A letter in her hand,
she walks slowly,
in brave, expensive shoes
to the exit.

The eternal conundrum that what which one calls “life” and that.

If
oranges
are
called
oranges
why
aren’t
lemons
called
yellows

?

i really don’t know how to
tell you
that i have to stop myself
from
thinking about you,
mostly at night.
You seem to work the
days i go in,
and you look at me
everytime –
and its like wtf am i
supposed to do
i play it cool, too cool and
look at you
like i look at everyone
else,
which is so bad because
you’re not
everyone else,
and by the time i
withdraw cash
you’re sitting down in
your booth
talking to somebody
whose just
moved into London.

It wasn’t something we wanted to do
That, my friend, you and I both knew
We didn’t have a choice at all
We made that choice and made the call

You phoned that bloke in Kentish Town
I made the plan and wrote it down
We made a pact right then and there
“She has to go, it’s only fair”

The stupid comments and stupid hair
And stupid questions and stupid stare
The stupid meetings, her stupid voice
Her stupid logic for every choice

She used to leave us seething mad
With moronic points on every ad
We tried so hard to make it better,
You even wrote that lovely letter

But now she’s gone and never more
We killed the bitch, the fucking whore
We knew the cost and up we coughed
Come quarter three, we’ll write that off

A child of breaking tendencies I grew up
on ‘mols & ‘phens See me?
See ma Ma’ Then the Lord grants me a
Benz
Come rain or shine Come again Come
right on time Come on the five, or on the
ten
You simply must make tea. There’s
no two ways about it. Come full circle,
marmalade accomplice Contrarily; I
doubt it.
Come rain or shine Come again Come
right on time Come on the five, or on the
ten.
I get a little mad at them as, They step
into my night time. Cuppah-OJ-Weet-a-
Bix-Get up and walk the line style I, mean
while..
Come rain or shine Come again Come
right on time Come on the five, or on the
ten
What’s your story, multi faceted. All MOD
cons, no knickers. Bit bitter for strippers..
slip of the tongue. Slip of the tongue.
Come rain or shine Come again Come
right on time Come on the five, or on the
ten
Sit down Fat Larry for I’ve known you a
long time. Furlongs of time, for long is a
long time. But little white ones tire, bore
even like minds.
Come rain or shine Come again Come
right on time Come on the five, or on the
ten
Brightest of boys but must try harder.
There’s no account for this misorder.
House of Lords. House of Strangers.
There’s no ‘Lords’. There’s no saviour.
Come rain or shine Come again Come
right on time Come on the five, or on the
ten
Hold your horses soldier Take one step
back and wave. Now sling your nose up
over your shoulder And keep walking,
dickhead.

Warm night air which cloaks
and softens sounds: muffled laughs;
Birdsong; passing cars.

Over time I’ve been
gradually reducing
the amount of sugar
I put in your tea.
I think you’re getting
fat but can’t bear
to tell you. This is
my way of helping
you control your
weight.

A hard rain’s a-gonna fall.
Baby, stop crying. Can you please crawl out your window?

Desolation row.

Emotionally yours.

Forever young. Girl from the North Country.

Had a dream about you baby.
I wanna be your lover. Jet Pilot. Knockin’ on heaven’s door.

Lay, lady, lay.
Mama, you been on my mind.

Nobody ‘cept you.

Oh, sister.
Peggy Day.
Quit your low down ways.
Rollin’ and tumblin’. Sad-eyed Lady of the Lowlands. Tangled up in blue.

Under the red sky.
Visions of Johanna.
Watching the river flow.

You’re gonna make me lonesome when you go.

“PLAY BEGINS AND THEN AT
A CERTAIN MOMENT IT
IS OVER.

OTHERWISE IT IS NOT PLAY!

AND PLAY BEGINS WHEN EVERYDAY LIFE IS OVER.”

JOHN CLEESE

If the world ended
I would have nothing to confess.
Instead, in those fleeting moments
before death,
I would turn to you and ask
“Sex?”

Check you out with your bag for life oh!
What you got inside?
A summer fruit trifle.
Oh my word that sounds delightful, I must get me one of those bags for life oh.
Check you out with your brand new Kindle!
What you got inside?
A bit of Ruth Rendell.
Oh my word that sounds stupendful, I must get me one of those poxy plastic Kindles.
Check you out with your speedy boarding pass!
We’re getting on the same plane mate, we’ll get there just as fast.
You’ve gone from sitting down, to sitting on your arse!
Oh, how I wish I had a speedy boarding pass.

I sat in the pub drinking my beer
and looking at the TV screens
as New York got a hammering from the superstorm.

For all I knew New York could sink
but I would still be here
just me and my beer.

