Thursday, 31 January 2013

Smoke &

Some people sleep
Some people are alone
Some hold hands
& have their pictures taken 
By friends with mobile phones

These are not deep thoughts
For as he poked fun
Her smile at once turned to stone
These are slight reliefs, & as such
They carry my now familiar drone

This place, a fairly regular keep
The leap of faith peeps
From poetry to surrealist art
A neap tide to set aside 
All ideas of an infinite space

Wednesday, 30 January 2013

Tuesday, 29 January 2013

Over and Out

Pour in on oneself
Pour out of oneself
Good wine, fine music
Poetry of the instants

As if a sickness
A relief
Fed over the body
Fed through the mind

As one day I might say it
Say it with such ease
That neither I nor you
Would know it

Monday, 28 January 2013

Realism (Not Magic)

I sit on a curved bench
Look towards the turbine hall
Listen to the echoed screams
Of a solitary child, set free to roam

I will take this home
Insert quite a pause, just here

Afterwards, to reflect
Upon a passage of my life
Ever so definitely finally closed
At the dark end of the chamber

Sunday, 27 January 2013

Infinitely Small Spaces

I queue for Kusama
Take time out
To be covered in spots

With the force of Tsunami
Tales of a bedroom
Without a door

A viral army of incidental notes
Lumps in the throat
Your love moved on

Saturday, 26 January 2013

Wait & Wake

The woman who our intuition tells us will 
look back, and who never actually existed


All those words of tight black dresses
As he drifts into other consciousness
Cars that roll down hills
To cross the stream at the forge

In another room 
The boy sleeps
Utters tired words on being woken

All denominations are here
Thousands of untold dreams
Sit at the breakfast tables

For the writer it is the time to wait
Luxuriate in her hurtful absence
Selfless of his own existence

Friday, 25 January 2013

Room 309

I have bathed
I listened to the sweet violin
I have read a little of Fernando Pessoa

If I was to call it sadness
Would I have to waiver more clear
If I was to call it peace
Would you crave at the veneer

That I can say it is tiredness
Is that a dearer message to wire
For do we not all feel tired
With much of life still to acquire

from the collection
The Curved Ball of an Artists Model
Love Encouraged By the Breakout
Available from itunes by clicking here

Thursday, 24 January 2013

Given Words

I cannot read
More than one page at a time
The concentration is not with me

Instead I look east, or west
To blue grey skies
To pink and golden sunsets

Further south, small fluffy clouds
Wisps of joy for my feeble mind
Through the flat fields of East England

Farmlands; diggers dig new ditches
Beyond the grain store a smokestack
Beyond the straw bales a chapel

Our shadows speed over the stubble
Dusks gentle conversation is calming
The sun on the last day she gave me

Hope that there will always be hope

Wednesday, 23 January 2013


Sickness that follows death
Doubts in place of certainties
Sourness in the once sweet soul
Words spit out; no more so softly spoken

But tomorrow we’ll be singing
Yes tomorrow we’ll all be singing

Tuesday, 22 January 2013

Why? Is it because

All that stuff
About falling in love
& breaking up
Lah de lah de lah

All those times of waking up
Beneath the crescent moon
Some sunny day in June
Lah de lah de lah

Why? Is it because

All the rough
Of making up
From broken love
Lah de lah de lah

Thank the Lord above
For clear blue skies
& raking up the past
Lah de lah de lah

Monday, 21 January 2013


Each turn turns a smile
Playful with precision
Reasonable indecision
Beside harbored doubt

Every hour, every day
Flowers and unfortunate
Scours were praised in our
Songs heartfelt to empower

Each hope turns on hope
Decayed by days of derision
Unreasonable prohibition
Sold our sensations short

Every sour word spoken
Some token of loss, lost flames
The old fires of burning desire 
Retired out of the embers

Sunday, 20 January 2013


His name was
No I would rather protect his identity
It could have been Kirsty or Eileen
Holly or Darren or Imogen

