But faced with walls upon walls. No fall for this city.
Carried to the morgue. In a car with an anonymous driver. A symbol of us all. Hope and happiness yet neither.
A turn in a walk. Giving up yet pages turn. A book can teach a lot. But we will never learn.
Diffused. Our bodies no longer intertwined. Breathing without our lungs we just work for the colony. Stolen hope. Stolen lives. Stolen Queen.
Carrying a massive twig several times my size. Easily I admit but I have no audience to brag to. At least, no one who listens. How is time perceived to a lost ant finding his way in the world?
We are many. I am few. Alone in a crowd. The same cliches trapped in my mind. Going around and around and around. What do they want this twig for anyway?
Disenfranchised and abandoned. A cold wind is simply not felt. We are impervious.
Likeminded support. Are they just as bad as me?
A bunch of lies served to ease the pain. They just rewrote history and we forgot our joy. I’m sure in at least two late nineties 3D animation feature films. You can see me now. Hurting.
Grit spread across the road. Ice falls from the sky. A woman carrying a heavy load. He’s stood at home making curry pie.
A thoughtless word. Shrugged off as a joke. Another whisper of discontent heard. So much tea he’s feeling woke.
Hypocrisy from the soul. Conflicting needs. An animal within has control. The monster inside silently feeds.
Translucent like a glass fish.
Embellished as a plank of wood.
Battered by localised solar wind.
Neutrino holes in my soul.
Collective agony brought together with a symphony
of fingers and thumbs mashing screens we see.
We’re not alone, we can chew on this wood, together.
Nothing happens all at once
so pandas take their time.
Shared experiences and friendly faces,
voices that don’t quite fit the words,
and group chats that can last forever.
It’s forever November. I am hurting. You’re my medicine and my poison. It’s not working.
I cannot remember. The good times had. When the sun last rose. Now things are always bad.
The leaves have left. Everything is black. The beginning was the end of it all. The emotions I lack.
Something is wrong. I binge but I’m empty. Just a bucket wanting to be filled and emptied. Quick fixes so tempting.
I don’t trust you. But I don’t trust myself. I need you in my life so much. Is it good for my health?
Crashing branches smack against the ground after the sky’s electric bolt severs the tree in two.
Car alarms are heard, dogs bark, rough pavements sink underwater in the precipitation’s deluge.
A coffin of pine holds the dearly beloved, the recently deceased, the forgotten man. His Alzheimer’s￼ his parting gift to the ashes for a jar.
The door is shut. I want in. Please listen whilst I struggle. I can’t find the words to say. I hope my presence is enough.
A floor made of bleeding mouths sewn shut by heartstrings. Each footstep a kick in the face. He gets stabbed in a dark alley. ‘Oh my spleen!’ He cries out as his attacker opens his wings and flies off into the night. A curtain a creek open lets a blade of light shine on to the wall, sending the cats crackers as a car drives past outside. I’ve had my hole sealed with super glue and I’m desperate to go. Yesterdays cooking is the smell in the air. An hourglass on its side rolls off a table and smashes in to pieces on the ground. A gently sleeping mouse is toyed with and brutally killed by my cat for my benefit.
You found me lost in a field of snow.
You kept me and took me home to live in your secret drawer.
No longer depressed but I always will be your blue friend.
I made a home in your posession. I had belonging. A buzzing love.
Then you left me and you moved out to be with a real flesh boy.
I am lost in a field of snow.
A frostbite wind cuts across the field
Six horses gallop from one side to the other
And back. The wind does not relent.
Seek shelter horses for collapse is upon us.
My main drive has weakened I have not eaten
My food on the floor. What service is this?
It is winter and the cold crosses riot within my harness and braces tighten.
A contract to count here and stop there. My food is not orange it is silver frozen dew.
A metallic container is my vessel to a unlikely doom.
Travelling whilst trapped; a hijack of hooves and a late delivery of hay.
I career up the side. Trot my vocation. A lost dream in this nation.
The ice pick in my back is a permanent end to what might have been.
Blowing bubbles from my nose.
An infectious calamity on my back.
The ruin of all we have. Not the viruses we carry but a unhelpful destructive nature.
The weather is in my mirror this time of year. Why the long face?
This poem was written with a pencil held taut in my anus.
Flora had a feeling in her gut.
Stuck in a rut. She struts and hurts her foot.
She didn’t know what she did feel. Without an even keel. She didn’t feel he was real.
