We go about ordered lives
No waves, ripples, just surging
Tide, not noticing undercurrents
Disturbing depths, interfering
With our status quo, dragging
Under, the unwary who are tugged,
To where disturbance manifests.

They swim, fools, against
All odds, knowing they'll drown
If they once show weakness
But something drives them,
Until they surface for breath
showing themselves, rebellious
Causing foaming surf.

Mexican waves follow, courage
In numbers, crowd not individual,
Becoming the storm that has always
Been Brewing, flooding into the comfort
zone, telling the truth becomes a
Revolutionary act, that we know in the
End brings still waters again.

Our fragile souls
Mere wisps
Trapped in aging shells
That one day will no longer hold
Substance
Released, where do we go,
To dance among the stars in heaven
Take our place in it's mantle
With the constellations,
Or do we disappear as though
We never existed, mere dust
To blow across the earth
And never settle,
Reincarnated perhaps
To right the wrongs of previous
Existence.

When the night is long
And sleep evades me
I wonder
What fate awaits me.

I put you back inside your box
and placed it just behind my eye
the lid is loose and the sides cracked
light shines as though under a doorway
your story paramount in my library
when you're not here I hold a breath
that is yours and yours alone, a sigh
for when we are once more met
and history tumbles like yesterday

hits my system
and I shake

six days fermentation
aged for four years
in oak barrels

walks across my grave

I've distilled time
into a shiver

I have bawled and shouted
stamped my feet
blamed God my mother
AND the universe
but I'm still here
spoilt petulant little spec
on a blue green planet
infinity never heard me
or gave a ****
about a small ape like creature
spinning around
and around
at a thousand miles an hour
going nowhere
it's time to take
the bitter little pill
and just get on with it

You make me feel awkward
Your beauty a weapon
Rendering me speechless and helpless
I am one of the waifs and strays
Standing in the shadows
Observing the game, looking for losers
Potential friends.

I lay me down
to rest
the words enter my head
pushing and shoving
like children in a lunch queue
tiny scary voices
with an utterance of an idea
I feel compelled to put
pen to paper
I've either written
some great words
or wasted a lot of trees
I'm still clueless
but the nightmares continue
and I keep talking
inside a head
as empty as a warehouse

Come and love me
I am out here on the periphery
writing poems
to the earth and sea

a ghost of a voice
barely audible
except on the breeze
if you listen carefully
you will hear it whispering
as sun touches sea
as rain starts to fall
as seasons change
as you lose your way

I am here
out on the periphery
listen carefully
I will not let you fall

driven by some unseen hand
the pen travels across 80 gsm
sometimes I manage to write things
even I don't understand.

the weather has changed
storm clouds overhead
while wars rage across the land
men women and children
indiscriminately die
for the cause of peace
that no one seems to find
the weather has changed
battle carried to the skies
we fight our own environment
all of us on the losing side

I found you between the covers
Laid bare before me,
A beginning a middle and an end
All there for me to discover,
On white sheets, in among the small print
Along with accompanying photographs
A catalogue if you will
In chronological order, unchangeable
As this is now a past event.

But these aren’t your words
There are quotes I’ll give you that,
But not an autobiography, this truth
Belongs to someone else’s twisted opinion
Through research and interviews with also
Rans, so where are you really, not here
Not raw emotion, frustration, devotion
No one saw inside your head, plucked
Your thoughts and put it down on paper.