But it was
No everyone ought to be allowed privacy
It could have been Sarah or Alexander
David or Peggy
Yet it was he who thought

He could outwit Dara O’Brian

Small stage
Bright lights
Haze of smoke
Loud conversation

He walked on stage well enough
Smiled at the audience
Made to start talking

Then he froze
Not a word
Not a single word
Not a word
But he stood still
He stood still and firm
Still not a word
But he stood still
He stood still and firm

Someone started laughing
Then cheering began
His silence had them in fits
He turned to leave the stage
“Your go Dara” he said
With a thumbs up to the crowd

Saturday, 19 January 2013


It started light, windy, grey but not overcast
The sort of day no one would particularly choose to be born on

It turned into a dark blue starlit sky
With a breeze, that ruffled the sea; along the bay
Festoons of coloured lights reflected off the waves

It was the sort of peace, tranquility, and expectant joy
That absolutely everyone would have chosen to be born into

Friday, 18 January 2013

Be Unique

That’s it
I’ll write jokes about sheep

Dara was talking to himself in the barn
The next farm was over a hundred kilometres away
Not many farmers then to laugh at Dara’s sheep jokes 
& as a ten year old
No way to move around those lonely arable lands

Eight years later Dara heard The Beatles on his university radio

That’s it
I’ll write jokes about The Beatles
Forgetting that that was John Lennon’s job

There you have it
Dara’s job was taken already

Thursday, 17 January 2013

Sand Dirt Girl

I stroke the drum
Stroke so softly
As though it was your lips
Where my fingers were walking

My hopes there are roaming
Soaking so slowly
To  keep there the hoping
Bemoaning the undercover of love

I hear out for the whispers
Quiet so slow as though
The door may one day open
Upon your calling voice

My thoughts there choking
Revoking so lonely
To hang on to my stone
Heart hopeless lover of love

I hunger for the aroma of flowers
Fragrant flowers
As sure as the perfume spray
Of all our yesterdays

My arms sway,
After the way your intent
Descended upon my vine
Signed itself lonesome of love

In the hour to press 
I test the taste of love
Impress the cotton on my teeth
Seethe to tear this grip of grief

My aura disturbs with disbelief
The hurt that stole the sweetness
Thereof, the neatness inside
Your secret sheaths of love

Wednesday, 16 January 2013


I take my time to wake
Escape from the work life
That I have no desire to chase

Instead to trace my fingers
Around your face
In those old photograph albums

Tuesday, 15 January 2013

Confused by one

It wasn't easy
I think you used the word wobbly
So how to think you didn't give a shit
Think on it enough to write it down

There's duplicity for you
Step forward, step back, open neither wallet
Pretend to steer well clear of evangelising
State what was once passion is as good as gone

It wasn't, it isn't about being easy
I think we used the word civilised
So why now don't you give a shit
At least you give out that appearance

There's the Cupid stupidity
Eyes right, eyes left, open either heart
With presence to mean it deep, empathetically
Shown love, her fairest gift, one that endless shone

Monday, 14 January 2013

Days Passed

Between my birthday
& my sons birthday
My sister passed away

I am again at the sculpture park
This time to remember my sister Patricia who passed away today.

One by one the four of us will fall; three brothers (Jack, Christopher, Leslie) but first our sister Patricia

The grey, blue, pink and silver skies move along, just as we will move along; that highlight of skies brilliance serves as the tears for each of us; today the clouds open for Patricia

It is my younger brother Leslie who was by her side at the end, he and his wife Linda are our families pillars of strength. In his youth Leslie was Pat's favourite, today he more than ably repays some of that favouritism, my thanks go to Leslie and Linda

There was war in Yugoslavia when I took time to remember my mother, today as I remember Pat Europe is in a financial crisis, world stuff and family stuff, each with their own ongoing collisions.

Mum passionately wanted Pat cared for, her wish came true, throughout her life Pat has had wonderful care, and given innocent, loving, yet forthright responses in return. Those who cared for Pat loved her enough to take this in good heart. There love is something our family can never be grateful enough for.

