Thanks for stopping by. I upload new poems every few days. If you’d like to know more about the author, see the ‘About‘ section. If you’re a book person, I have a couple available to buy on Amazon.
Torture
You show me your open hand
flash me your smiling eyes
Say ‘come here, talk a while’
then you leave me standing in the rain
You hand me a note stained with kisses
gift me a signed photo of you
Say ‘have this, share with me’
then you leave me standing in the rain
I am such a fool
I am such a fool for you
I’ve been standing in this rain
for three weeks solid now
You meet me at one of our old haunts
loiter in the doorway of our youth
Say ‘Thank you, so much, for coming’
then you leave me stranded in the rain
You write me such an honest letter
show me even more of depths of all you are
Say ‘I’m in need of someone like you’
then you leave me stranded in the rain
I am such a fool
I am such a fool for you
Either you don’t know enough about me
or you know exactly what you do
Give me another taste of all I want
then pull away and make me wait again
This is torture
I could do this to myself
I don’t need you, too
I am such a fool
I am such a fool for you
Why won’t you open up
and give yourself to me
finally and fully
As I stand in the falling rain
soaked through
I’m soaked through for you…
[2009]
Thanks for reading.
The House Looks Like A Painting
The house looks like a painting
yet, we can’t agree on anything
What I want is meaningless to you
what you want remains awkwardly obtuse
and unreadable
I play my game, aligning the pieces
to get me whatever I desire
O, the house looks like a painting
but I never know what’s right
too adept at getting what I think I need
Meeting an old girlfriend
who talks of monasteries and monks
as I count the freckles on her nose
and wonder if she still swallows…
O, the house looks like a painting
yet, we cannot agree on anything
Is there an urge that we can harness
and repair
or just our feeble pushes
toward opposing goals
Two firm lurches toward different shores
It’s corrosive
it’s wholly limiting
it’s the only way we seem to know
to operate
The house looks like painting
and still we’re not aligned
on anything at all…
[2017]
Thanks for reading.
Why So Blue, Sweetheart?
Sweetheart, you’re black and blue
Sweetheart
from the things I’ve done to you
Now your dead arm swings loose
and that bruised eye won’t open
Sweetheart
these things I’ve done to you
An evening among friends, descends
now we’re alone
Sweetheart
now you start, on me again
buttons all pushed, again
You try to stand your ground
but I always shout louder
Sweetheart
surely safer for you to just settle down?
Cower, out in the bedroom
give me space to throw my weight around
Sweetheart
don’t start those waterworks with me
Sweetheart
right from the start
you knew
I’m a passionate man
when it comes to you
Sweetheart
Those knocks
are just acts of love, gone wrong
slightly astray
Sweetheart
a light ‘tap’ on the face, Sweetheart
and you know that I love you
You’re shaking in my arms again
just like when we first met
I can still do that to you?
O, yes I do
but now you’re black and blue
Sweetheart…
[2009]
Thanks for reading.
Let The Tide Decide
On some night-time road
with only a distant moon
or your dimming torch
meting out its weak light
Do not be afraid of getting lost
some new thing
may come to you
on the path that you can’t see
some great thing may surprise you
On that long journey
towards day’s promised ending
without any real map
to study or call upon
Do not be afraid of being wrong
take a chance
and see what comes
sometimes you’ll be right
and others you’ll start again
Free yourself
to be wrong
sometimes
you will find new capabilities
Be free
to get lost
sometimes
you may discover treasures there
Let the tides
of your mind decide
it’s alright
to be wrong
sometimes
Be free
be free to get lost
sometimes
let the tide decide…
[2017]
Thanks for reading.
