The Oasis Of Escape

There’s a turn up for the book:

That monasteries began

As an oasis

An escape from the submission

To the solitude of

The desert

And now

In search of peace

Drawn to the solitude

Drawn to the monastery

From the oasis of escape

That is life

Why leaf

Where riot

Why peace

Where quiet

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Would The Words Be Colder

If this was a bigger book

Would they be longer poems

If this was a slower fuck

Would you lose your lusted loins

If this was a railway platform

Would the words be colder

If this was by the ladies dorm

Would your lips be bolder

If this was beyond right now

Would there be no further

If this was outside of how

Would there be no murder

If this then all came good

Would I have to end myself

If this we truly understood

Would the story tend to delve

If this, not for me

Then for anyone

Would this then, that you

You could be the one

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1-4-7-1 Gave Me A Number

The telephone broke my sleep

Four-thirty or five-past-four

I did on purpose look

But I simply don’t remember

1-4-7-1 gave me a number

Zero seven it began

A mobile from away maybe

But a voice of familiarity

Five messages on the machine 

But what had you asked

While you were away

For they are your words I fear

There is a time difference

How can it possibly be

Hours away yet at the same time

Still here with me

Newspapers have no news

Politicians only yawn

Nine days have elapsed

Since that unanswered phone

Stornaway is flashed on screen

Alcatraz and Iraq

But in my mind I deduce

That you, are at home, confused

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Pipes And Bubbles

Can you hear the bubble

In the heated pipes

Can you touch the trouble

In the darkness of nights

Bubbles scrape corroded interns

Pipes with a feathered furry core

Wrestle around the corner turns

Angled with a tangled bore

Hear the mischief

In the blown-out smoke

Touch the disbelief

In the rolled-up rancid talk

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Now I Want To Not

It is not that

I don’t want to

It has moved on

From that

Now

It is that

I want

Not to

Simply

It is

Almost now

Sworn in fact

Stones carry the stories

Lives that dead men leave

Bones outlast the mourn of glory

Wives that dead men freed

It is not that

I do not want to

But the mood

Is more signified

Now

It is

I want not to

The message so so simplified

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