Life needs the colour of people like my sister Patricia. The world would benefit from more of her kind of honesty. More of her kind if love.

Pat didn't need a sculpture park, she could walk for miles in and among the natural countryside of the Holme Valley, as she often did with her friend Colin in tow.

Pat was great at showing gratitude, the little bird box I gave her for her 60th birthday was received with such open joy, yes more of Pats qualities are needed.

I am rambling now. I think it's time just to be thankful and celebratory. Today let's cry, and laugh for my sister Patricia, just as my mum laughed, and cried at Cinderhills as they got ready together for a family wedding.

Thank you all for coming.

Sunday, 13 January 2013

Walk to a Red Telephone Box

Each step
Down the hill 
A step of deceitful betrayal

Each step
Down the hill
Under a moon of fascination

Moons and hills
On occasion out of balance
A soul lost to the valley 

In deep desperation
Fascinations and betrayals
His souls shallow weights

Streams that form
In shades and clearings
Of human scale

Find their way
To fast flowing rivers
Recent times flood plains

Hills and valleys
Land bound
Far from sand or sea

Open for enchantments
By a soul once thought of
As both distant, and free

Saturday, 12 January 2013


In that quiet hour
Sat in a place founded
On innocent foundations

An easy mind to scour
Thoughts gallop unbounded
Through vales of gentle undulations

At one with the eternal flower
All flights of fancy eventually grounded
Rounded to more sensitive premonitions

Friday, 11 January 2013

Thursday, 10 January 2013


The small square window
Lets in
A brilliant white light

As though one
Had opened
A door onto the sun

The thin rectangular
Window beneath
Is dark grey, almost black

As if one had looked into
The bottomless cavern
Of ones childhood

The cactus on the cill
Tells us
That there is still life

That it is fed
In the times
Of both dark and light

As if we were in need
Of both extremes, and
The continuum between

Wednesday, 9 January 2013


Minus eight degrees
Sky clearer
Than the blue nothingness of infinite bliss

Alongside, a thin strip of finite horizon
The brightest, most brilliant white light, as though
An illicit affair would be any less exiting

Quiet highways
Open their floors before me
Fringed with snow and frost

The worlds trees form the shape of weeping willows
Their untarnished beauty as innocent
As the first fantastic secretive date

In the roadside diner
Hash browns, eggs over easy
Pancakes with maple syrup, before the open roads

Endless travels: sublime distant peaks for guidance
Suggestions of the calmness that came after
The rampant excitement of our first consummation

Tuesday, 8 January 2013

Friday Nights

At the top of the house
Above the poetics of space
At a high level with the
Self consciousness
Several floors down to the
Cellars of the unconscious

One attraction, back-along (There were several)

Those times between
The window and the wardrobe
When we shared an apparent
Belief in things other than
The rational explanations

Mystifications, swung-along (They where ephemeral)

Our craved fascinations
Which carried the gravitas
Of irrational thought, yet
Required a leap of faith
& called upon desire
To drown her taboos

Simplification, strung-along (I recall the existential & seminal)

Close your eyes
Hold my hand
Think deeply
Go on
Say it
I know exactly what you are thinking

Without complication, down-along (We transferred the memorable)

Pick up the telephone
Before the ring tone rings
Sing out loud about the joy
Of interstellar communication

Thankful resuscitation, sing-along (We bathed in the questionable)

Warm oils massaged into skin
Listen to - The Amazing Eyes of Rita
Again alone
Though never now alone
Smiles hold, as I turn the final pages
I thank Rollo May for his inspirational book

Man’s Search for Himself (I crave for the suggestion-able)

Monday, 7 January 2013


Only the light of the lava lamp
As I listen to the plucked strings of the lute
Only to know that sleep is still some time away
I say that this writing is my beautiful consolation

Easy to be at ease
While one reaches to the past and to the future
Easily to find escape
From the dark stares of the present

