a joyous boyish voyage - an anthology

The wanderlust lyric
Look over at the horizon, see the

shadow haunting me. See it stalk behind

three miles; crossing forests, swamps and sea.

I can not turn back. My path is defined.

Will it follow me like this forever?

And where shall we find? Are we journey-bound

like blood to a hound, treading wherever

boots tread – or will it tread me underground?

More running from my demon won’t solve this,

but for now, running will do. But one stride

from the edge is a stride for the abyss.

Oh, if I could stride skylines by your side

without afearing the death in your eyes

to wander into the splendid sunrise.

paranoia

she broke the ice with a kiss;

while she left me alone to sleep
and dream aside his ash-filled pipe
but it's all in my head, it's all in my slumber
a giggle, a gasp and she fingers his chest,
he tears through her dress onto caress
her captivating beauty, not letting me go,
burning forth from me uncontrolled,
jealousy, churning, darkness by the sea
swimming amid a sick alibi
choking I cannot wake

Mind & Matter

Grey hairs betray me, hitting the warm floor.

Shall I begin to shave away the rest,

would it not be until my roots are sore

and I am balding before we know best?

Tourniquet tied around my life too tight,

perhaps my veins will pop under the stress,

bleed this poison over my skin tonight

into the cracks and heal, but I digress,

my arm attacked by a single needle,

victory tubes connecting to blister

packs full of deadly venom by treadle.

A pound self-shaving station at Lister

asks if I will handle the blade myself,

and ceasefire against my terminal health.

a Buried lyric
I lie alone in darkness,
shrouded with black sand and fishing rope.
I watched you walk away and forget about me.
You let go of me, but I’m still
held down. I will fight until my last sharp breath.
I will struggle as the ropes soak
and the sand bows down into my breast.
God, hold back the tide.
I can not get up, but I will not stay down.
Heaven hear me, I won’t wash into the nothing.

In an ocean of darkness,
one moonlit woman with cold dilated eyes
lies with me as if a word would change the tide.
Take my hand, she told me.
Those were your words on our last summer’s day.
We bathed in light and laughed
until our cheeks burned and eyes cried.
Oh, I am not proud.
All is lost now, the waves are taking over.
I always said you took my breath away.

I’m trapped by darkness,
leave me to time and tide, I don’t care anymore.
I’d feel my legs begin to buckle if they weren’t numb.
Take my hand, she tells me,
I can see you starting to break, open your eyes,
light up the sky and I’ll keep you alive.
I force my hand out, up into hers.
I feel her slipping away, come back to me!
I cannot hold on.
Don’t leave me in the dark, show me the way.

a broken yew tree
find me

below a blue wind
orange sky
bare branches:
green leaves and red berries –

picked at by the crows – scattered,
shaken to the ground.
Eye-white
hourglass
trunk has been
hollowed
out
a small cave
within the terrible giant.

Inside

breathless and beatless
hear the echo of life; charred
bark, rings of ash and room for two

stay awhile, only
a little walk
from the butterflies
and sundial

look above the painted petals
smeared about the hazel canvas
trace the thick wooden spines,
reach up, feel for the groove

touch: scored date,
initials, a name,
relations-

-no
don’t get up,
please,

stay awhile

Due but two
In the waves, in the waves, I am alone
but two, all but two. First me, second you. 
Your moon, your moon the birthing blue 
a stain, stained due up on the typhoon
its due, its due, awed without a clue.  
Us; two, you’re immune, I see right through.
I-silver and you in blue-moon, blue-you. 
Blue-you? I wave and so do you, but blue.

Standing Stones

She whistles through thistles whilst under the bleeding sun,
and when I called her name, my fingertips went numb.
From the chalk plateau, her damning hail moans,
dragging a salty tempest over the alkaline grassland.

Amid standing stones, a birthstone-blue star
looks at me suspiciously, as I came to hold the hand

of a captor haunting me; she dances on top a barrow,
I fall down to my knees and sit solus in solace.

Last light leaves the monolith, the ground begins to chill,
her hushing susurrations will keep us hand in hand
and we will dance forever under the swollen sky,
until the stars are dying and the wind has said goodbye.

