Grief casts complex shadows over the wilting body You feel the fingers grasping as sirens rise again This fatalistic ritual an energy made negative and stomach knotted up by such unhelpful thoughts
Pain rips at your sails thunderous and wild is it the body breaking down a message poorly translated The shrieking of absence cuts deep into the gut those hands twist and grip the cycle begun again
Skidding down the rabbit hole of mystery pain and anxiety hyper real and burning it’s eating you alive Those phantom hands rewiring your mind only to worry assumptions dire and grave all roads lead to that place
These misdirected signals all those black and deadly things speak with knife-like voices plunged into your chest Taking you to a place maybe part of you would like to go to be proved right your fears bleakly justified
Those phantom hands threaten to poison everything but they will not take you Where can we draw the line Which hell is the body and which is in the ailing mind My real hands catch the tears falling from my mother’s eyes…
The strange places I wake up dank bedrooms, mouldy stairwells always hoping to be by your side I am alone, or much worse making pathetic, transparent excuses when we should be in love
You’re off chasing some pretty model around the backstreets of Shoreditch photographing graveyards painting your nails green not thinking of me when we should be in love
When it all goes wrong I’ll still be the one…
I met you at a summer party you seemed afraid to talk to me at first I smiled and said ‘I don’t bite, you know’ you purred ‘I only like the ones that bite’ O beauty, why do you do this to me when we should be in love
And to the city you chase your prey I lie in my bed, my grave six feet beneath the sheets unappealing, yet constant and surprising waiting patiently for you when we should be in love
When it all goes wrong I’ll still be the one…
Why must you be drawn to the bad ones they look like cartoon characters but “shit always gets too real” and they crush your heart with steel toecaps here, I persist in my grounded daydreams and we should be in love
Don’t you want someone who knows how to love someone with experience of longevity who can love you from afar and up close melt you with their lust, drown you in their trust sit silently absorbing the beauty of your complexity O, we should be in love
My car stands motionless in the driveway but I don’t know how to drive it That guitar is propped against its amp but I don’t know how to play and my lover she lies there in the bedroom but I…
My chess set’s collecting dust upon the shelves but I don’t know what the rules are That fishing rod looms above the bait box but I don’t have the technique and my lover she lies there in the bedroom but I…
What am I for when I don’t know how to love her when I don’t know how to let her love me back What am I for What am I for
So, I’ll keep buying toys and promising I’ll master them When really there’s no joy in anything, anymore…
If anyone hasn’t read or heard me read the poem Dark At The End of The Street, you can find it on the Spillwords Press site this week as one of their featured poems.
Many thanks to the team there for selecting my poem. If you enjoy it, and if you feel inclined, click the little ‘heart’ button on their site to show some love.
Walking the tracks again with my face to the rain every step I take in fear of that ever-nearing train
I cheated death, I cheated truth and now there is no proof more than what my accusers say yet they increase in number with every passing day
They shout ‘He stole’ well I admit I may have borrowed some and I may have lied when they looked me in the eye and I may have given them something to keep quiet
Every step I take in fear of that ever-nearing train every sound that I hear lights a bonfire of panic in my brain
Every insect buzz could be a rattling in the rails every splashing duck could be steam cloud trails
Cheating in love I don’t deny my neck it aches, from looking back at the tracks of my life down the tracks of my lie always looking for that train
I’m walking the tracks again with my face to the rain every step I take in shame for that ever-nearing train…
Spitting it out in the hope of releasing unlocking the cage stifling my growth burning it all selfishly brightly and the feeling is back again pounding my head again to just let go… just let go…
Spewing it up with the aim of escaping fleeing this habitual and too perfect a world shedding the handcuffs worn in contentment and the aching is back again haunting my thoughts again to just get out… just get out…
Dreaming it up in the hope of fulfilment melting again in the heat of the lime-light always around and forever predictable and the wanting is mine again consuming me whole again to just let go… just let go…
Welling them up in my shining eyes now both of them bursting in the wealth of emotion as red as your face when you listen to these words the Devil is my friend again scorching my faith again Screaming ‘just get out… just get out…’
My demons are strong again twisting my arms again almost convincing me to just let go… just let go…
The cliché of a midnight station two trains waiting to depart I hold you for the final time then we lock eyes the knot in me just tightens for all the words I keep in my mouth…
What isn’t done now will never be done What isn’t said will never be said All my love in our goodbye…
The limitless black of sky above haunts our last encounter as absolute as my choking sadness I dip my eyes Can you read my mind? all hope of a reprieve quietly dies with all the words I keep in my mouth…
From another platform across the tracks I watch you make your slow, sure way with each footstep my passion boils my eyes, they widen the fear grips me harder We cannot end in such silences with all these words kept in my mouth…
Across the rails my shouts explode the desperateness in these dying moments I scream of my love for you My burning, bursting want for you the aching, beating, magnetic pull of you…
And you call back to me you thank me for my ‘honesty’ but you ‘don’t know what to say’ So, you don’t say any more and your train slips you home my train drags me home
The story over the chance now passed an oil-black sadness is all I swim through all my love in our goodbye but all my love was not enough…
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…
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…
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…
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?
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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!
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
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…’
The Lighthouse 