6 Aug 2015


He speaks only in quotes

Stolen from the last dying breath of the

Greatest living poets

A core of molten lava bubbles and glows

In place of a real human soul

Oh to be a real boy and

Not a fall down drunk

Oh to get up and go and

Not roll around in

All this shit

All the time

And any presence of mind

Has left him abandoned in a

Midnight parking lot

The single yellow streetlight

A spotlight

Over his broken frame

Mistaken for a halo by all those tossing coins

Into the empty brown hat at his feet.

5 Aug 2015

Ice and other things like it

A slide downhill
Eris cursing you from above
You pretend to steady yourself
Steady your mind

So as not to appear
Or unaware
There is no grip
You just
Allow the icy ground to take you

Logic states there has to be a bottom
An end at some point
You feel that
Breeze on your shoulder
Something passing you at speed

You’re locked in
Locked down
Rabbit in their line of sight
Circling the track
Pulled and pulled
That little box where you started
Has to reappear at some point

Then the level playing field
And mud in your eye
Always moving with the crowd
No traction
Gravity still weighing
Just an extra atmosphere or

And down you go
The sea floor
Head in the diver’s helmet
No peripheral vision
Neck fixed
Locked forward
A little left
A little right and then

Climbing to the surface
Some light has to shine in sometime
Cloud and rain greet you
And colluding remain distant
Hiding every star that would
Guide you.

19 Jun 2015

A very grown up thing to do

At lunchtime, at certain times of the year
At the job
I walk over to the main building and
Stand by the side doors of the great hall
Stealing minutes of the day like
Stealing silver pennies

Inside there
Sit many young people
Younger than me
Rehearsing orchestral pieces
The cello and viola sing and the
Brass plays and
The baritone
Blasts out some Strauss
Or some such

I peer through the glass
Hidden from them
Observing their herculean efforts
And I recall my college days
Working my ass off for
Not much reward

These kids here
Have a focus
And a calm way about them
And seem quite grown up
In comparison to those days
   more than 20 years ago now

I close my eyes as
The cello and viola sing and the
Brass plays
Delicate and strong 
And the sounds they make
Balance out my world
If only for those few

21 May 2015

Golden Age Syndrome

We would talk about the 60’s
And agreed we’d fit pretty well there
Real bullshit
Hanging with Hendrix and all that

But the other option
Our own rooms
Own homes
Any place
Any time was better than where we were

Floating through the lives of others
Gravel and glass under foot
Always someone scratching at the door
Trying to squirm and claw their way
Never an end in sight

And so we adapted
Any way we could
When a person is pushed enough
They go out to extremes
Or become introvert

So we each chose one
And the rift it formed
Created a distance both mental
And physical

And afterwards
We never connected the same way
That time together was gone
Speaking only here and there
Visiting even less

But I stayed the same
And you stayed the same
For better or worse

And eventually I realised
There had never been anywhere safe
For you to be

No corner of the world existed
Where you could hide from what you
Had inside
What they’d tucked away in there

Nor would any past decade welcome you
You didn’t even fit here
With me

You could have stayed and fought
But then
There’s always the other option

So you took it
Made the choice
Leaped without looking
And to hell with the rest of us

I can honestly say
That I don’t blame you one bit

They got to you brother
Clawed their way in
And even I couldn’t stop them

And still the world
Is hard
And bright and amoral
And loud
Without mercy

I do not envy you
I have still too much to do here…
But say hello to Jimi for me.