Afraid of our own shadow, but
yearning to be free, searching
for our utopian ideal

life's a beach
gravy, easy street

scared to loose the chains
with which we bind ourselves
break free from obligation

our 'destiny'

into chaos

open the door of our life cell
of order, routine
step through the veil
live the dream
but all we can do
is complain and complain

I'm listening to records
not heard for thirty years
I've carried this collection
gathering dust on my shelves
needle scrapes across vinyl
music to my ears
an old friend not seen
for a while, but it
feels like yesterday
my kids look on in awe
even with their MP4
as I spin the black circle
I'll make collectors of them all
and I'm not old just retro
and it's still rock 'n' roll

Let us all rise for the birthing of Earth's new life
Stirrings from her womb bring forth daffodils,
To have intimate relations with buzzing bees
Stirring wooly heads from their winter cluster,
As the yellow heads Mexican wave with
A warm blustery scented breeze, birds sing with
Renewed gusto, dancing across the garden fence
Making nests, making plans 'cause they just can't
Help but feel born again, so lets have an ovation
Spring is sprung, give me more, encore, encore.

He walks the end of the pier, alone
No home to go to,
A ghost in ragged clothes
Passing among the crowds,
Unseen and unheard
But he always feeds the gulls,
Their noisy raucous squabbling
Over a few scraps of bread,
Reminds him of how unhappy
All these tourists really are,
Pretending to enjoy their holiday
Kidding themselves they are free.

hammer click
whip crack
cordite burn

God
the power to take
or spare life
in the palm of a hand
lay down the law
terrorise
oppress
destroy

no returns
no time to apologise
a decision made in haste
regretted for life

my constant companions
are worry
with her sister
fear
dark angels
that clip my wings
so I cannot fly
cannot believe
cannot rest
they can leave
any time I want
I just have to have the courage
to let them go
but how I would miss them
those soft doubting voices
whispering my imprisonment
with the very best
of intentions

Your muse sits on the draining board
Swinging her legs like a child
A quizzical look on her face
As you make yourself a coffee
Eyes follow you round the room,
You haven't spoken in a while

Pen and paper lay where you left them
Since the last time you were inspired
Writing words to shake the world
Simile and metaphor straight from your
Soul, but even though she whispers, nudges
And cajoles, you continue to ignore her

There are other poets in the world
Screaming out for inspiration
Begging for the right word to guide them
Bring them to the ****** of creation
Don't leave the door too long open
She may slip away without you noticing.

I have a theory
that when the world ends
for mankind
all that will be left
on a piece of wasteland
is a Coke machine
still lit
it will sum us up
perfectly

"I cannot help you
with this publication"
it said
a closed door
a full stop
even an exclamation mark
you are swimming with the sharks
trying to run
with the wrong pack
basically you're a loser
your work just doesn't cut it
I recede back into
my protective shell of defeat
enclosing me
with the force field
of self denial and hate
here I am safe
nowhere to go but down
failure such an easy road
I travel with the crowd
all rejects of the elite
unwelcome in their kingdom
worse than unbelievers
we are the unbelieved in

A train to the big city
Where the pavements are of gold
A job, a life, a future

A cardboard box in no-man’s land.

Why do they come? Refugees
From their own poverty
Here to share in ours.

There’s a boy in oblivion over there
A needle in his arm
And **** in his hair;
Sold to the dream of another world
Not here.

Some walk the streets you know
Teenagers, offering their bodies
Hoping to save their souls;
Pawning dignity for a take-away,
**** in sin city
For the rich and gay.

There is no gold here, you fools
Under the same sky you sleep
On the same wish you weep
Crying yourselves to sleep
Counting lambs to the slaughter.

I drink a perfect summer
fermented strawberry red
with a hint of liquorice aftertaste
from when the world was better
summers warmer and longer
and I wasn't even alive

Until the knife is removed
the wound will never heal

A room devoid of life
no less bland
than a hole in the ground,
but with a little more light
functional, bed, chair, table
and an intangible fear
of something it has (in abundance)
time, and plenty of it

she comes to me

with her chemical haze
dulling my senses
warming my veins
clouding my mind
with her seductive ways

she comes to me
to take me away

Written after seeing the film of the same name, starring Robert De Niro.

I drive these lonely streets at night
Picking up shadows from under street lights
I'll take anyone, kooks, pushers, hookers
I'll travel any place, don't bother me
Not my business the hours these people keep.
The rain lashes down, blurring the bright lights
Like a watercolour painting, mixing, blending
Some day a great rain will come
And wash all the **** off the streets.