He wanted to cause an explosion in her life. To cut herself free from strife. He wanted her for his wife for life.
She left him for another man. Because she can. She went in with no plan for Dan.
He had hope. Her heart said nope. He felt like a dope and could only just cope.
What could I say?
She let the clock do the talking.
I can’t listen to the tick.
Desperate to hear words
My mind won’t click into gear.
I ask myself what I want to say.
My mind isn’t that.
Constant chaos. Fire leaks through me.
I hope you are well.
And I do
But is it enough
Does it really matter?
Hope is the water that calms my fire.
Ticking is my enemy that winds me up.
Everything is changing.
Nothing is certain.
I’ll ‘hmmm’ like the Witcher
Because isn’t life a bitcha?
If you turn to stone
You’ll get weathered and old.
But if you flow like water
Your youth will never falter.
Destiny is waiting
For you to grab the reins
So I ask you my dear,
Please keep me near.
Set in her ways.
Knows exactly how she likes things.
And has fantastic taste in music.
The crocodile with curly hair is an amazing creature.
Unique in her outlook; she is quite friendly once she’s comfortable.
There’s an entire universe in her head.
In that vast space lives a young cat.
With her nearest and dearest; she is loved by everyone.
Quiet, but caring, she can snap at those less understanding.
Be careful crocodile. Your teeth are sharp and strong. You might just eat everything and everyone!
So I remember this rhyme:
Crocodile with her cat in space.
Will always beat you at cards.
She has up her sleeve an ace.
If that doesn’t work she’ll fire a laser from mars!
I wonder what you are doing. Are you feeling good?
I hope you have a smile on your face. Are you at ease?
Call me in the night and tell me everything.
I don’t want to just live for myself.
Lemon rind. Lemon juice. Slices for drinks. Seeds for a new tree. Don’t waste your time.
There’s nothing better I’d rather do. Than spend my time talking to you.
Watch the waves roll in on a moonlit summer night. Breathe in; breathe out.
‘Sharing is caring’ I now say. Instead of ‘You will be the death of me’.
I have learned this and that. I actually learned most of it from my cat.
Before we lost it all we had everything but each other.
I hope you can heal and not make the same mistakes twice.
I wanted you to be mine for forever but you assumed I did not.
Yes, you learned I am not perfect. Now you have moved on. Ask him before assuming.
* * *
I can’t write. I wish I could write. I don’t want to write. I don’t need to write. I can put a smile on someone’s face.
* * *
A flicker from a candle.
Steam rising from a mug.
A cold evening with no heating.
I’m not doing everything I should.
* * *
Experience from my fleshy brain doesn’t matter.
Material. Numb. Medicated and subdued.
People are afraid of me. People hate my labels.
I cannot convince them all.
Universal consciousness abandoned.
* * *
Typing on my laptop makes a rhythmic beat on my keyboard. Exquisite, until I need a word I can’t spell.
She wants to run away
Into a strangers arms
Weaponised love; accepted
Her parents don’t care
Grandparents say she can cook
That’s her pitch
What will happen once you arrive
Lost and stranded
Strange land; distant people
She does it because she will care
Barely an adult; thin promise
A hope of better quality of life
Cut paper; cut fingers
Blood on her letters
She’s lost control; the words are empty
She wants an empty suit
A man who works
A leaf on the tallest tree
What is she after
She doesn’t know; she knows that much
Do you believe in radical acceptance?
Well think about it. It could help.
The world will be out to get you wherever you run. You cannot hide from yourself. Where can you go to seek shelter from pain? Within. In peace. In constant love. Conceptual romance. No bonds or knots. Alone or together. You will be fine. You will be at rest.
Ghoul under my skin
Tell her my secrets
Make me question everything
Ol’ time radio 1998
Worn out side B
Digital watch never ticks
Fuck me sideways
I’ve forgotten my glasses
Lost resting on my head
I let you out
When I shout to you
I say nothing
I keep my mouth shut
Stapled; filed away
Along with the false and fragile
Agonising about the future
I feel pain in my shoulder
No sleep ever again
I slept well
Last night I sewed
Embroidering life lessons
Scarf face mask
I will not steal
Closed shop. Too much wind.
