Wednesday, 9 December 2009

Lets Be Friends

Green ants in formation, charming everyone of them,
They're tickling each other and laughing at the oddities
That the sunshine casts on the trees and the earth
And the beaks of the birds who are whistling over head.
Long ago the birds and the ants reconciled their differences
And the murder stopped as quickly as the wind sweeps up the leaves.
The nest was a great cave inside a tree trunk
With infinite tunnels going in all directions, even up.
In the middle at there was an alter on which sat
An exhaustive library of recipe books with countless
Recipes for twig broth and earthworm goulash.
Delish! Occasionally a blue bird'll force its way in,
Thrashing about and disturb the order of the books,
But inevitably he'll calm down and exit apologetically.
These things cant be helped.

Inside your smile are a hundred future memories we are yet to make.

Sunday, 6 December 2009

Between the Words

Dear Stranger,
        I've been sitting in the library a lot recently. The old wooden tables, the marble floors and big brass door knobs fill me with a sense of nostalgia, for someone else's past. They encourage ideas to float down out of the huge domed roof and settle on my shoulders, they conjure fake memories, as if I were a person who had sat in those chairs with a distinct purpose, scribbling away compulsively, consuming the content of the most specific books in the most detailed minutia. I remember the smirk creeping into my face at finding out new, surprising, guiding facts and the square shape of my index finger from writing for so long. Those are most definitely fake memories. I have no paper to finish, no project to research, but I do seek something, the same thing all the great writers sought, who's works fill the shelves around me in this majestic room. I seek an answer to this mortal condition, this need to stimulate my mind. It does fill me with a slight sense of contentment to know that I am surrounded by the thoughts and discoveries of so many of our greatest minds, to know that although I do not possess an answer, there is one very close to me, in a book perhaps only ten feet away, perhaps within grasping distance, it's just up to me to pick up the right book. Sometimes it's enough to sit in the middle of the room and breathe deeply in the knowledge that the air circulating in this room has brushed up against so many works of genius and enlightenment.
          I met a beautiful girl recently, she has a voice of experience. She really stares at me when I speak to her much in the same way that I stare at people, thinking perhaps that an unplanned and fleeting expression might give away more of someone's truth that they intended or more truth than they know they possess. I imagined myself with this girl, how might she change me?  Might she elevate my soul like the songs of Patti Smith? Might she haunt me they way that Dostoevsky haunts me, changing the shape and colour of the corridors of my life? Might she put me at ease and sooth me like Walt Whitman? Or might she confound me like T.S. Eliot? I imagined my hand on the back of her neck and my lips at her ear. Her piercing look disarmed me and therein lies my attraction; with just her eyes she negated the need for small talk and I believe that is some sort of answer, to be disarmed is to tell the truth.
          Perhaps I could be better served by finding this girl in books? I could have the language of experience but none of the pain. But no, I shouldn't like to cheat and I find suffering becomes me, it dusts away the ambiguities of my life and forces me on a new path. Besides there are discoveries to be made in the closeness of flesh that can only be comprehended by the individual and never fully put into words.

                      As Ever,


Friday, 4 December 2009

A Few Steps Away

With your acid temper and that unpredictable
Grounding fist. I peel away the layers of
Unconsidered retorts from your blackened lips
Still no Answer. nudged the table so
Fast I spilled my tea and ruined my book,
Your eyes flared and I knew you wanted to scream and
Erupt with confusion and longing.
Your face feels so aged beneath my palm
Your eyelids stretch open and you tense up
and down until you have to stand and leave the room.
The leaves outside in the wind hold your gaze
For as long as you can see them
And again you grind your teeth.
The Bastards! They have you again, locked into a battle
with your wits your memory your knowledge your fear and your hope.
Ocean rides before you and you wade in and 
Stamp your feet into the sand, wish it were concrete,
Water awakens taste in your mouth, repulsion, emersion fills your finger tips,
unholy thoughts. Compulsion to join the great force of the waves
As they batter angrily for all eternity into the rock face,
Chipping away - murderer of the lands.
I see the sea air brush your ankles as you emerge haphazardly from the tide
No element seems to envelop you wholly.
You take my hand. You hold me close and I feel loss and foreboding.
That time exists, that the next moment is a gift seems forgotten.
Later you make me laugh most indulgently,
You inspire passion in one sitting close and one standing far away,
Your body moves majestically whimsically through the pub and
I can't keep from staring at you, like you might disappear at any minute and
I wonder is that your intention or your condition or is it just me cause I've been
drinking too much. Face that I want to sleep against.
I watch you grab at the flesh of another, caressing and biting at ears and lips
And neck, dark sodden breath in the air. I hear your lament echoing.
When there is a power cut later at home, the four of us get up, and rush around
Pretty much just from the excitement of lighting candles
And the thought of blackout sex and adventure. You stay quite still.
Unexpected dark quite plainly assailing your evening, evenings.
Table lamp flickers on suddenly and a grey air dispels from around your eyes
You hold my gaze and I know I'll always see you teeter on the verge of something
Other than me. Torsos rub together and you'll be close for as long as I can hold you.
And when after comes my imagination will brake down in time with me.

