Problem

I’ve got a problem
I laugh and call it the truth
But it’s still unsure

Second Draft

Demonstrations,
Cars on fire,
A battle for power,

The shivers of time,

Goosebumps
And hindsight,

Human nature rotating,

The cantankerous cackle
And the rattling pockets
Of the men who made good
As streets burned
And sons died.

The bloodiest day
Of a fictional war,

Apocalypse
With a twist,

Lost heroes
And the gossip of gunfire,

The clatter of half truths
Cracking and snapping
The playwright’s
Drawn mind,

And the rippling gripe
That the things he hates most
Are the most true and humbling,

A history crumbling,

And he’s never been paid
To just lie.

Blink

There are words
All over the floor,

A dustpan and brush,

Awkward,
Swollen pauses,

And a silent,
Two person queue
For the bathroom.

We let each other talk
Between the barrage of sighs,

Confused monologues crackling
Like refrigerated bonfires,

Explanations rattling
Like loose roofs on a train –

Then nothing
But the whistle
Of the wild winds outside
And the gentle rumble of stomachs.

Your food is in my freezer,
Your shoes are in my hallway

And you’re getting up to go.

The door closes,
And I stare out at nothing
Till there’s nothing left to fear,

Till the something I felt
In the blink of an eye

Is forgotten
Like most things
Once cherished.

The Simplest Truth

I caught a lone tear
A wet drop of fresh sadness
The simplest truth

The New Excuse

It’s that sweet spot
At the centre of your soul,

The incessant voice
That never talks about
Tomorrow,

The recurring song
That only you sing,

The doubt canceller,
The ‘come what may’,
The egoist,
The rush,

The never stuttering,
Always fluttering,
Rattle within.

It’s there when you wake
And whispering
As you sleep,

It curls up in coils
That spring
When released

(And it thrives
After peace).

It’s the new excuse,
The half filled cup,

And it wrestles forever
Or until you give up.

No Need For Full Stops

I looked deep in your eyes

And saw myself
Back up in the damson tree,

Moss stains all over
My favourite t-shirt,

Shaking fruit
From the branches

As my dad stood below
With an open plastic bag,

A smile spread wide
Across his face.

I felt happily confused,
Alive in my daydream,

I didn’t need answers,
No need for full stops.

Let Things Go

He let things go;

I don’t mean he stopped washing,
Didn’t shave or stayed in bed,

I mean he let his life scatter
Till he was wading
Through rubbish,

Thick worries
And thoughts under foot,

The complicated patterns
Of lost conversations
All sticky,

Gutter waters
Of guilt and regret
Sloshing and gushing on by,

Till he sighed,

Left his whole world behind him
And looked out across nothing,

Content for mere seconds,
Then bored beyond tears.

Slumbering

She snores like a slumbering wolf,
Content in her snuffling rummage,

Gentle fumes of spent wine
Filling the room
Like a soft scented dream.

I lie listening peacefully
Wondering if she’ll wake herself,
Whisper a riddle and return

To her deep wandering rumbles,
The quaint breathy drones,

The kind that sound happy,
Lost in innocent times,

She’s a smile wrapped in blankets,
Sweet grizzles combined.