Belief in something, some sort of faith, an idea of where you are going, trusting where you want to be.
Knowing it’s going to be alright even though life is tough and people are unkind.
Not caring.
Not sharing the same life as someone else.
We are people who can stand on two feet, we are vertical. We are erect.
Don’t follow, pave your own path. A new route.
Enjoy the unkind, see the humour.
Wallowing in the mud will get you stuck.
Take risks.
Move in uncouth ways.
Make people feel uncomfortable.
Fall over on purpose so others laugh at you.
Find what you are good at then get great, find what you are shit at then get good. Progress.
Seem happier than you are.
If you have something to say, write it on a wall.
Swear.
Don’t regret but do apologize.
Find new words, places and people.
Feed your mind, starve those who eat all your ideas, they will only regurgitate them.
Don’t harm anyone’s feeling or bodies.
Be busy.
Fall in love, have your heart broken and learn to move on.
Remember the good forget the bad.
Mistakes are genius.

she said
no
after you

she said
pearls before swine
shit before shovel
tears before bedtime

she said
don’t look at me like that
you started it

she said
tonight
when you’re alone
doing yourself
you’ll be doing me

Puddles of earth? More curious than an empty packet of crinkle cut or stray Tesco carrier bloated on sea breeze.

A trail of ericaceous led me to a boisterous four by four. Our infant tree tossed like a badger in accidental murder.

Displaced below street level, his outlook is uncertain.

Angry person, avert your gaze. You are not a postman so don’t open gates, grab plants like turkey necks and hurl them at private number plates.

ou say either and I say either,
You say neither and I say neither,
Either, either, neither, neither,
You like potato and I like potato,
You like tomato and I like tomato,
Potato, potato, tomato, tomato!

Because our relationship only exists online.

signs flicker
metallic, neon
hues
as concrete and wireframe
make love to a half hung
moon
two strangers sit
watching the night fade
the man speaks to her
reads her
every crack and break
&
she chews slowly
over his words
all the while
her heart
marchs
to the beat
of some whimpered
music
that is gobbling at her
soul

the man in the seat in front of me, BA flight 1463, Edinburgh to Heathrow, 31 August 2012

you put your seat back
as soon as we’ve taken off
I learn about you

he sits
on the toilet
i’m taking
a bath
she asks me
is there a future for us
requests
i don’t piss
in the water
as she’d like
to get in

i tell her
it’s too late

Let your pen write,
“The sword is sordid.”

The sword (contrite)
will duly find a forge
and beat itself
into the cutting
(or leading edge)
of a mouldboard
(or turner of topsoil)
and follow the coulter
(or ground-breaking spike)
to the end of the earth

which is just as well
for in war
no-one hears a bloody word
you write.

Rain is sometimes morse,
repeating its message of the sea,

of secrets or recipes thought lost,
each drop preserving a story.

Cars scud – ore and oil wrought
by digits that grub in dirt.

Trains slide a line – bridge-high
metal worm muscling a bend.

Rain writes in long-hand –
letters that never arrive.

Some books are so dark and miserable

Like harbingers of doom,

They tempt me to make paper planes

To fly around the room,

Psycho babble couch confusion

That shouldn’t be let out

Depressing stuff that beats you up

And fills you full of doubts,

The sad thing is the covers ace,

It’s a shame the book couldn’t keep up the pace,

Signed Mr. Sensitive.

What’s so wonderful about Pandas, why do people stand and stare
At what after all is only, a black and white veggie bear

A mysterious thing is a Panda
of which knowledge is vague and grey
but we do know because of its diet,
It shits, forty times, “every day”

Curious crowds are wide-eyed, at their cuddlyness, “all agog”
not deliberately shy and elusive, spend most of their time on the bog

If the Worlds population were Pandas living on bamboo grass
and man the endangered specie would it ever come to pass

I imagine myself loaned to China, on the first of many trips
would Pandas turn up in their thousands to watch ME,
eat egg and chips.

A cry on behalf of all animals, highlighting the disrespect
toward elephants spiders and warthogs
from whales to the smallest insect
this bias in favour of Pandas
is politically incorrect

Agreeing with the protest
will be creatures of the night
screeching, the public only love it
because its got bits of white

The greatest actor of any age,
was a gent called Sidney James.
He was somehow famous
and a hit with the ladies,
though his clothes and his teeth were
beige.

A SEASONAL STORY

Up sprang a gust of playful wind

scattering cherry blossom

in this May time spring,

swirling round legs

old and rickety

leaving a scene,

of enchanting serendipity.

Twas a canines random scattered stools

transformed into petal encrusted jewels

euphemised on this fine day

when nature, wind,

and circumstance favour,

courtesy, a stray mutts

naughty behaviour.

An accidental work of art,

forged by the elements taking part,

this vision of wonder

the soul to delight, blossom covered

lumps of shite.

I want to make a tape for you
The way I did when we were teens
Ignoring those pre-CD warnings
Of us killing music with C90’s

I’ll spend hours deciding the correct
Selection, labouring late into the night
Sorting through piles of eighties vinyl
Singles, twelve inches and 45’s

Until I’ve created the perfect playlist
And then fast forward, pause, rewind!
So I hope that my gift is well received
And my peace offering isn’t fated to be

Smashed in the street, or hurled into a Tree

Unfurled, streaming like a pennant in The breeze