At Last Sung
Black grass whistled, blades slicing side to side carving the white sky behind
like broken charcoal scratched into the horizon dancing atop white-hot embers
the skyline only broken by a one-legged piano, toppled to its side and burning;
the flames carve between each key, black and white and red spitting out strings
they engulf the crippled form, when a crack of thunder beats the heavy humid air
- a loud pulse ripples through the sky, a warning shot that heaven may tear in two
and the earth will crumble into dust anchored into damnation below the God-fury.
Over the hill, under the looming torment, a dozen, a hundred, a thousand bodies lay
still and cold and pale, rotting gently. Their rib cages rattle, shaking left and right,
bones audibly cracking and snapping in the desperate struggle to break out before
it is too late and the long sharp swift blade, sprouting from a pole held by bone;
white and clean, wrapped in loose black silk; slowly sweeps across the land
overloaded by Father's wrathful outburst, blazoned into the earth and scorn into
the field of dead; the piano slumps to its belly, losing the last leg and a note moans,
the rib cages groan and with the final pluck of muscle snapping, a thousand chests
burst open and unleash a dainty dreary mass of sun-white shinning silhouettes
turning the sky black by contrast and the void-grass blacker still, blind to the eye.
Death's long reach harvests the golden grain, loading the shimmering outlines
of man into the jaws, crushing against the gate, piling up. The metal bars of the gate
bend, threatening to bust, under the weight. The heavens open and the tears of every
angels weep; sodden the earth - a rainbow shines, puddles grow, droplets splash
about a dove's feather, eye-white, in wet soot, bare branches and crisp brown leaves.
A man, rope about his waist and a large drum hanging from his side, walks -
stick in hand, toward the white field. Death looms closer, creeping under the storm.
A woman, holding the neck of a guitar slung over her shoulder, walks -
fist clenched, toward the white field. Death looms closer, creeping forward still.
A child kneels into the dirt, lifts the soft - still warm - feather from the wet soot
scoring lines of black across a crisp brown leaf, like ink drying into paper,
symbols, notations and scrawl scribe across the charred veins of the leaf, then rolling
into a scroll of sheet music, sealed by thumb and finger; held to the quick beating
at a chest, toward the white field. Death arrives and sees a wall of three figures
like shepherds of light standing guard against the growling wolf of darkness.

Death pulled a fiddle
and plucked out a riddle
to query a mortal in song

The man starting drumming
the woman was strumming
the boy and the field of dead
were all humming to the song
of the sky and the hymn
of the earth and the clouds
clashed loud and the angels all
sung to the dead leaf's scrawl

Bones clinched loud
silk swayed in the wind
each string screamed out
as the field was thinned

Together they played
and together they sung
until the field was empty
and a new day had begun.

No walking stick

There's a green bag by a black and white umbrella,

held by an old looking fella in his left hand,

he is moving with purpose, marching proudly

back and forth, patrolling the safe station platforms.

There are ladies laughing, up in arms, observing overtly

the old man in sight on stage for their X Factor-freak-show.

Then a middle finger flicks past a barrel to trigger

a chain reaction of a bright white camera flash to a startled mass.

-

Wearing a Yellow Hi Vis, eating pie with thumb and finger

between lunch and dinner - this other guy's not getting any thinner,

but he is waiting, with a return ticket to the capital;

for labour under the moonlight at the construction site.

From the darkness in a high vis harness,

a mighty meaty, awfully sweaty, hot and heavy

figure uncertainly steps forward and into a

shining bright, focused-tight flashlight.

Camera, action.

-

The train is on time spitting gas one minute away,

their freak is falling to the tracks. Piss leaking

all over the rock and roll soldier, of an era immersed

with engine grime, dry blood and cooking grease.

A sharp pebble in his eye, but the guy was half blind before

the cackles cease and the ladies look down at the freak

who tries to stand with his umbrella, but breaks it.

He holds up an empty hand and no one takes it.

-

Rich white trash see a train coming about to crash.

Then the massive yellow body boldly steps forward

with wet sticky fingers that slide into the palm

of the fragile old man and burns the muscles in his arm.

Two Ds, three Es, an F and a pass

he’ll never be more than working class,

with second-hand jeans showing his arse,

but he holds a distinction in the master class of decency.

-

Just six more months of marching after, but one medal down,

after saluting his five foot, seventeen stone saviour.

He looks him up and down through a bloodshot eye,

inspired by why his brothers chose to die.

Forward
I could forgive

you if you

said sorry, but I

will not forget.

I will not

be mad,

I will not

be sad.

I won’t

fight the lad

or pretend

to be glad;

I will look

forward

and I will

walk.

