Friday, 22 May 2009

Position Vacant

Nice Guy Part-time Temporary.
Will work only when needed.
No experience preferred
Must be a good listener
And not overbearing.
Must be patient
But hard working.
Must be independent
But also a team player.
Must be flexible
And able to work long nights.
Must be very strong,
At the same time capable
Of great gentleness.
Sensitivity is essential
But those with emotional problems
Need not apply.
Paid on commission.

What You're Missing

I would have
sprinkled you with heat,
peeled back your petals,
and watched you open
under the unclothed sun.

Monday, 18 May 2009

You Will Want Me Then

When you wake up
With that furious dream
Hot still in your head
You will want me then.

And you will need
A very gallant fool,
A plain-spoken knight
To paint your roses
Red again.

You’ll call out
For a white-plated boy,
With Eyes like heaven’s weapons,
Fresh-born and laughing,
Sinless – the naked heart
Of a lamb.

You’ll need an untamed foal
With a long enough ragged mane,
The warm scent of God in his skin
And an innocent temper that
Will not buckle with age
But remain restless and brave.

Whether in bloody streets
Or ghoulish woods
You will need something
To stand between you
And the devil’s moon.
You will need a friend
Who has sun-spurts for hair,
And precious spirits
At his fingertips.

You will need me then.
And will I come running?

Saturday, 16 May 2009


Reduce this:
Fire - with it's craving licks
Music - as holiness undresses.

Discovery does not lay
Wonderment to rest
But carries you to
Mystery upon mystery.

That's the danger of science.
That's the facts about poetry.


It wasn’t the rain that played on the canvas.
Or the dance of the fire burning our thoughts.
It was not us – heroes in the darkness
Dodging puddles and laughing at the frogs.
Nor was it the glen and its sideward glance
As morning washed its sky-blue face
And turned upon your turquoise trance
While the cuckoo sang to defend his place.
It was just you. Your secrets unscrewed,
Your worried, quiet and hurried words
Free for once and for once renewed,
Stones in dreams I dreamed I could afford.
I cannot forget what forgetting kills,
But left alone it is left unspoiled.

Wednesday, 13 May 2009

Heartbroken Man

Despite his jocular eyes his beard is grey.
He’s wrapped up cocooned in his goonie
Still on the Silk Cuts still dying of coffee.
At night he says he can never not be angry,
He gambles away the days, stays safe when he’s lonely.

He’s embarrassed by his conquests, his stories.
He could be legendary – a hero of anti-epics
If it wasn’t for his stubbornness, his histrionics.
He lists guitar solos and drum beats in his foggy solace,
“There’s no one else now," he says, "no chance.”

Monday, 11 May 2009

I Could Not Give You

You do not want to be immortal
I know. Or become a random idol.
You think these words could land
Anywhere, that you were just
Catching unlucky bullets from my gun.

You don’t know much about a poem.
Neither do I. It’s just bravery alone.
It is just drinking in darkness
Barefoot in frozen rivers
Straining your neck towards a kiss.

It’s thinking without thinking
It is just dream-walking
Abandoning daytime’s toxic edges
The friction of all these solid bodies
In favour of unspeakable knowledge.

I could not give you landmarks
Or philosophy’s elusive road maps.
I had only hopeful dangers
Without a battle-plan or any answers.
Mere adventure; nature’s clouds in chorus.

Sunday, 10 May 2009

It is real

It is real.
Fresh like a new season.
You know, like rain on the leaves
You laugh with your mouth open
It catches you without looking
A breeze in the bones,
You close your eyes in certainty
An inward breath
A child’s inspired smile
Or sunlight on a flower’s petals.

Friday, 8 May 2009


It was a Monday right?
The last of the summer sun.
You smiled eating a tuna sandwich.
A quick nervous look
From those stony eyes.
A final breath of warmth
Before autumn’s onslaught.


It is in your eyes.
That glint of ancient rivers
Shining in the sun.
A light that skips
Softly on the water's skin.

It is in your voice
The sound of the weather's roar,
Carrying the seeds of other kingdoms.
A wind that cools the bone.

Tuesday, 5 May 2009


The trees
Are timeless green.
They chuckle oblivious
In the tickle of the wind


he sits in the
sparkle of the drizzle,
cross-legged and rigid
holding a half smoked cigarette.
Eyes unfocused
like half shut slats.

He’s still,
At peace with his pulse,
At rest in a private universe,
His hair is wet with grease and rain,
His hands grubby with the muck
Of forgotten pain.

He’s alone
With only his old rug
His cold arse
And the pennies in his hat.
The noise convulses around him.
He is perfect.

Sunday, 3 May 2009


Love is stubborn.
Silence won't rub it out.
You have made your mark.
God cannot be ignored.
The rains will change.
The winds will pass.
But you cannot make passion stop.

Saturday, 2 May 2009

Let Me

Let me kiss you on the frosted grass,
Where the white air burns your lungs.
Let me walk you through a secret wind,
Past the waterfall and the black rocks.

Let me take you to a quiet place,
And we’ll lie with the heather on our cheeks.
We will laugh and blow away the dust,
And curl up under the chatter of the trees.

Let me take you to the low light of the sun,
As it cuts the sky and bleeds out its yoke.
Together we’ll fall on the wrinkle of the fields,
And make prayers at the altar of the woods.

And as the fire of God keeps us hot,
I will whisper stories in my kiss.
I’ll heal you in a peaceful clasp,
And sing you to sleep with songs of myth.