Thursday, 3 December 2009


Rising with a sharp red rock rhythm,
The stoic circles enclose on the rear
And make pointed the atmosphere
So that separation from the earth
May be resolutely facilitated.
Parting be as the aged magnetic repellers;
Steady and thoughtful of consequence,
Forever mindful of a great day in the sun.

Wednesday, 2 December 2009


You are so beautiful behind that painted veil,
Behind that canvas that I perfect the most tragic scenes of my life.
I often wonder of the atmosphere in such an enclosed space,
Thinking of the stunted beauty hiding her scent of poetry
In Such a muddy ditch.
Wounds so sickly sweet now inconsolable by exchange or cackle,
Surely must always remain untended, un-nursed.
When titillation is a fools errand,
And the truth is a deafening scream in the night,
You must always be the reflector of my melancholy drip.
Tightly will my imagination wrap you.
Softly will my senses keep you.
Forever will my soul miss you.
Goodbye will my lips never shape.


Dissatisfaction curdles in the stomach;
Arrogant about your ignorance. Poor fool.
But who smells like vomit?

Tuesday, 1 December 2009

Not Now

Footfall of a polite mallow echoes in your vicinity.
Intention does not match those expressions
Which pain the face and crack the lips
And inspire nothing in the subject
But trepidation, uncertainty.
The situation becomes alarming by decree of fallacy;
An inability to express reason or distillation of thought.
And further to the confusion, an inappropriate chuckle
Destabilizes an already an already shaky bond.
Teeth remain hidden, perhaps hiding.
Still that laugh has disturbed the air
And will serve to dilute the longing for ease.

Imaginary You

I can't comprehend the space between us;
What was once fluid and safe
Now scars my smile and my heart.
The jester of imagination fools the memory
For fleeting, stolen moments
When a hiding place is all that consoles.
Pride is an indulgence which my mood makes mockery of,
Darting eyes never settle for longer than an instant,
Warmth I knew so well, such sweet peace,
Alludes the most crowded rooms.
Time loops around my eyes, weighing down those tears
That must now rejoin the earth.
Soon this circle must complete.

Monday, 30 November 2009

On Ice

Before me the icy winter gives shape to my life
That will mirror only my mind,
As a conjuror and his greatest temptations.
The clouded street is heavy,
Is a trial and a constant reminder which I will face.
I take stock of each step and demand the earth push me back
As I get stronger.
The frenzied strains of consciousness are much empowered by the guts,
As they mean to break from the earthly body,
As they force to escape their duty to the past.
Looking back down the street the heart may view its sum,
There is a kaleidoscope of different pictures now cutting up the path,
Soon the mergence of breath will cause unification of action.

Sunday, 22 November 2009

Successful Illusionists?

Does your smile always compliment your eyes so well? You never fail to make me warm. You are always so articulate, I wonder if any of your tongue twisters are rehearsed. You always are so busy, I'm surprised I don't see more headlines with your name in them. I often think how fulfilling it must be to have such confidence in your decisions. How well dressed you are, you've truly achieved a sense of personal style, never an off day. Your laugh has filled every room we've ever shared, your jokes are relentless, your mind must race ahead of you. I wonder if the girls have always fallen at your feet like they do, you play them like dominos. Dripping with confidence, your cocky charm wins everyone over - how do you do it? I heard about the new work your making, there is quite a buzz, congratulations - again! You and your family are so perfect together, all so contented. Thanks for the drink, hopefully I'll see you the next time your in town, you'll have even more stories then to tell me. How was your holiday, the photographs look great, yes I got your post card thank you. Well it was great to catch you even if it was for just a few minutes. Ideas everywhere, something new again! Your so prolific, I'd love to see inside your studio, I bet it would be an inspiration, yes I'll see you at the gallery. The client spoke very highly of you, said you were a consummate professional!