Anatomy of Longing
Cutting to the heart of all this longing
is it the vicious tongue you wag at me
or the perpetual mystery hanging from your actions
the contradictions of your possible state of mind
I see the hurt, I feel the pain you carry
and sense your urge to be desired by men
the flirt of all you do rings loudly before you
and against my better judgement
I can’t help but come swimming back to your shores
With every scar you try to inflict
or accidentally leave on my skin
I drift away for a moment only
then find myself battling the waves
I can’t help but come swimming back to your shores
I know you didn’t ask for this
I know you didn’t choose me or this adventure
Yet, I brought it to you anyway
and you didn’t quite turn me away
And you’re cute, there’s no denying
you spill out in all my favourite places
and know how to smile with a catastrophic magnitude
that tears the hair clean off my scalp
The bile in your belly, the bitch barely-contained
I never knew how much I loved that rage
your misery is contagious
I feel its cells dividing in my bloodstream
I doubt I am the only one you’ve drugged this way
I know you’re not planning to leave your man
but as long as you keep stoking the engine of longing
I can’t help but come swimming back to your shores
I dream about you most nights
and when I’m on the bus
or train, or tube, or walking down the street
or when I’m in bed with somebody else
I dream it’s your body
over which my hands journey
And yet you only reach out a paw for me
when you know I cannot be there
you only say you might want for me
when you know we can’t connect
You’re playing me, humble instrument to your vanity
you keep me hanging on for nothing real
I know all of this so well and yet I gladly hang myself
I can’t help but come swimming back to your shores
Sometimes it seems; maybe you feel more for me than I realise
an ambiguous choice of words and perhaps it could mean more
you say the lovers kissing in the bar, are reminding you of me
I say the denim shirt I wore today was reminding me of you
So, who are you anyway and why do I long like this
I feel a sudden shortness of breath
when I look into your eyes
I feel my chest twinge when you catch me looking
There’s something in your history too
I know you’ve got some good hidden in you
beyond the selfish drive you choose to expose
I know there’s something that I could harness
There’s something in the things you’ve seen
the pleasure I know you’ve experienced
your taste for the beautiful and the sublime
perhaps if I could make you choose me, it would mean I’m beautiful too
You laugh at my jokes…
no matter how ruthless the punchline
the sharper, the more scathing the better
I can’t help but come swimming back to your shores
I need to catch myself
before I fall much further
slam my pick in the ice
before the precipice
Cutting to the heart of all this longing
I see such complicated shapes emerging
and despite all my better instincts
I can’t help but come swimming back to your shores…
[2015]
Thanks for reading.
Image borrowed from: http://margaret-durow.com/
This Leaving Feeling
Below the boards I hear the water rushing
a stray dog strolls by and says hello
he doesn’t stop for long, keeps moving on
across Port Meadow the horses roam
I’ve got this leaving feeling
breeding in me…
The sun above sheds its strength with the season
trees undressing, will soon stand naked
arms held up but not in questioning
the bridge at Magdalen wheezing smoke
I’ve got this leaving feeling
coiled up in me…
Abandoned nests descending in the gales
I’m shedding possessions, lightening the load
too many treasures to take with me
decorating Cowley with my life’s bright litter
I’ve got this leaving feeling
biting down upon me…
After everything that has to be done, is done
can I return?
Once everything that has to be done, is done
will I return here?
Will this feeling ever leave me?
Once I leave
will this feeling be gone?
[2011]
Thanks for reading.
Can You Hear The People Sing?
They dwell in strange rooms
the murky recesses of affordability
barely buildings, bedrooms with sinks
chair pushed up against the door
flakes of lives flung everywhere
a curtain, a quilt – who can really say?
A bare bulb hangs in an open window
no shade inside from day or night
Still lives go on; the rudimentary,
ramshackle, clutching at homeliness
the need for shelter unites us all
a hotel, a shed – who can really say?
In bleak electric heat, so many sing
it’s a different song
all sing a different song
Some higher, happier
some lower, more desperate than mine
flowing on through these days and nights
a verse, a chorus – who can really say?
The lawless, surging, movement of cars
the self-possessed trains below the buildings
so many pairs of eyes journeying on
the things they’ve seen, things they still see
those minds, all varied, wrapped in their own stories
a tragedy, a fairytale – who can really say?
Market stalls, street-sellers in threading gloves
the inside world spills out, a necessity
pavements become malls dressed in winter veils
motorbikes slip ghost-like in and out of sight
drunks stumble in high-spirits from bar to bar
a wall, a urinal – who can really say?
In tall towers, in basement bunkers
so many singing their different songs
some sing of the joy of things
some sing only of the difficulty
the tunes flow through this city’s veins
a love song, a death’s lament – who can really say?
But can you?
can you hear the people sing?
the miserable, the quietly ecstatic
can you hear the people sing?
[2011]
Thanks for reading.
This poem is taken from my first collection of poetry: One of These Years. Available now in paperback and Kindle editions on Amazon
It also appears in (and lends its name to) the Palewell Press’s second poetry anthology. Available now!