I feel inside me a change coming
Someone must somehow stop
The users and abusers of the innocent,
There must be one to make a stand.
I see young girls, fourteen or fifteen
Walking the sidewalk for the pleasure of creeps
Selling the dream of teenage ***;
What dreams do they have locked away
Washed into the gutter by the rain.

I see drug pushers selling people's lives
On the dream of a trip to the wild side
Everyone is trying to get out, escape
But the streets have a grip you cannot see,
You can buy a potion to get you high
But from this hell there is no easy exit.
Some come to this circus to trade
They need to live their life of lies
And I am the ferryman to the other side.

Some day a great rain will come
To wash away all of this ****,
Women will be able to walk safe, alone
Without looking over their shoulder;
I feel a change coming in me
I must be the one to make a stand,
These children of sin need a home
Somewhere to shelter from the storm,
Then maybe I can sleep nights again.

I have denied you during my life
Blasphemed like a docker or soldier
But I know in the end you'll be with me
As the Devil looks over my shoulder.

Just because I wander alone
doesn't mean I'm lost
some of us don't want to be found
happy with a hermetic existence
along the sidelines of life

company means conversation
friends mean I have to try
make the effort to entertain them
keep up with their stupid lives
laugh and be engaging, for fear
the searching "Are you alright"
stay up late beyond my patience
waiting for them to ******* home
people dropping by to see me
when all I want is to be on my own

misery loves company
but I can be it by myself
loving the melancholy darkness
wallowing in self piteous baths
drinking alone just to be daring
inviting addiction and even worse
having fun dancing naked
or sitting around in my underpants

We will come to you in the end
On our hands and knees,
To worship at the altar of nature.
When money has become worthless
Cars are chunks of useless rusting metal,
And all the technology in the world
Hasn't saved our sorry ***.

condensation runs in rivulets
to form a puddle
at the foot of the glass
a barmaid's finger imprints
still show in their disturbed path
bubbles rise to the surface
to join the communion of froth
through amber liquid

grain hops yeast water
a quartet brewed to perfection
one of the oldest beverages of man
an innocent in our drug and adrenaline
fuelled world

going for a beer with the lads
do you fancy a pint?
just a quick one
social, classless, acceptable vice
five thousand years in the making

At first you will love me
With an honesty and truth,
Before you learn to use me
And abuse my love for you.


After a while you will hate me
Everything I do will be wrong,
And no kind words will touch you
Or cure the ills I’ve caused.


Then one day you’ll meet me
As an equal in life,
And find you never beat me
Or turned my love from you.


When you become a parent
You’ll understand such love,
Given without condition
And more than you can tell.

Holidays are a falsehood we must endure
Lulling us into a sense of freedom that
We can never own, like the soldier from
His barracks or the prisoner his cell,
We are all afraid of our liberty, needing
Monotony in our lives to occupy the hours
Between waking and finally coming to rest
Again, yearning for the courage to escape
But lacking energy or initiative to act,
If ever our chains are cut we become unemployed
We lose our identity pulled down by responsibility
For rent, food, bills, our social commitments,
Turn tail and run, from the very door that
We are so afraid to open.

my horoscope holds the truth
star predicted fateful path
governed by the alignment of planets
and the honesty of their course
I cannot escape fate
it's all been written
as an actor I take my part
lines written to the end
of the universe
even this poem is up there somewhere
if you look hard enough

Lips that I had kissed
Are now denied, the look
That once would hold me,
Not for my eyes, those arms
That could embrace, capture
A moment of grace, body
Clasped against your breast
Your form so vibrant smelt
Like bliss, now hold another
As I ache to be the chosen,

Like watching a ship leave
Harbour, my ardour it's cargo
Like a faith denied, even though
I believed the gospel, I
Never felt at home, we rented
Space fixed in time, by contact
Then denying my crush, you broke
A clause in the contract, what
We shared was no longer us
Turned emotions unrequited.

