Friday 29 November 2019

missed

missed

grizzled white drawn back
and ghosted grey 
across this pebbled shore
never no more this way
this hackneyed spirit
will sit or spit bombast 
but slipped away on this day
in a dusky ghostly roar
say that he went at last 
i saw him go
no more say
he is no more
just the roar
through the door
ajar to the tide 
of his last ride 
ahoy there
langland boy

second sight

second sight

who will look at us when we’re dead?
i don’t mean look at who we were,
i mean our body - left by us
somewhere;
but where will it be?
neat in bed or exsanguinated bled
or in a crump upon a main street 
somewhere?
who will look and think
and what will they they think 
i worry about that

sometimes 

Thursday 28 November 2019

perchance

perchance

upon the lay of time lay i 
levitated on a night’s weary
nearly very nearly dreary
dreaming down in breaths
so slow upon a thought
of nought but that would hold me
here above the oblivion of
a night’s tomorrow dawning
there - you see - it can
it can it can

consummate

consummate 

madam muse
how can i refuse
seduce me
how deep 
   you seem 
       to be
my darling darling sea 
i drown in thee
believe me
do not refuse
although 
   do 
      amuse
consume me

vertex

vertex

stranded in the col of life
between the summits of my being
birth on the one 
hand
death on the other
and
all along the way is strife
no other way of seeing
it

Tuesday 26 November 2019

turbulence


turbulence 

going in
meeting the sea
coming out

going out
meeting the sea
coming in

coming in
meeting the sea
going out

coming out
meeting the sea
going in

the sea and me
halfway
me and the sea

never will i ever
own the sea own me
never 
   ever 
      will

Monday 25 November 2019

i - am a poet

i - am a poet

to be a poet
              just
 write poetry
call yourself a poet
let others disagree 
you will
           but
if you say
‘i am a poet’
then
       you
            are 
a poet
a poet 
           writes
poetry
QED

Wednesday 20 November 2019

morning 

‪the ink on the trees is dry‬
‪on the blotter of the sky ‬
‪Colin the dog walks past‬
‪one ear black one ear white‬
‪one for day and one for night‬
‪one ear up and one ear down‬
‪morning can be such a clown‬

Tuesday 19 November 2019

liaison



        liaison 
in the Co-op where
you showed me your lumps
and I showed you mine
(on our thighs)
by the chewing gum section
(try that for size)
after we met 
   after we swam
        in the sea
on that cold autumn day

isn’t life strange
when you write it down
to experience 

Sunday 17 November 2019

uh?

uh?

soul?
what the hell is soul?
heart?
what the hell is heart?

memory mories
lies lie
life is a crude prude
poetry is a  poo ahem
excuse me while

the dusk settles
on sunny days and sad days
as sure as night 
follows day
the ratchet a condescension
to the rise and fall

the helter skelter
we love to climb
we slide to fall
that ends it all
when the ladder has rotted

ghost?
what the hell is ghost?
death?
what the hell is death?
come on tell me
tell me
come on
  come on
shit!
they did?

day died the night day died
night died the day night died
when day and night died
when night and day died
there was nothing left to die
on that day or that night
or any other day or night
alive

Wednesday 13 November 2019

RS Thomas

his words are the tears‬
‪in a rainstorm of verse
ask of the last page‬
‪was he eventually revealed
on his mountainous pique

Monday 11 November 2019

to swim perchance

to swim perchance

in the sea, flowing down the memory ways,
you will see forever and a day resurrected along
the ages of the likeminded; those who cast aside 
the absurdness of modernity, to tread this 
daily pilgrimage to the adoration of the briny,
in all its naturalness, screaming at the rainbow surf 
of an easterly wind, that in its rage swallows 
my cries of awakening; sinking under the waves
it can never be overstated, or understated,
nor understood. for it just is.

Saturday 9 November 2019

how can these neurones

how can these neurones 
fire up a poem that will serve
the meal of a thought upon a willow pattern, 
or pass the port of contentment to 
the left of a just dessert. 
synapse me that? 
how? 

then he too died

then he too died

death, here is your dominion,‬
‪where the quick remember that‬
‪they too will soon be dead,‬
‪and the word dominion‬
‪will have no denomination ‬
‪in the hallows of never‬.

Friday 8 November 2019

Paddington station

Paddington station

when you arrive‬
‪   you will see‬
‪the pigeons there‬
‪   are filthy dirty ‬
‪they have club feet‬
‪   it is all so sad‬
‪so sad        so sad‬
‪so I’ll say no more‬
          capital

Thursday 7 November 2019

‪I sleep upon the shavings of the day,‬
‪tomorrow, what will it bring? A soft bed‬
‪or a hard luck sharpening stone?‬
dusk is slowly descending the ladder of the day
the moon is slowly climbing the ladder of the night
and stars in the heavens are the tears that might
soon be drying upon the windows of another golden day

Wednesday 6 November 2019

a sojourn in catatonia

a sojourn in catatonia 

long, upon the ladder of this day’s mourning, lie tiers 
of raindrops, each coded, each hung upon each rung,
divining from the sky’s melancholy all the tears that rail 
against the wind’s denial of dawn’s desires sung low. 

us

how can i find the words that
will contain all of you, when all 
the time you are all of my being 
in the firmament that is us. 

Tuesday 5 November 2019

OK OK, so yes, I too will fly.



OK OK, so yes, I too will fly.

OK OK, so yes, I too will fly,
when the days of days their ways have done.
But why, oh why do famous people die?

Actors who upon the stage of life do ply
all the ways where life’s love is oft forlorn.
OK OK, so yes, I too will fly.

Poets who with their words do try
to find the lines where abide emotions won.
But why, oh why do famous people die?

Scientists who’s thinking is oft blue sky
who held out hope in the complexity we shun.
OK OK, so yes, I too will fly.

Doctors cure when life’s bloods runs dry,
allowing mine and your times to run.
But why, oh why do famous people die?

Greying rockstars who the past to future tie,
living my past in their wicked wrinkled fun.
OK OK, so yes, I too will fly,
but why, oh why do famous people die?

Monday 4 November 2019



gravitas

and so, walking through the cemetery to the beach,
i think to myself, you poor sods, i bet you wish ...
but of course they can’t; for they are dead. 
and i think, they are not poor, are they? they are dead,
and then i think, oh yes, how lucky i am
to be walking with salt in my veins, and
salt in the sea waiting. oh yes, i am not dead,
for yet a whiles, yet 
in there, in the sea-mightery, as i often 
call it, I am more than alive, for
i am dead sure that i am not, 
and that this is not, 
a pun-ish-meant.