The Hidden Lake
Take me to the hidden lake
let us wander through
the valleys of your heart
Let us revel in the splendour
of all that rests within
Accumulations, it’s what we are
everything we’ve felt and seen
Let us swim in the hidden lake
in that secret world
deep at the core of you
Make it rain, bring forth the sun
We’ll watch the waters flow
across your canvas
into the sea, into reality
When the soul flows through
and out of you…
How long I’ve wondered
where this thing springs from
How long I’ve yearned to learn
what is the source
that feeds your ocean
How long I’ve ached to understand
where creativity is born
Is it the gifting light of some divinity
or weird wiring in the brain
A prophet with a prayer to share
something deep to celebrate
A seer into the fabric of what is
with raw sensitivity, purest empathy
or a jester writing their own joke book
When the soul flows through
and out of you…
The unique way you see things
how you intuit and interpret
painting the ephemeral
The haunting way your voice
speaks of the rich duality
as it carries the tune of living
Don’t despair, the lake is always there
some days, the level low
some days, only a trickle flow
Some days, the dam spills over
some days, the trek into the mountains
takes a little longer
We’ll always return with something new
there’s nothing more beautiful
there’s nothing more true
When the soul flows through
and out of you…
[2022]
Thanks for reading.
Our Home Cannot Be Here
I lit a fire on the beach
you were feeling beaten by the wind
no, we can’t hear anything in this weather
but the waves and the crackling wood
you don’t speak anyway
we have nothing we care to say
Our human silences amid nature’s screams
fill me with a loss so unforgettable
Our human silences amid nature’s screams
fill me with a void so inescapable
The sky goes dark and the sea slides away
time is huge and our movements tiny
I wrote my address on the back of your hand
but you reached into the water and it vanished
I can’t imagine a life not anchored here
as you turn slow to dive from me
The answers come only with soft punches
a milked stone, I lie folded and bruised
how could we ever know this lost romance
your whirlpool eyes cry tears of understanding
I dust the sand from my baked face and frown
there’s no warning of love’s swift decay
Our human silences amid nature’s screams
fill me with an ache so all consuming
Moon reveals the night’s black heart
you say you love me, as you leave me
you say you care for me, as you go down on him
there’s no favour you can grant me anymore
there’s no connection to the blood in my heart
just open your palms, expose our withered bonds
The rain rages fast and hard across the sand
we tussle as broken wings on some sick bird
finality comes to me, its decision absolute
your hand slips away and swings clear for all time
I fall back into the water, exhaling slowly
‘Our home cannot be here…’
[2010]
Thanks for reading.
I have a new book… ‘The Ship-wrecker’s Lamp: Selected Poems 2010 – 2020’ available now.
Things Half Said
Looking back
over everything
I committed to the page
There seems to be gap
between the truth
of what was felt
and what’s recorded
The words came
while I was still
questioning the validity
yet, what I
then went on to feel
was always with such certainty
There is a space
between
There is a space between
you and me
filled with things
half said
Sifting through the sketches
of painted scenes
I tried to show
There are great swathes
of missing detail
I deemed too complicated
My vocabulary
was much too meagre
to convey
with any accuracy
and what I left
scratched for all time
was never entirely honest
There is a space
between
me and you
between
the story and plot
filled with things half said
Will I ever be skilled enough
to tell my story, completely
Will I ever have the talent
to fill that space
with something other
than things half said…
[2011]
Thanks for reading.
I Fear Winter
These stunted days, these freezing nights
compress my thoughts
The year’s impending ending
forces me into reflecting
Winter lets breed a fear in me
fear for the furry little lives
fear for the torn out pages
And so, for warmth, I write…
These forgettable phrases form
These liable little lines laid out
These humble homeless honesties
These intangible inky inches
The outside world is shrunken and cold
all the best times are defined by people
and who was there, it reflects exactly
how deeply those memories carry
Curtains closing for the final time today
fearing the endless chill of white
I’ve got all the things I badly needed
and trapped indoors, so much to write
All I know to do
is to give thanks
for all that came my way
These woozy words warmly whispered
These spidery sentences slowly spun
These drunken dark descriptions detailed
These nosy noisy nothings noted
All thoughts are forced into a verse
by the impending ending of a year…
[2010]
Thanks for reading this old poem.
