White Walls In The Morning

The sun stubbornly
arrives through the curtains
making a mockery of my cry for help at 3am.

I can see the room very clearly
it looks calm and peaceful,
no trace
of the dark shadows
that stood with me
in the wee small hours.

A sunbeam hits my arm
my skin remains perfect,
it is
a surprise.
I check my body from head to toe
and there is not a hint
of the pain that threw me
into sleep so violently,
I thought the blood would soak
through the sheets
and sooth my scars.

The sun shines defiantly
through my window,
It is inviting me
to rejoin yesterday.

The Poetry Reading

Yeah I wrote this when
or
this poem is about

Inside I recoil with horror
at hearing those words
before the performance
just read the poem
and let the listener
decide what it means
to them.

Tonight
the venue is full
same faces unknown to me,
The first act of the night stands up
and says
‘yeah, so I wrote this poem’
so does the second and the forth
and the final sixth

It’s tweed or nothing in here
Skinny jeans with turn ups
or just skinny jeans

and they all have beards
tidy
trimmed beards
with short shaved hair
at the back and sides

so does the man in the audience next to me,and two up from me
and in the front row

infact
the fuckers are everywhere

I thank God for my Mel Gibson
Lethal Weapon 4
leather jacket
and my razor.

I wasn’t asked to read.

One Last Shot

What is it about 2am
I was drunk,
not so drunk that I didn’t know
what I was doing
but enough to get that
shot of confidence to do it.

There was nothing to lose,
anymore
already I had spent the night wondering why was I
holding a glass
instead of her hand.

Her door was on the way back to my empty bed
maybe she would have let me back into hers.
Those arms might just open enough
to make the legs repeat the trick
because who wants open arms at 2am.

All that was waiting at home
for me
was the morning.

Her light was out
but she never had it on
even when we made love
it dark and she was hidden.

The steps appeared promising
as they always did
My feet took me up
as if they were still mine
I went cold and hard 
remembering every one
like an old friend,
if only they held
the same sentiment for me
because they gave me away
and she was waiting.

I always enjoyed her hands
but tonight
they were closed instead of caressing.
So off I crawl to spit up some teeth
I can’t afford to fix or lose.

Think I’ll sleep here,
I’m not drunk enough anymore
for the bravery needed
to live in the space
I call my own..

What is it about 3am?
everyone thinks we all we want
is open legs
and not the open arms.

Tick this section here

I did it properly tonight
The knife went into my right hand
And I hacked deeply at
My left arm
Proper cuts
Real focused determined
Painful
Angry
Angst ridden
Guilty
Mother fucking cuts
That will only last so long
Before
I need to do it again.

Saturday Morning

The sign  is pinned on
saying that the
ticket machine is out of order,
I wonder what it did?
must have been  quite something
as there is not even an apology attached.

Runners walk and puff past me
on the way to a lower waistline,
Suddenly lyrca is everywhere,
it is never worn as much
as it is on a Saturday morning.

A soft top mini pretends to roar past,
the roof is down
the owner wanting to show
everyone
that he is up
as there is a new television
still boxed in the back seat.

I am one month behind in my rent

The morning is warm
the air heavy as the clouds
hang low with the rest of us,
my flat,
is cold
old windows and old bricks
retain the lives of all who
sheltered and wept there
but they do not retain
the heat. 

As I walk along the cracked modern pavements
I notice the leaves
scattered and left all around us
Just scattered and forgotten on the ground,
kicked and trodden on
as if they were nothing
just leaves,
today they beautiful
and they will be tomorrow.

Who are we to stand and tread on anything.

It is a Saturday morning
to enjoy up close
before it drifts away
to become just another day,
hope always comes in the morning

I hope.

Mcqueen

I always preferred McQueen
Newman was just,
just
not the same you know what I mean.
The Hustler is excellent,
black and white
full of angst and smokey rooms
but
that was as good as he was going to get.
Whereas Steve didn’t need anything
to make him look good on the screen
he was the screen.
The Towering Inferno
A film made for cash,status and equal lines.
You have to get almost half way through
Before he walks on screen
and it is worth every moment.
McQueen
the man who didn’t need marked cards
to beat anybody
or who wouldn’t get caught
even for his own mother.
He is so far away now
you couldn’t hear if they were shooting
at him
with howitzers.
God bless you.

Faded

I’ve not had a bath in three days
and these jeans I’m wearing have now been on for four.
I feel out of time
I feel my past but i cannot see it these days.
There is no comfort in familiarity as nothing in this room is familiar.
Just detached memories of objects that belong under different lights, on different mantelpieces.
Voices that said goodnight
now say nothing,
even my own voice cannot be trusted and I’m not sure it ever could,
you’d think after 35 years I’d have some answers
but if I still can’t bare to ask myself the questions
then it looks like everything’s fucked.

Yesterday
and I do mean yesterday,
I thought I had worked everything out,
until the morning took away the promise that last night held.
I had ran a bath trying to wash off
the dirt that is buried deep,
it’s in my dna, passed down through generations of fear and regrets
I couldn’t even dip my toe in, so the water still sits there.
Cold.
I went to bed wearing my clothes
these jeans;
what do you do when a pair of jeans
fits you better
than your own skin?.

Oh My God It’s Early

The world is a little bit laughterless
today.
The tears of a clown never seemed
so sad
as they do now.
Ebola
Gaza
Iraq
topped off with political smugness;
and people wonder why we mourn a man
who made us laugh.

Rip Robin.

Coffee and chairs

I sat in the chair
She sat opposite
friends sat either side
Coffee was poured and passed
Our eyes and minds locked
Nobody
And nothing existed
Except for us.
Have you ever looked into a face that holds nothing but love for you ?.

Tree in Madrid

I have found a park
In what seems the heart of the city,
I found it
no maps or directions
just a rough idea of where it was.
It is beautiful.
It seems today the world has only room for
beautiful people
and for once
I feel a sense of belonging
that escapes me at home.
I walked for ten minutes not looking but knowing I would find the tree to sit at.
Across a small bridge past some Americans sitting by a stream
It stood there waiting expectantly
a perfect balance of shade and sun
as I sat down I patted it to say thank you
there is no language barrier for gratitude
my back settled against the bark and I felt supported
I have sat here before and I will sit here again.