An impression ever found in the mirror?

Of Them All

I love you lover
I love you sky
I love you laugh
I love you vision
I love you step
I love you Walt
I love you sacrifice
I love you shadow
I love you new friend
I love you Patti
I love you rage
I love you sea
I love you breath
I remain the most confounding mystery of them all

Imagine Again

       Soon another segment somewhere close by
       Unravels in a deeper shade of red.
       Everywhere holes appear in the memory.
       Instincts hoard together, loosing their way,
       Crushing each other, gladly poking fun
       At the confusion, they gayly simmer.
       A familiar breeze teases the senses,
       Fooling around on a well trodden track.
       Summer thoughts in a vast winter midden;
       A reach that had long forgotten its target
       Finds sensation once more at finger tips.
       Shudder creeps into view, onto the lips.
       Breath whispers into the blues, wakes the heart,
       A friendly fear brushes perceptions chart.

Saturday, 21 November 2009

Haiku #4

Steaming smile alive;
Frost seeks a place to settle.
Covet exact spot.

Friday, 20 November 2009

Excerpt #3

Today I went into the bathroom on the executive floor, I had an errand to run up there. There was a couple in there, she was sitting in the sink and he was between her legs, licking her neck. I watched them until they noticed me, until they turned and stared at me actually. I went into the cubicle and did what I came to and when I came out they were still there and now he was kissing the other side of her neck. I washed my hands in the sink next to them and splashed a bit of water their way just to see if I could get a reaction but this time they ignored me so I left. I just can’t understand why he was spending all that time on her neck. Surely being in the corporate loos must dilute the need for foreplay? Isn’t it more smash and grab in that situation? The kind of in/out that goes with a grimy sneer, smeared across the face of someone your glad to have never had the displeasure of actually meeting but often get stuck behind in the queue in the canteen? What a place to behave like a prude; they’re nothing if not ironic my colleagues.

Thursday, 19 November 2009

Excerpt #2

Sapphire water, then inky foam and spray in the distance. Lungs in the waves, big enough to sew fields in but they close when you get near. Wall goes up and up till it takes half of eternity for the water to emerge over the top but wait. I wait for the promise of emersion.

Wednesday, 18 November 2009

Excerpt #1

Tin soldiers in white uniforms, a thousand hands holding up a noble temptress. The sky once a checker board now turns to face the woman. It descends, more quickly now. The woman takes out her purse and the sky falls inside. She shuts her purse and another band of tin soldiers run to her to carry it for her. It precedes her as she travels further away. Sometimes she’ll stop and look back.

Tuesday, 17 November 2009

On the Road with Palka

Down, never out.

Days that force me to the ground, they litter my life, they ravage my determination, my purpose, they contort shafts of light into haunting visions of incarceration but they cannot not suppress my soul.

When skyward banners of red are up and there is only a desire to sink down remaining, it is difficult to appreciate the great distance between the lowest and the highest points of emotion, it is impossible to comprehend such beauty that is the vastness of variation that humanities emotional life encapsulates. A Great Harp, both woeful and joyful and everything in between and beyond.

Being on the road is hazardous, and falling down is an inevitability, rock bottom is a place with which I am frequently familiar. Being on the road is about moving forward and so it is conducive to a productive, fulfilled life to focus not on the amount of time you can taste the earth but on the amount of elegance with which you can pick yourself up.

Sunday, 15 November 2009

Withheld Knowledge

On Friday at precisely 13:21 a suicidal maniac fell over in the street on his lunch break from the local cafe. He hit his head. On Monday at around 09:42 he enrolled in flower arranging classes. A year later he had his own florists and prospered for the rest of his days. That weekend will remain a mystery, he took his memory to the grave, funnily enough.

Saturday, 14 November 2009

Rain in the Night

Scourge against the window panes,
A colour melted into the transparency,
Together we bleed into the view.
The reach of an ant carries no favors to the mountain,
Invading cold along a deeper path.
Brutal numbness transfixed with alien sweat.
Water of life mocking a drowning bird,
A mid-flight execution, obscured objective.
Unify all the earth! Unsheathe the lamentable confusion.

Ode To Betty Goalie


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