An appeasement not shared
By those not so restful as this one
Relatives perturbed with their pasts
Stormed by heir presents and their futures

I have prepared my own stabilisation
I give it with some confidence to others
I have cathartically worked through millions of words
& still I will always give you the same sad or happy stories

A thousand times or more
Yet always with a misinformed tinge of hope
That one day there may be a reconciliation
Always in the fear of that dash of colour

A deep red rose on the shiny black suit
Also a slice of inferred beauty
In the V neck turquoise sweater
Over an inviting sunburnt breast

Always because we have to settle
I pose with a sense of tranquility
The calm sea to the clear horizon
Always, if able 

I would aim at a hint of playfulness
Such as with the sailboats in the harbour
Yet always in truth I edge towards escapism
For none of us do return, yet some day one of us might

Sunday, 6 January 2013

Plastic Film

There is a photograph
Somewhere in existence
I am the principle subject
Sat quietly, at a kitchen table

It is a small cottage
The afternoon sun filters
Through the high level windows
Past a pair of cockatiel's

The painter’s palettes
Are in a black fold away tin
The water colour painting
Is on a hardboard sheet

My black stonewashed sweatshirt
Is a gift; made in Australia
So the shark logo on the sleeve
Would have you believe

Thin auburn air, and a steady
Stance suggests a gentleness
An innocence that the photographer
Captures with simplistic empathy

All else is lost in my minds articles
Although I do think of orange flowers
I also have an idea of a feint wash
That created a turquoise background

I tell you this in response to another 
Image; from elsewhere in my existence
Where birds are freed from their cage
In search of those self same freedoms

from the collection

The Curved Ball of an Artists Model
Love Encouraged By the Breakout
Available from itunes by clicking here

Saturday, 5 January 2013

Mystified by the Journey

I'm still inclined
To frieze my mind
With her favoured pictures

I'll find the time
With ease designed
As if it was the scriptures

Plain as day 
We stayed away
Called ourselves the victors 

Though with feet of clay
I held back her sway
Now all that's left are the strictures

Friday, 4 January 2013


Heavenly to write of touch
Rushes of times when such stuff
As transference or lapping waves
Met on the sun blessed beach

Faith to care for futures much
Exalted hopes honed good enough
For Neapolitan throws, or slow
Walks off the boardwalk out of reach

Presence then to talk in tongues
Of colours, scents and textures crushed
To feel the velvet worn with razored silk
As the forlorn son of man with lust impeached

Heavenly to write of either in the ether
Flushes of times reminded, hushed voices
That floated free on the Pyrenean breeze
Soft words squeezed hidden by the lovers breach

Thursday, 3 January 2013


We don't have those faces anymore
Those neat mohair double breasted suits
No longer fall so easily

Off ones slender frame
The little black dress
Is passed down the charity shop line

Should there be another do
It would be a more sombre affair
No wild abandon lovers

Who brought their flash of light
To the instantly
Gratified journeys

We won't pace
Outside doorways anymore
Those fretful eyes that cried tears of joy

Now employ another motive
Thighs that made grown men sigh
Are hidden by jeans of denim brut

Should we choose
To regain our youth
It would be with nostalgic flair

As he randomly discovers
One could forge a clash
With dissatisfied attorneys

Wednesday, 2 January 2013


A cup of tea, a cigarette
Reading of the poetry book
Before anyone else arrived

Fanciful techniques
Used to ward off
Urges of excitement
At her expected appearance

Which came in an intricate
Colourful style; masses of
The desires I had succumbed to

Each delicate day
More poetic comments
From new found
Friends and acquaintances

Each day another notch
Filed off the key-locks
To her entrapment

Tuesday, 1 January 2013

Divided & Indivisible

All the while, as if miles meant more than 
Her smile, half apparent no more

Feel into what one feels with, more than 
A rush of blood, whirls that spin no more

In that single file, one folder; more than
A grasp of whatever passes no more

Steal, or stolen, fallen more than
At last to bleed, indeed to seed no more