Climb
I drove through the day, drove until I was far away
saw the sunlight bleeding over head
crayon red scratched silver sky
left all teardrops in a fire, burning while I drove far away

last light slips behind groves, meadows, humankind
beneath a black sky haunting over head
charcoal carved out the silver sky
eyes open all night, dry, looking out for humankind

quick fast love affair, done by dawn without a care
snaking roads worm through lonely hills
spearhead peak held up the sky
I trudge through bog, car parked somewhere without a care

knee bent, thigh burn, stepping, climbing to the sun
tired so soon but just begun
glasses mist, breath short, high
walking boots grounded in dry roots to the sun

downs a dizzy doom to stiffen, slop steeped into cliff
I could turn around now
hand cups grey rock and elbow gets up
only upward scrambled on the cliff

up, up, farther still, lost a breath and I feel
exhausted and ready to give in
so high up people look like shrimp
I close my eyes, I take a breath, I feel

two wings on the air, below me, above their prey
resting slumbered between two rocks
nestled into a shallow grave
a sheep stepped from a cloud and I pray

show Yourself to me, don't be a hapless dream
wished up by a shepherd
strayed far from the flock
a dark cloud looms as a hapless nightmare

dry rocks and firm ground keep me level
headed in the right direction
the peak draws in closer still
distant lake sits between hills, water level

calm, the wind picks up
the cloud swirl
the sky grows dark
the wind picks up
the cloud swells
the sky grows dark
the wind picks up

the path down is dry for the time being
yet the peak is within my reach
my aches long retreat
but press on with every fibre of my being

a cold droplet runs down my cheek
spills from my chin into the soil
the thirsty earth readies, swallows
a fire chases down my cheek

up, once more, up and over the rock
stand to see a shelf of green
another spire begins to tower up
a pool of blue sits in the shadow of the rock

I'd thought I'd finished, but half way up
knee bent, thigh burn, mind empty, mind churn
as darken skies begin to weep
I trudge in soil deep, but up

but up, but up, but no way down
fistfuls of plants torn from scalp
slip, sliding, tumbling
one way down

dust self, check self, myself steady
hand shake, knee weak, I'm not ready

knee floor, hands floor, crawled through a moor
soaked, beaten, hadn't eaten

doubt self, lose self, myself careless
hands slam, knuckles burn, eyes cry

I cry, I feel. Wind claws a tear from my
cheek and tosses it over my shoulder.

I stand in the day, dark clouds blown away
feel a gentle sunlight on the air
a warmth blossoms
all the raindrops burn away

up, up, farther still, still lost, but now I feel
exhausted and ready to give up
so high up cars look like shrimp
I close my eyes, I take a breath, I feel

a fast gale closing in, I roll up, over, over

saw sunlight bleeding through the mist
wrays blurred behind a pile of rocks
then stones atop, then pebbles peaking over

peaked.

Binary star
piercing white, blinding,
we're unwinding inside,
unfurling your wings and
I'm finding a feather
amid my fingertips;
spinning white iris about
a burning red pupil;
an angel and a devil.

spinning silk; whirling,
a princess in the ballroom
all soft and gentle
brushing a claw across
her naked spine;
giggling; my fur tickling
her velvet, creased;
beauty and the beast

twirling beauty; reeling,
rippling on the dancefloor
rocking and swaying
her cheek pressing on mine
a smooth touch, light kiss
shes wearing my coat
and all I can see
is just you and me.

2AM
Fistfuls of sand
running between
my knuckles.
Talking in circles
over the low hum of an engine
ears numb to the world
fingertips itching
a smile flinching
talking in circles
soft words surfing by
eyes shinning
lips parting
talking
closer
in circles
your breath
on mine.
A naked man runs past
and takes your breath away.
Two clumps of sand
patter at my shoes;
grit in our soles.

When you're on my mind, life is poetry
Waking, I hear beats from a broke drummer,
pull the window shut, locked in woefully
to this dream, fighting to return to slumber.
When you're on my mind, life is poetry:
we slow dance aflame atop a candle,
a bottle to my lips is our first kiss,
the stretched plastic carrier bag handles
on my knuckles are your soft fingertips.
I am never kicking through grass alone
watching buds soar as we canter along
a blooming daisy patch, and, we fall prone.
When you're amid petals, life is a song:
my heart is a drum, but I wake screaming,
my heart is beatless to know I's dreaming.

Awake, but weary-eyed glancing over
to your photograph waiting on the side,
a floored shirt, grass-stained sleeve, becomes a blur,
empty bottles in a plastic bag; tied.
I sit up alone and thumb your image
pondering on how, if, to start this affair
but when I demand: these thoughts are finished;
my dreams without you turn into nightmares.
So, I rest my head and I close my eyes.
A tiny chain in my chest tugs me to
your gravity well, I'm falling to fly
for there to be a way to be with you.
This is the saddest joy I've ever known;
when you're on my mind, I am still alone.