You pull me apart
Like petals from a flower,
Love me, love me not
Tearing at my very being,
Until my innards are exposed
For all the world to see,
But no beauty in my nakedness,
Just exposure
Of my anatomy.

Nothing sadder
Than calling for a mate no longer there,
Last of a kind
Singing into the darkness.

Ousted by the human race;
One small light extinguished in a universe
Of satellites and jet powered aircraft
Metalled roads and all night diners,
High rise living, where we even invade
The skies to get a better view
Of our formidable world,
Lighting us into our own oblivion.

So how do you grade
The importance of a creature,
Not particularly colourful
With a dull song, not very loud,
That no one will really miss as it shuffles
Off the stage of the world,
No great eulogy, no curtain call
Never an encore
To join poor Dodo in the glass cased
Museums of what we have destroyed.

“Come in and sit down”
said the celluloid voice,
smooth as silk.
Cautiously I stepped
through the TV screen,
to take my place.


“I will show you a world”
it continued,
“That bears no relation
to what you consider as
REALITY.”


The air around electrified,
as the set was powered to life.


Beautiful bodies playing on a beach,
running into the foaming sea;
sun ripening skin, bleaching hair;
Then, from nowhere a can appears,
elixir of every surfer, sun worshipper.


Somewhere in the distance
a distinctive throaty roar,
the romantic throb of a Harley;
ridden by a pair of jeans
giving identity to,
some muscular male *****;
A dream of America
and freedom.


Slow moody blues solo
hangs in the air;
a guitar talking to a journeyman,
familiar but not remembered.
Every note sustained, holding breath,
then carried by a riff
from a bottle of bourbon.


Outside the set
beautiful bodies are burning up,
through a hole in the ozone.
(Too many limousines and Harleys)
The alcoholic looks on, wide eyed,
trying to see a way in,
really believing there is one.

out on the mudflats
washed up by an angry sea
a shell remains
parched by the sun
a little bright paint
to remind whoever bothers to look
of the colour they once had
hauntingly beautiful shapes at dusk
ghosts with shrouded faces

Silt
there to block the estuary
a danger to shipping
of no use to anyone
but foolish romantics who see
the glory days gone by
a little sense of history, reverence
to the way things used to be


when they're gone
another age will discard the waste
of lonely  forgotten souls on the shoreline

You make sense of words
that I cannot

you write phrases and synonyms
allegories and metaphors
that leave my heart empty
which makes you a poet
and I not

you are praised, applauded
eulogized, complemented
a voice of our times
though without rhyme
or reason in my eyes

you write to confuse me
to fool and bemuse me
but thats what makes you great
and I not.

where Hollywood's celluloid dream
is reflected off silver screen
into the consciousness
of audience's expectations
sitting
in amphitheatre auditoriums
amid
whispered conversations
plot revelations
spoiler alert
sweet packet crinkle
coke slurp
popcorn rustle
where held hands
make promises breached
bases reached
love declared
for a fumble on a back seat
childhoods spent
getting out from under
grownups feet
the good guys won
the bad guys wore black
where a thousand shots fired
nobody died
in the end
aching legs brought to life
to leave with
a head full of stories
unrelated to real life

