In The Gloaming

In the gloaming,
Where fractal waves
Lap against the shores
Of a cerulean void,

Where emotionless winds
Hum vibrations in shifts,
Whipping lost, feral ghosts
Into storms.

Inside the eye of a tempest
Blinking in chaos,
Where a hole hides a secret
Under hundreds of bones,

Where time stands still
In a rock’s cool shadow,
And the deserts you gifted
Sit folded up into swans,

I found you
Having the time of you life,
Covered in brick dust and children,
Digging perfect derelictions,

And making suppers for the singing.

I Didn’t Die

I didn’t die,

I left seeds,

And I come back
Every now and again
When it rains.

Yesterday I was a smile,
Tomorrow I’ll be a story,

A shadow caught in song,
A gesture in the dark,

A few words that lost their way
And never made it home.

I didn’t die,

I left laughter,

A soft scent on a pillow,
And the early Spring dew
As it shimmers,

Quivering its fragile wet
As the night retreats,

And then notes all its dreams
Before reality rises and shines.

I’m the dust in the sunlight,
A motif drawn in steam,

I didn’t die,

I careened.

In The Alley

Between the bird song
And the dirt,

Beneath the
Leaves in the alley,

Where the broken glass
Hides its secrets,

Glinting in
The morning sun
Like a child’s stolen treasure,

We found a new excuse.

Yesterday Believer

Crucified by hand claps
And a monumental sense of self,

The bent cover of his only book
Hiding sadness on a shelf,

He calls his mum on Sundays
Just to ask the time,

And he signs his name in pencil
On every dotted line.

If you catch him in the daylight
He’ll sing you ABC’s,

Kiss your cheek for money
Then choreograph the breeze,

He’s a yesterday believer,
A stale charcuterie,

And he’ll see you all next Tuesday
For his final matinee.

There’s A Scarecrow In My Pocket

There’s a scarecrow in my pocket
And a draw bridge in my stance,

A pride that’s made from bottled gains
And a hope that likes to dance,

Two pebbles shaped like deformed hearts
Rattling into one another,

And a weapons grade euphoria
That fills these holes with colour.

She Left Us Counting Clouds

Taking shortcuts across wasteland,
Clapping at the seagulls
And arguing with my shadows,

As they stretch in the light
Then snap back.

I’ve been dreaming about
The girl that turned to ashes,

Dancing through purgatory
With her daughter’s tears in her eyes,

Whispering for solace
Like a breeze through swan feathers.

I’ve been thinking about that other life,
Walking round her debut art show,

Her chosen memories reimagined in collages
Cut and pasted beneath made-up skies,

Hope slowly soaked into her landscape’s rich husk
As dawn’s yolk covers everything yellow.

It was 8am when she left us counting clouds,

Distant conversations bubbling
Like church organs underwater,

Tremoring through the tide,
The billow of the bass as it crests,
Rising to fall like a siren’s last call;

And now all we can do is remember.

The Almighty Nothing

A tectonic shift
Slowly grinding,

A hand of clouds pushing
From grey marbled skies,

An earthy rumble
Stumbling and sighing,

Dew steaming on summer lawns,
Discordant birdsong,

And a glow that gave in
When the sun rose.

A paper bag frown
Crushed to the kerb,

A portent of patterns
Two hours after rainfall,

A sadness repeated
In mottled pavements,

Veins of gathered tears
Shimmering in the grit,

As obelisks look on
From the hillsides and cry

And the almighty nothing
Breaths in and keeps humming.

He Told You He Was

There was the desert in his mouth
And a blackness in the air,

Hoarse from howling whispers,
Grey hairs surging with every mistake,

One glass rocking on a table’s edge,
Two minutes left till the bell rings;

A broken comb filled with her hair,
Old papers wilting in a rack,

Teeth ground to a grimace,
Coffee stains dressed as old arguments

And the sounds of cars passing
Like a distant avalanche crashing down.

It was time to give in and give up,
Call off the florists and bakers

And walk back through the park
Without a clue, shoes or alibi,

Watching yesterdays ghosts walk hand in hand,
Unscarred and unshaken,

All goose-bumps and duologues,
Checkers and chess;

All his life he’d thought guessing
Was a religion of sorts,

One God judging every move that he made,
Two sturdy trees he could swing from.

I Went Looking For Hope

Under a blood red dusk
With time on my hands,

I went looking for Hope
In a huge, scorched field;

She wasn’t there
But her friends were,

And they were gossiping
And throwing stones
At the birds,

Laughing when they struck
And loudly cheering to the sky.

The birds thought
The stones were food at first,
And a dozen left wounded.

I went home and waited for a text.

It’s Only Wednesday

When your homemade ceramics
Are just creative cries for help
And all the chips they collect
Sit like a scars on your body,

When your mudslide mind
Shifts a crevasse to your mouth
And then chatters like hoodlums
Sat in gangs around potholes,

When your toddlers name their fingers
After pigs from petting zoos
And find themselves crying
After trying to milk a cat,

When the mantle-piece antlers start swelling
And the fake polar bear rug begins bleeding,

Close your eyes and inhale all the rainfall,
Exhale demons and then pat-a-cake stress;

Let your wig wander west,
Pick words up off the floor,
Let your tongue loll post-screaming
And let those dolls stay undressed,

Flop yourself back to bliss
Somewhere soundproofed and dark,
Bend your dreams back together
And lick your slate clean.

You are not one hour ago,
You are the simple inhalations
And exhalations of now,
You are only this moment,

No one can find you
And you’ve got the biscuits,

They’re safe.