Ticked and crossed
No new texts. No missed call.
Not a like or a friend request.
No message on my Facebook wall.
No letters forwarded to my address.
No new followers, nor snaps.
No tagged photos or untagged, even.
No DMs, Skypes or Whatsapps.
No e-mails save spam to believe in.
Now I type, then I send and then
Nothing, I see ✔read, but no reply.

Fight or Flight

You need time to think on it

and I know that I’ve made a mistake

if love is ending this way

when it was supposed to be great but

it just takes and it takes and it takes

and it takes

there’s not much left anyway

so I lie awake and I break and I ache

and I ache.

There’s a timer counting down

I should make an escape

if love keeps ending this way

when it was supposed to be great but

it just ticks and it ticks and it ticks

and it ticks

there’s not much time anyway

so I run late from the hate and I wait

and I wait.

If there’s a chance I could turn round

as if running was my only mistake

if love keeps ending this way

when it was supposed to be great and

we just talk and we talk and we talk

and we talk

there’s not much left to say

so we lie awake and we break ‘cos we made

a mistake.

Riverling
If love was a river, the bed was dry.
Optimistic, I built a dam - gotta play it cool,
right?

When I looked into your eyes and saw you
a small trickle of water appeared, a puddle,
really.

I got my feet wet and paddled, then waded
the river was up to my thighs and I panicked,
truly.

On the otherside of the dam, the banks were dry
there was no way I could drown over here,
phew.

Water sprayed through a small hole in the dam
it shot out, but was easy enough to plug, until
another.

and then it burst through, "I love you"
"I love you too", you snapped back,
instantly.

I saw you meant it in your eyes
the dam was gone and the river flowed,
fast.

Summer blues
Woo~

like rain in the summer in the city
mascara running fast
but the girl lookin' pretty

the streets are alive in the dark of the night
the girl's actin' tough like
she'll give you a fight

take her by the waist and whistle a taxi
let's take a backseat down a backstreet
dry your eyes, dear, they're nothing but waxy

~ooh

breaking down on the side of the road
suddenly I feel miles from home
and you laugh at me as I start to stutter

uh-uh, excuse me sir,
what's the smoke coming from
the front of your car?

the radio plays and the engine buckles;
an hour ago, you were hating and raging,
now I can't hear the guy as you chuckle

woosh!

there's a spark and a light in your eyes
a flush in your cheeks
and your hand's on my thigh

I'd push this motor mile after mile
sell my soul to have you home in a flash,
crack open a bottle and a button and a smile

like the sun on your cheeks and the shine in your specs
drinking and spinning, getting closer, then next
to and fro and throw down to have seeee~

~tish,

but we stroll down the lane in the pouring rain
we're tight under dark clouds.
Another cab? Let's grab a train.

we know
we know

we'll never be alone
to ponder by a pond
and think on falling in
cos we have we, like
an armband on a baby

that every stride to
is to together in toe
and if one of us trips
both of us fall unless
the other stands tall

I got you getting me
all the world to see
but all I'm looking for
is on my side, smiling
agreeing to be my bride

we know
we do

Do us part
It doesn't mend the crack in the mirror,
when I am split in two down the middle,
it doesn't plaster over the hole in the drywall,
or suture up the edges of my knuckles,
but it is enough.

There is no divine revelation in its wake,
no undying answer to the hole in my chest,
there is no cure waiting for me by it,
nor a purpose for the precious time left,
but it is enough.

I'm bleeding out and calling out for you,
there is no response, save the echo from afar,
in my desperation, I hex this situation,
retreat into the corner of my mind,
but it is enough.

In that quiet moment, you're with me,
we're in the dark, slumped into a corner,
your tourniquet-arms tied about my torso,
we both know it won't kill the bleeding,
but it is enough to dull the pain.

The wanderlust reprise
Look over at our horizon, see the

shadows dancing far. Watch and sway

in silence; save the beat of the birds.

This route is chosen. Our paths a way.

Will we follow it like this forever?

And where shall we find? Are we journey-bound

like blood to a hound, treading wherever

boots tread – or will we tread 'til we're underground?

Let's run and skip and dance and dream,

all the while, saying I do. For one stride

from the edge is a stride for the abyss.

Oh, I will stride skylines by your side
without afearing the birth in your eyes
to wander into the splendid sunrise.