Deeper
It’s easy to blur the picture
slip the lead of life
A stray dog
running wild
No duty to reality
In truth, I wander lost
fighting to make sense
of all I’ve got
Can I dive deeper
Can I really reach her
Such superficial urges
with such urgency
swell up in me
As if I’m bound always
to beauty
She pushes her hand into mine
When she licks those lips
and presses her tongue
so sublime
how could I decline
But can I let her
throw herself into
this shallow sea…
Her perfect body
into this shallow sea…
I’m staring out
restlessly
Peering back into me
But no, not deep enough
Looking out
relentlessly
back into me
And no, not deep enough
not deep enough to dive
Can I let her
throw herself into
this shallow sea…
No, no
not deep enough
not deep enough to dive…
[2010]
Thanks for reading this old poem.
Tiger Mountain
I have fallen for the mad ones
and the sad ones
and the ones who don’t know what they want
I have found that mania so consuming
confused depression for deep thinking
I’ve tried to heal the cracked ones
and piece the broken ones together…
O, I have tried
to climb that mountain
with broken ankles…
I have lived off the wild ones
brought calm to the angry ones
laid down with the tired ones and slept
I’ve ridden with the seesaw ones
always wondering where I stood
felt lost with the wilful ones
and cried beside the bitter ones
O, I have tried
to climb that mountain
with broken ankles…
I’ve walked across the weak ones
swum naked with the free ones
reached out for the timid ones
but found no hand waiting there
I have been ungrateful for the nicest ones
been bored by the honest ones
prayed for the fickle ones to change
knowing no love could bloom there
O, I have tried
to climb that mountain
with broken ankles…
And I have wondered loudly why
I never could reach the summit
with my broken ankles…
[2014]
Thanks for reading.
Shadows Climb In My Cold Room
How I long to sleep tonight
forget these thoughts
and rest
Ease my body free
of anxiety and worry
but the more I try
the more I fail
I fidget fast, roll in frustration
cursing my debt
and conversations that won’t end
Where are those waves of darkness
when will they wash my brain
Where is that tide of sleep
of empty-headedness
of ignorance
and bliss…
Six hours now
I’ve studied ceiling cracks
A new day hangs two hours away
when creeping up in me
come hunger-pains from hell
itchy hair and sweaty palms
I drop so close to sleep
then jolt back into the room
a cushion spared to shield my eyes
from that solar-flare
that blinking clock
And shadows climb
in my cold room
now the sun, it rises
soon so do I
not blessed with dreams
or ignorance
or bliss…
[2006]
Thank you for reading.
Ellipsis…
I don’t write them like I used to
they’re not carved out of my bone
the way they used to be
I don’t bleed over the carpet
in some mouldy rented bathroom
like I used to
They used to say it was the angst that drove me
some mild flair for painting what had pained me
but you have to make peace eventually
I don’t know what is driving this anymore
At the end of that final line there’s an ellipsis
at the end of all I said there’s an ellipsis
saying so much more than I
Now, I don’t sweat it out in twisted sheets
with cramped heart and cracked beliefs
surrendering my barbed emotions like a flag
the way I used to
I don’t tap that vein of pure unfocused bile
don’t let it gush across the front row of my imagined audience
they don’t say much about my unbridled verse these days
like they used to
At the end of every poem there’s an ellipsis
at the end of all I said there’s an ellipsis
dragging on and on
It speaks louder than I ever could…
[2014]
Thanks for reading.
Renee By A Thread
Down the corridor, comes a scream
Was it physical pain
or the horror of finally learning
the way this game is turning
They took your clothes
gave you a gown
there was nothing to do but lay right down
Now, the machine breathes
for you
hung by a thread and leaving soon
Faint flashes behind tired eyelids
recalled moments from a busy life;
the night before your wedding
barefoot kisses by the Seine
The tentative first steps of Child Two
A shaking hand, a ‘thank you’ card
from the family of one you saved
Now, the machine breathes
for you
hung by a thread and leaving soon
The ache, it came and spread like water
the fever burned, the cough, it worsened
they hooked you up, you knew the drill
the butterfly, the slow sure drip
and then it seemed to ease a while
The bed you took, brought guilt at first
your hands no longer helping
Then suddenly; your quick decline
Now, the machine breathes
for you
hung by a thread and leaving soon
There’s a feeling in your chest
and that sixth-sense you sometimes get
the dawn tomorrow, you will not witness
Nurses come, their voices hushed
gloved hands hold, always too briefly
you don’t like the letting go
The room is quiet but for the wheeze
as the machine breathes
for you
hung by a thread and leaving soon
In the chair beside you, that loving face
waiting at end of every nightshift
You know that he will raise them right
Ah, but which patient was it
which desperate hand you gently held
which reassuring words you shared
with no fresh mask to wear
Now, the machine breathes
for you
hung by a thread and leaving soon
The family grieves
a nation grieves
for you
gone
needlessly soon…
[2020]
Thanks for reading.