Walls and mazes
Just let me
finish licking my fur
Then feed me
Petal in a book
for future reference
Give me a smile
not mine to receive
a delicate frown
Saved from myself
the same meal
yesterday’s best moment
With a friend
quick to react
gain and loss
Playing a game
never letting go
You hold it in a dream
With a cry
A stifled supressed scream
Year of the pig
The cleverest beast
No future is clear
Even looking east
Isn’t my body
Not good enough
Feeling myself shoddy
Wait ten mins
Keep in touch
I’ll write them down
A rainbow opposite the sun as the rain patters down on my yellow coat.
As I splash through the puddles rings erupt radiating from the drop’s root.
A brown tree drinks silently in this weather its inhabitants shelter, mostly, from the damp.
The purple plastic pollution that litters the ground looks like a human horror show.
We will wake the mammoths from the permafrost. The lakes will rise from the glaciers. The oceans will grow eroding all before them. Youth will suffer. Their children will suffer more. Will we do nothing?
Let’s drown our hatred and anger.
Seeing red mist float above the ever swelling sea.
No fish left. A bluebottle flies over plastic soup.
Let’s get in the water and swim for our lives.
Equality further away. Social division. Maths ignored at school; replaced by patriotism. Debt ever increasing. The few are taking control. Support is falling apart and our health is taken for granted. Will we do nothing?
Watching the world from your white house on the hill.
We hate you and all you stand for.
Wet from your ignorant spew we can turn you green.
A change from the orange burn of your hostile heated hatred.
What will we do?
A ghost in my left hand. Air in my right.
A fight for my mind starts and lasts all night.
Why should I do this? I don’t have to do that?
A cat gently breathing. Waking up. Emergency lick of it’s leg! Back to sleep.
I’m sorry if it seemed I didn’t care.
I really did. I just didn’t know I had to lick my leg.
I have new plans but I miss you.
A boy watches silhouettes walk around the neighbour’s house.
The light’s on in the bedroom. Are they alone tonight? Or tomorrow or any given night this week?
Night windows show the post declutter calm. A sad anticlimax and an empty room. Lonely footsteps back and forth. A wait of the modern age.
They don’t care if they don’t reply. He can’t see the tears landing on their phone. Waiting for a message while they sleep. It is folly.
You cannot block the flow of life.
You can regulate it or change it’s future course.
You cannot change where it has been.
You can choose to focus on the bits you really like.
The crucifying pain I carry in my head.
I’d smash it against stone walls until I drop down dead.
The pulsating murder of horror in my brain.
If only it would drown; deep in never ending rain.
I cannot walk. I cannot see.
Humanity’s hatred rules do not dare blame me.
I cannot hear. I cannot pee.
I’m fit to burst with rage; unforgivingly.
I want to die.
I can’t continue.
My mind has gone.
My rotting organs, a congregated retinue.
Let me go. I cannot wait.
My hatred burns all my mates.
I ruin everything. Don’t let me go.
I need you more than you know.
What whispers do you hear in the wind?
When your mind withers and you are just a bag of meat.
An object of lust for envied eyes.
Or a welcome companion to a loved one.
Horses canter through the field.
Playful nights and days in the elements.
Cold in the outside setting sun.
Moving brings health and warmth to those who come.
Such a lovely place.
On a hill with trees, bracken and heather.
Lone cow wanders.
Such solitude is healing.
Shared adventures postponed.
Lives split and shared more thin.
A calloused finger runs down my chest.
I don’t recognise this touch.
What is darkness to those lost in the wilderness.
A habitable home full of comfort and hope.
We survive here.
A solace of familiar weather.
Home at last.
*Until we all inevitably die, alone, suffering in the tremendous agony of what feels like an wasted eternity.
*Added for a friend who prefers a sad ending.
Time falls through my hands
Sand on floor
By the door
On the scratched stone tiles.
Never coming nor going
The circular bus
Drives on a round route
Serving as many streets as possible.
Never ending or beginning
What really is space?
What is brain activity?
A switch to be flicked on or off.
A journey of recovery
Doesn’t take time
It never ends
It is time.
This is to be read in your head
Or appreciated in bed.
Like a flood of information
from every nation
For your brain to be fed.
I don’t want to move.
My situation won’t improve.
Lying here will rest my brain
not moving an inch just listening to the rain.
There’s always something out there to sooth.
*Sooth your arse as it gets rubbed with steel wool!
*Added for a friend who prefers a sad ending.
The faceless voice that follows me around.
It is the nameless power that fills everything.
An anchor that roots me to my upbringing, to the places I lived, where I survived.
I want to share it with you.
