I used to think

That only I could hear pigeons cooing

And the old chimney breast

had secrets just for me

Their calling each morning

That i could replicate

By clasping my hands together

and blowing coursely through my knuckles

was a language i’d been tought

I used to think a lot of things like that

before I joined traffic

and the Rat Race

The endless dull sludge of the daily commute...

Yeah, I like your poem, man

But it’s just not long enough

I feel like there’s more than you can add here

Twist that word to mean something else

Expand on this metaphor that you didn’t really mean to be a metaphor

The spelling is not right here

The congregation is wrong

But I like your poem, man

What the hell do you want from me?

That’s the thought.

It’s done

And all I thought

That’s w...

I moved the plant

Innocently, but out of the sun

and then saw the look on your face

You are anguished.

Well, I mean,

You are growing,

and filling space with beauty

rich insense

ceramics

and funny little socks

it all keeps me wonderfully

oxygenated

I can breathe each morning

Knowing that as I lay down at night

quiet and awake

I will breathe again.

But I’ll suck up all that wonderful air,

my che...

Nothing is true

and everything is forgotten

that’s the beauty of being asleep.

His neck craned to heard what was being said

Nestled amongst the masses

that all turned out to hear the winners...

She grew upwards

towards sun split skies

in a mirage of folklore and beauty

Her cracked soles

That dig the earth as she grows

are more like paws

pouncing on the twilight

Retinas scanning

and combing the ashen heather

ready to chase hare

and fly feather

tearing to shreds

any thoughts of violence

She’s as instinct as a dart

towards the smell of flesh

on a greyhounds tickled nose

wet and cour...

Thumb on the striker

endlessly caroselling

round and round.

I think of all the different ways

this will kill me.

I’ll build a soot deposit

and one day the whirling smoke

will just ignite

all through my breast

and i’ll go up like a thatched roof

sending me ablaze

and taking the row with me

Holst is blaring

and I’m singing the tune

of planets whirling

marvelling in their flames and fire

Sat...

Everything hurts

and I am awake again

Every dotted contact my body makes

with the sheet, the bed or pillow

send searing discomfort

through every twitching nerve

and bone

I’ve been flattened with a mallet

Totally unaware

as dreams

lead me through false doors

and down wrong turns

The air tight tupperware lids

across my dusty peelers

glued shut for extra security

The smell of fresh coffee

Kindly ...

I gather dust

In my fingertips

Nails clawing at the split paint

A greyhouse raring to go

The sun beams

dazzle and burn my eye lids

like a dream that won’t let go

I can see Old Retired

still a young man

poised with ambition

toes curling

on the precapise of excitement

Boyish ignorance

doesn’t know the grip

of alcohol and chemicals

that will fracture and crack

Old Retired’s crow lines

and brok...

“Wherever there is light, the flowers will find it”

The old woman told me

She was sat surrounded by cigarette buts

The ashtray overflowing like

a childs eyes welled with tears

Her dressing gown burnt and singed

With years of letting the ash fall

Purposefully grey

with white spots

“Yeah right”

I think

“Well that’s just lovely.”

I say

Disbelief haunting my voice

I walk on.

She muses over time ...

Paper thin

daisy chained characters

hand in hand

and hanging out the washing.

Everything they have

Could be torn by a glance

and a strong breeze

blowing back an uncertain hairline

and suddenly years of love

is turned into a wandering thought

Scattered as the light

through a streaky window

it’s beautiful

But, it isn’t what it was.

Age makes them

strong like the monarch

But frail like it’s wing...