Gods will come and go
but the angels will always
walk among us
dazzled by the glow
of a finite life
lived with such
desperation
not wanting to miss a thing

we are all accomplices
the plate cannot lie
something murdered casually
so we can finely dine
oozing still the blood
that once coursed it's veins
a rare and gruesome pallet
enjoyed with chips and peas

yet we pet the dog
call him companion and friend
invited into the family
like a furry surrogate child
stroke the cat on our evening lap
cooing and talking
like they understand
they have the protection of PET

otherwise we'd be cuddling a snack

I gave my sadness to my cat
it fitted his deadpan face
and generally glum demeanour,
he had the personality for it
besides it made him cute,
and a massive hit with the ladies

of course, I couldn’t really
give my sadness to my cat
apart from it being really unfair,
on my best friend and only true
companion, it is ridiculous
to think that an animal is depressed,

though I am, even with his support
endless nights listening to my troubles
his expressionless face understanding
every word, he helps me of course
having to look after someone who relies
on you, makes you feel wanted,

useful, almost powerful in some ways
but after all he is just a cat, however
much I try to make him human,
did I tell you he talks, not really
I think I probably need a therapist
and he just needs to be a cat,

it’s what he does best after all.

problems problems problems
we all look for answers
in sunsets
songs
the smile of a stranger
alcohol
mind altering substances
the therapists bill
but it's just ******* life man
you can't expect to go
from sun up to sunset
cruising like a jet
you're bound to crash sometimes
you need to see the earth
as a friend
somewhere to land
spend some time
just staring at the sky
wishing you could fly again
and you will
when the thermals are right
to lift your spirit heavenward
but be careful what you wish for
the heavens are full
of shooting stars

Virginal linen
Clean sheets that are washed of sin
Unsoiled by past loves

Bright white, blinding,
lost in a sea of light.
Radar no longer functioning,
then suddenly intense, murderous heat
scorching legs and wings.


Trying to navigate a way out
they watch from the bed,
lost in its own Bermuda Triangle.


He is fascinated - how stupid
a creature can be to **** itself
on a light bulb.


She, understanding the distraction
of the light, sheds a tear
for how love hurts
and destroys you in the end.

we make camp at the coffee shop
turning a table and four chairs
into temporary home
decorated with a decor
of scarves, coats and bags
an invisible wall
focusing in on our refuge
the intimacy of the cups, saucers, plates
and conversation

in the corner
a man on his own
invades the whole room
conversing into his mobile
which I am not convinced
is in a call
nudging everyone into looking
beyond the realm
of their comfort zone

we climb
higher and higher
in our ivory towers
land is at a premium
a square foot a king's ransom
so we dwell among the clouds
eye to eye with the birds
though never know their freedom
we are with the stars
though we burn out
their celestial light
we can whisper in God's ear
though above the clatter
he may never hear us

I have finally found you
In St. Enodoc Church;
Home is where your heart rests
Not your place of birth.
Summoned by the three o’clock bell
A pilgrim across the eleventh fairway,
Towards a crooked spire that protrudes
Like a drowning swimmer,
Signalling to be rescued from the dunes.


As I enter through the gate
Your headstone greets me with a shout;
A marvel of the stonemason’s art
Explosive script from marbles cold darkness,
Radiates your humour and warmth.
I am not humbled, sad nor afraid
This place is fitting to rest your phrase;
Looking down at where you lie
I try to imagine that lived-in face.


Archibald lies at your head
Old and trusted, faithful ted;
So much heard, but nothing said
All through the years of pressured steps,
To follow where your father led;
But you had other plans and instead
Were drawn to words with rhythmic thread,
That made you Poet Lauriat, a knight
Who finally has found some peace.

There is calm

early september pushes summer's
burning sun aside
light changes
air cools, like chilled water
on skin, drink it in

autumn beckons
winter threatens

there is a sadness in your heart
as the world changes
an eternal cycle of hellos
and goodbyes
punctuated with days
that you stick into that memory
scrapbook, which may or may not fade

but now there is this stillness
nothing is happening
before all Hell lets loose
I can be happy
savour a moment
a moment of truth.

you are like cake
little substance
rising to a gentle warmth
a mouth full of air

your flavour is sweet
satisfying
at the time of eating
but an aftertaste
of guilt
a feeling of being
a little bit *****

you are always there
to temp a stray
from the right path
displaying your wares
like a shop window

what harm can a little pleasure do
no one will know
and you only live once