How did this story unfold, let me tell you…
A pal in Rome took me swimming, she said she liked to be afloat, gliding with the current.
Now in the depths of the river; water flows lowly and in this place it was lifting us softly.
Neither strong nor solid life’s liquid fed the luscious growth on the river bank.
As we swam, it occured to us that water is the universal solvent, wearing away at everything it meets.
How we laughed after our day; laughter bubbled up spontaneously like a hillside spring.
Ice struck hard. Cracked mirror melts. Sea levels rise. We all drown.
What could happen between us. If we could watch the tide. If waves would roll over us. If we would never die.
Some people live on stilts, knocked over by the breeze, the lapping sea gently lilts, as we fall to our knees.
Not one of us is in control. Never acting out our intent. Don’t worry for what you can’t control. Your iron will is still there hell bent.
Planted by squirrels, we march to life’s whistle
Together in mud, we tower above
Spring bulbs below and birds in our hair
We all have some bark but make no sound in the air
What goes on beneath anchors our feet
We bind the land is how we play our hand
Leave us breathing well and oxygen we will sell
For we are the trees that build your society’s deeds
Three lifetimes ago I was born.
I came from a strong nut, one of many, my mother groaned as I fell from her grip.
My name is Hazel and I am 200 years old. I live by the water’s edge, where I drink and swim, stability my pledge.
I feel my dear old Russell run his presence through my hair, day to day, a familiar face of nature’s affection.
Seasons come like a day night cycle.
Polly rides past on her bike and stops by me for some shade, deserved mind, she just isn’t fabulous yet, dahrling.
I will feed and shelter until my day is done, be it lightning or blight, my day will come.
Observing the woodland is a hobby of mine, we tend to it’s upkeep, bird’s homes combined.
When I was young I didn’t know myself but was full of potential. When I was mature I peaked with doubt but was rash to show my strength. Now I am old I know all that matters and what happens, happens.
You are the Lily in the pond and I am Hazel in your reflection. Treat me well and I will reward you.
The cow stood alone, crunching on the cud, one field away from beach.
Dividing the field from the beach were wind carved dunes; obscuring the sea from view.
The sound was immense. Crash after crash.
The cow didn’t know what it was. It came again and again. Like the never ending tide of love between two lovers exploring what they could be.
The grass was long enough to rasp a quiet rustle in the breeze. The cattle’s table spread. Yet there was only the cow around. Night rolled in. Thunder struck.
As the rain fell the cow sought refuge in a rocky cave by the lake at the top of the field. Only to discover an inhabitant was already there. A weight was lifted from the cow’s heart at the site of a bull.
The bull was neither young or old, he was in his prime, not extraordinary, not plain, he was unremarkable. The bull stood next to the cow in silence for some time until the rain stopped.
An almighty torrent came from the back of the cave. Both the cow and the bull were swept up in the water. The lake had burst its banks. They clung to each other for dear life, carried along towards the dunes and the beach, they were dropped, wet to the bone, to the sands of the beach.
The cow mooed at the sight of the waves, seeing what caused crashing sound for the first time was a revelation. It felt like her brain was alive with discovery. The bull stood and gently put his head next to the cow’s as they watched the sun come up over the roaring sea.
Water fills every empty gap. It is the universal solvent. It always seeks the lowest places to lift us up. Natures bounty bringing the cattle together.
Flexing my self worth to my friend showing off 15 years of momentos.
I’ve never had a time when inspiration don’t stop the flows.
When I walk down the street, I don’t turn heads, I turn hearts.
So polite and so kind you’ll never to smell the odour of my farts.
I laugh and I joke but am real when you want me to listen.
And if you look me in the face you’ll notice my eyes always glisten.
Be real to me, I’ll reward you with your dreams, that’s a given.
When we touch and you go; you’ll always wonder what you are missin’.
Ok, so maybe I don’t believe this but you can fill the emptiness inside.
So, be true to yourself and live your best life on the outside.
Does the sun make a noise?
I can only but wonder as her silence speaks volumes.
Broken promises and a broken mind.
There is no fixing but we continue living.
Hush. I hear rain. I hear the onset of autumnal hope.
A cool breeze makes a warm hum on the window pane.
Traffic planing on lying water on the road.
A whoosh of joy as memories warm my heart.
The same horizon; the same place.
Things are somehow different.
A catalogue of comfort is no help.
Too different. Too unknown.
A carrot can be a treat for a hungry deer.
