Night Sky

The wet sounds of stars
Gently sobbing ensembles
All needy and lost

Poetry.net

Misdemeanours

We’re other people’s
Misdemeanours,
A crime that goes
Unnoticed,
The drunken fights
Of strangers,
A maze
Of unwritten motives,
Babies wailing,
Families disappearing,
The hurricane chaos
Of children,
A let down
Writ large,
A month
Of freshly unearthed
Disappointments,
Suburbs separated
With sorrow,
The serial bellow
Of questions,
An evening
Of huge hollow eyes.

Poetry.net

Turning Keys

In the love we built from mirrors
All I ever saw was me,
Apparitions made from greed,
Stolen moments in reflections,

And I’m sorry that my selfish ways
Are now just dead birds in a forest,
Burnt out husks in war torn towns,
A foreign way to cry forever,

I’m sorry I was made of card
And that I folded easily,
I guess all those times I sung of love
I was merely turning keys.

Poetry.net

A Wandering Question

Birdsong through the rain,
A desert wind that touches tears,
River banks breaking
And flooding a town,

These are the moments
I miss you like cold snaps,
A chaos of seasons
Delaying the sunrise,

Foxes cry shanties,
The pigeons stay hidden
And under a stone bridge
Time cries for a reason,

You’re long gone
Like good times and greed,
A wandering question,
A thought and its seed.

Poetry.net

A Mutual Friend

The phlegmy sluice
Of a dribbling sun
Casts its spittle
Into the sea,

And there in the shadows,
As dusk wakes the dust,
Creeps a damp,
Haggard figure,
A lurching sack,
A shuffling mess
Casting his thoughts
From the dock
To the sea,

We have seen him before
And we will see him again.

With a blistered lower lip
He talks to strangers,
He counts seagulls
And hunts through the bins
For his thoughts,
He dreams of the long gone
And prays for our souls,

Blotting the pain out
And shouting our names,

He is a mutual friend.

Poetry.net

Buffalo

The buffalo cries
Behind eyes dead as deserts
Something sits stolen

Poetry.net

Border Town

The whisky and the punching
Left me wheezing in a ditch
As the uncouth rattle of scooters
Lay rhythms through the village,

I remember the horses
Dancing in circles,
The comments of owls
And the ice cold winds
As they wafted across
My damp and bruised body,
Singing sweet songs
Of gin and confusion.

You don’t go table dancing with farmers,
You don’t shout out welsh rebel songs
In a rough border town
Or pepper your speech with violence and phlegm
To a yard of drunk strangers
Who fight for a living,

It used to be
People like me
Died at the hands
Of these troglodytes,

But these ditches they love me like family,
These stars they guide me home
And in time I will realise
I was born for this beating,

Born for the night fields
And border town violence,
Aggression spat random,
A queer cloud at dawn.

Poetry.net

Turquoise

This turquoise dilemma,
The loosening of damp clothes,
A port where the flies
Try to leave,

I hold on like the past
Is a raft slowly drifting,
Memories queue up,
Sea salt starts tingling,

I sink wine in seconds
And marvel at ripples,
Riddled with visions
And the positions I’m found in.

Why now?
Why here?
I’m bluer than oceans
And my sweat is a day job,

If this is the moment,
Boil me like cabbage
And take out my eyes
Like this is a stage show

And I am the victim,
I can smile like the clown
And weep like the mother,
Fall like the loser

But pick myself up
In the middle of traumas,
You see rising is easy
But the hereditary sings,

Songs, sweet songs,
The sweet songs of sailors,
I am here for the taking
But my seas are diseased.

You can make me shout wondrous,
You can drown my ambition
But there’s always a melody
And forever a chance,

You have written me off
With your odds and transitions
But still I hold fast and shout out
Like a chancer with loose change,

Stay slack and believe me
I am trapped with the knowledge
That if I’m not right
I’m broken.

Let’s just lie here and grey sky,
There are worse things than torment,
It’s ok to be vague,
We are made from loose templates,

This turquoise dilemma
Is weaved beneath night skies
And I’m amused by confusion
And the lack of solutions,

No intrigue or meanings,
No paths or betrayals,
Just the simple admission
Of not quite decisions.

Such a shame things are choppy,
If they weren’t I’d be spending
My time with magicians
Instead of just flailing,

But it’s written in the stars,
Drifters drown like the jealous
And indecision breeds trouble
Like a glacier broken,

So lose your floating emotions,
We are lost and uncertain,
Sick and unsighted
And sinking with doubt,

Shout if you want to,
Let it all out.

Poetry.net