Technique
The way I write…
I brainstorm twenty titles
words or phrases
that sound good to me
that subconsciously
already feel like parts of me
then I refine them
and refine them
pile them up around my feet
And when I’m in the mood to write
I’ll either start writing
(with aim or aimlessly)
until I get stuck
then I grab a title
work it in the lock
release whatever’s hidden
(and it feels good)
Or I choose a title
poking from the ground
reach for my shovel pen
and begin the excavating
find the poem that’s buried beneath
(and it feels good)
Those phrases, those titles
feel like friends I haven’t met yet
that sense you get
when crossing paths with someone
and feel you already know them
or that there’s a story between the two of you
and you just hope that it gets told
The stories we got to tell
are ripe for poems
and the stories that slipped through our hands
can be riper, can be richer sometimes
So, I’ll begin
gathering my titles
and choose one for you…
[2019]
Thanks for reading.
No Secret Place
There’s no such thing as a secret spot
in this college town
where strangers
are just friends of friends
news travels faster than light
Even in the dark
they’re bound to see as we embrace
before we could kiss
word would have blossomed
across town
These people live for gossip
these people live for scandal
I don’t want to service them
and their rotten needs
(by giving in to my own…)
There’s no such thing as privacy
in the glare of these glass eyes
tacked onto busses, buildings, banks
Casually observing every action
if you and I would dare to speak
we’d be captured, saved and dated
before we’d even finished
in this mistrusting town
These people live for drama
these people bay for criminals
I don’t want to fold to them
and their rotten needs
(by succumbing to my own…)
We cannot touch in this post-code
we cannot push the slightest limit
there is no shade
there is no dark corner
we can dwell in
there is no blind spot
there are no closed eyes
in this paranoid town
Perhaps you could meet me
on a sea-front somewhere wet
and in the torrential rain
this country’s eyes will be blinking
so furiously, that they don’t see
the true, free love
that flows in us
and we may finally give in
and we may finally succumb
to our rotten needs
O, and I can’t wait…
[2008]
Thanks for reading.
Cairo On The Radio
Down the endless garden
to a hand-built shed of wonders
and little me, sitting with my grandad
listening to all the voices
pushing through the static
What magic in those wires!
The narrow band, the wide
The squelch and the gain
The whistle and the whine
sounds I’ll never forget
The spectrum of a planet
chattering
Such wisdom in rough fingers
so deft upon the dial
gently they’d spin the roulette wheel
and flip between tunings
I was constantly in awe
at this window on the world
My ear up against the glass
of infinite possibility
and my grandad’s gentle teaching
explaining everything
We’d eavesdrop on conversations
clattering
fizzing through the airwaves
speaking so quickly
in strange new cadences
We’d hear calls to prayer
that sounded nothing like
the tuneless church bells of home
‘Where’s the microphone’ I’d say
‘can we speak back?’
he’d remind me
‘the most important thing, sometimes
is just to listen’
O, I was learning…
And when we were done
he’d disconnect the aerial
and gently warn me
how lightning storms
could blow up the receiver
O, how powerful, how dangerous
how exciting!
Charlie, Alpha
India, Romeo
Oscar
Come back…
[2020]
Thanks for reading.
Born To Muse
In the hammering rain of last night
I slept the best I have all week
I slept deeper, longer
than I have done for months
And would you guess who I should meet there
on the dream stools
at the dream bar
ordering her dream gin
sliding me a dream beer
Well, you come here often
I don’t have to ask
I’ve seen you here so many nights before
but it has been a while
(and I’ve missed you)
Back in real life; you live so freely
you’re pure inspiration to me
a scholar of your beauty
besotted by your confidence, your creativity
And when we went our separate ways
(did we ever really agree on one path anyway?)
after all those notebooks you drove me to fill
after the purest verses I fear I may ever spill
When we went our separate ways
you found yourself an artist
and now you’re all he paints
day drinking, or in the nude
the ways I still remember you
you… you were born to muse
Sitting on the dream couch
in the dream bar
your dream knees
pushing against dream me
you… you were born to muse…
[2019]
Thanks for reading.
The Lighthouse 