What I’d give to hear from the trees.
Living a slow life, perfectly still.
I can only be ponder what life has in store.
Living young is full of strength and unknowns.
Maturity brings adventure and misplaced confidence.
Old age brings acceptance and certainty.
I feel old before my time.
Sleeping aged 15 in a room full of heroin addicts.
I can appreciate the kindness of the inn keeper.
The night before in the cells did me no good.
A life of deserved mistrust for those in authority.
Fast forward eighteen years and I walk past the shops.
Police racially profile black children for a stop and search.
I walk slowly so they know I’ll be their witness.
We cannot let our friends live with this injustice.
Gathering bilberries on the moors is therapeutic.
A small handful may take five minutes to pick.
A five second chew, an explosion of juice and flavour, they are gone.
Time well spent.
I feel like a Nissan Micra with a Ferrari engine stuck on a 20mph road.
If I start I’ll be stopped and if I stop no one will notice.
Playing with the constraints of my mind.
I can keep hope but it seems only of use to spread.
I hold on to cords of my dream.
Fraying fabric felt through my fingers.
I’m holding tight but gently to the memories.
As to not to sever the bonds.
But they cannot compete with reality.
A dream is a dream. Nothing more.
Yes, dreams can be real, and it was.
I need to repair and make new cords.
Healing my connections to the outside.
You’ve never been loved like that.
I’ve heard that before, somewhere.
A refrain after every disappointed verse.
I loved you, does that make it better or worse?
I’m a lesson you needed to learn.
The well-worn silver lining of mine
That won’t keep me warm as I walk all alone
Through the storm that I summoned to never get home.
Everything is particles and waves: Energy. Dust.
A conscious thrust. A conscious thrust.
The dust hare kicks its legs and forces are transferred.
The pull between us is what it preferred.
Thank you Dust Hare for working in mysterious ways.
You keep the sun burning, even at night.
If anyone sees you they are in for a fright.
For you are beyond comprehension, these words not enough, to describe your beauty, to talk about your dust.
I need to adjust how I see you.
You came to me with love.
I’ve never been loved like that.
Now it’s gone, or on hold, or changing.
I hope this is just act two.
There are things I haven’t said.
Things I haven’t done.
Maybe I should look for someone else too. It will not be the same. That scares me.
I’m powered by tea.
Fallen dreams and new realities.
Corruption and lies is not exclusive to governments.
I hold my head high.
A new caffeine start.
Self care is my priority now.
This fleshy husk on a rock in space needs a shower and a walk.
I will always take a new leaf over the ending of the book.
The slow burn of a heartbreak injection
Injected first thing this morning
Fight or flight was truly tested
A heavy weight of pain hangs around my chest
I must let myself love again
Rebel against the fear and doubt
I’ll choke up getting ready for bed
Using help to shut my eyes
Closed doors in an empty house
A fresh breeze awakens my face
A few days sleep needed for self care
I may have administered it myself in her shoes
Alas, a healthy dose of pain may just be what I needed
Petals fall. Seeds drop. Leaves loosen.
New growth is still some way off.
A forgotten celebration of life in the distance, springing forth like laughter from the diaphragm. Until then, winds rise.
Discomfort. Aching muscles and tired eyes dried by the breeze. Columns of light cascade through the window, occasionally, when the sun manages to poke through.
A fireplace stoked while music plays. Folks well fed and drinks flowing free. There is still cheer in the air where there is water and warmth, where the memory of new lives is fresh.
A roof over our head, we clothe ourselves in autumn colours, waiting for the next thing to break and be fixed. Creature comforts from little routines keep us going. And listening.
Staring into space somewhere in front of your eyes I give an extinguished sigh. A stifled noise. One moment in time. Forgotten.
This happened but won’t be remembered. Following the glazed look was a spark of life. Face muscles contracting commitment to a smile.
An out of place hair on your brow brushed away by a fingertip’s gentle touch. I looked at the strand and placed it alone in your palm. I learned forward. Silence. Before I received a kiss so pleasant it will stay with me forever.
This hasn’t happened yet, but when it does, I’ll remind you that I love you.
I take my old boat ‘Ася’ down the Serpentine River. She’s a glorious craft. She’ll do for a lifetime.
The water laps and whirls around her freshly oiled rear. I duck a branch to live another day.
Safe surrounded by her streamlines. A temple on holy ground. Security.
The ebbs and flows as we stay the night in the estuary. Bobbing up and down. A lifetime at sea awaits.
Snow has fallen
Songs are sung
Cheer is won
Fire is warm
Play the drum
Dance til dawn
Tell your pun
Laugh all night
Frying fat sizzled sound ears pop.
Jelly wobbles worse sugar sweet burst spot.
Often colours blend and swirl mix up make a new one.
Simple sayings sickly sink into deep thoughts all gone.
Purple picnic mountain side rain is here.
Hide the food mood has dropped take me home.
Sometimes squirrels eat our crumbs in the sun shone.
Now we’re home weather fine itchy John.
Dense, fine hairs on a leaf like fur.
He purrs until I pluck him off the tree to put in my book.
Saved or sacrificed? He lives with the letters I sent to this page.
A message just to say that all leaves fall eventually.
But don’t worry, they’ll soon spring back.
Give me iron.
Steam my engine.
Rocket to the moon.
Riding my cognition cycle.
Beetroot and sour cream.
Warm and wet.
I fall off my bike and tear up my knee.
A door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway.
Put down the book. Get back on.
I’m tired of all this sunny weather. Give me perpetual autumn. Cozy nights wrapped up in thick jumpers next to warm fires. The movement of falling leaves. The cold breeze against my face. The washing up a treat for my hands after eating some comforts.
A fallen star is just some grit to harden my chicken’s egg shell.
A positive move. Just smile more.
Just smile more. It’ll make you happier.
Smile more. It’ll please them.
Smile or forget.
Nothing is forgotten because it was never remembered. Not truly.
…give me strength.
I feed you food in hope that you produce compassion if not empathy.
May hope be a by product of staying alive.
May staying alive be easy and of value.
May ease come to you as an instinct.
May your instincts be kind.
The pages turn as the trees shake off old growth. A quiet melody plays whilst she reads by the fire. The plates are full. The cheer is here. In this moment we have no fear. October nights glow in our memories with smells reminiscent of smoke and warmth. When the nights are cold and strange and all the pets sleep on, and all the light has gone out and we go to dream new songs. I’ll think about the time you stayed with me and kept me as your own.
I am just a ghost in a ‘morbid dreamland’ but this is where we congregate now.
This is how we meet up and provide each other with the help we need.
My imagination will help power yours and yours will help power mine.
Let yourself drift.
Slide down every watery path until you reach the sea.
You can overcome everything you need to.
The sun and moon will glisten and the darkness will contain.
Books will expand the world if you are a prisoner. Food will contract it. Use them well.
The rules are simple but best forgotten.
The garlic sellers hands had an all day smell.
Stale from yesterday when the garlic sold well.
The hands were large.
Fat fingers like sausages.
Her date for the night was a crêpe suzette.
He said your scent is great come sit on my baguette.
Softly the feather cushion supports your skin.
Naked on the settee, free, otherwise not concerned.
A patterned patchwork dream in your head.
You want to act it out in 4K HDR colour before you’re dead.
Pretence and arrogance.
Often your day is long and you are tired.
There is housework to do and everything is unattractive.
What falls eventually rises again but not tonight. Fuck that.
Something soft is still relatively hard because I can’t do it. Shit.
There is often a case of caution with plaice. Leave this fish be in the ocean. A hazardous race of engines at pace is done by the boat as precaution.
But a potion is drunk by the sailors who stunk of fish kept in ice like lotion. It comprised of rum and felt like fun but sleep became their eventual notion.
Furious rage woke from drunken haze as the night turned to day and all the fish swept over. No luck, no clover, the drunken seaman went over as the seas demanded attention.
The trawler was ruined. The seagulls were stewing their plaice with salt water and kelp. The fishermen died without help and the shorter straw was drawn by the fish and the men who passed with a yelp.
The sea calmed it’s waves and said goodbye to the days where boats would claim it’s bounty. The wind had dropped. All the corks had been popped by nature who never would die.
So goes the story of catching plaice and men snoring drunkenly into the night. Their vessel had failed because they drank too much ale. Natures debt was dealt without commotion.
And so this tale is sung as warning old and young to people at this charity. Don’t be greedy, reward the needy, and the world will find it’s own parity.
What can I say?
Great green swamps of the East.
Nutritious algae looks unappetising.
Sniff a beaker of soil, my friend.
The smell of Earth is your base.
Surely a rainbow would brighten your day.
It’s starting to rain.
We’re all in pain.
An empty stomach is a shame.