Friday, 21 August 2009


I think about her
And how I never gave my heart.
She's dancing with another man.
She's happy.

I can only languish in self-pity
And relish in her moments of bliss
Like they're meant for me -
Because she's meant for me.

We kiss in a darkened corner
Of a separate room
Whilst feet patter to the tunes
Of different decades.

I don't say a word.
I swipe back the hair from her eyes.
'I'm happy for you.'

As they dance on a marble stage 'neath the stars
I am the Moon.
She is my Sun;
He is the blue-green sphere between us.

Love (haiku).

Love is a black cloud
When viewed from beneath its bulk
By a rising bird.


Miracles are needed only in abject situations;
For 'miracles' can get one out of a twist.
But the fact that people believe in them
Gives me doubt that any god exists.

Miracles are needed by a superstitious few,
Desperate in times of hurt.
But miracles would not be needed
In a universe in which everything works.

Only a malevolent, disturbed deity
Could necessitate miraculous intervention.
For a miracle to be wanted,
One has to put logic into suspension.

Why is this happening?
Shall I pray for things to change?
A religious person must surely
Not see their beliefs are deranged.

If there's a god in command
Playing craps with my soul,
Then why must bad things happen?
Has my god a heart of coal?

Why must there be dire situations
In order for miracles to work?
It makes no sense to create sorrow
Just to remove minor hurt.

There is only chance;
We can't see what's 'round the bend.
I'll not put my faith in illogicity
Just so my poor, feeble heart can mend.


The teacher in schoool taught me to speak my mind.
The teacher in college taught me to shape my thoughts.
My friends tell me to forget everything I've been taught.

The teachers in school taught me the basic facts.
The teachers in college taught me to unburden my back.
And now I want to teach.

The teacher in school taught me to question authority.
The teacher in college taught me to see with a singular eye.
My parents taught me to respect their authority.
Life has taught me to get ready to die.

Sunday, 2 August 2009

I died and went to heaven.

Well, I died and went to heaven;
Saw Peter at the gates.
Jesus cheered his followers on
As the rest burned in the fire lake.

The teenagers and wives
Were standing on their own
As the yielders to God
Pelted them with stones.

I thought to myself:
'Was this Earth
Created by the devil
When God was not at work?'

I always thought
That when I died
I'd be in a heaven
Where no gods did reside.

All there is
Is this universe.
God doesn't care for you
Unless you do his dirty work.

Well, I died and went to heaven;
Saw Peter at the gates.
Jesus cheered his sheep on
As the rest burned in the fire lake.

I thought: 'This isn't heaven;
It's just somewhere far from Earth -
A labour camp for fools
Somewhere in this universe.'

I wish I could be
Deep down in the earth.
I find it far more beautiful
That there's only nature at work.


I was born after 13.7 billion years of eternal sleep.
My mother birthed me in a hospital.
Life is the same to every organism;
It heralds a brief spout of caring and love.
But humans feel life to be special.

'Death is what it is,' I told her.
'But this feeling hurts so.'
Projecting human emotion will only scold yer.
Death cares not for the feelings you sow.

One day, I will die;
And so will you.
And after decades of living in bliss
We'll reflect on the lives we knew.

But life is just a ride.
Our brains will dissolve upon death.
Take all you encounter in your stride,
And remember to keep steady your breath.

Don't hanker after the past
And don't worry on the morrow.
When you die your life will be cast
And breath you'll never again borrow.

Life is just a carousel;
Life is just a ride.
The ride spins very fast;
The colours are very bright.

And though this most exalted attraction
May not trail off into some next life,
At least you have a shot;
So don't live your days in strife.


The heavens are mottled
like a weary eye
watered with a thin layer of film.

A coating of stratus cloud
cloaks the heavens
and waters incessantly.

The Sun, it seems,
has gone on vacation;
it is summer, after all.

Gloom becomes the people;
the pavements take on an
air of hostility.

Smiles become inverted;
hopes become whetted.
Kettles become quite desirable.

The Wolfman.

There's no such thing as the Wolfman;
He's just got excess facial hair.
I know about all the stories
'Cause, baby, I was there.

And I'll be there again;
Yes I will.
I'm driven by the Moon
To make another kill.

And, baby, I like brownies -
The chocolate-fudge delight.
But I prefer brownie meat
In the dead of night.

Yeah, that's what I said:
All the brownies are dead!
You'll tie no more knots now;
There'll be no more badges to pledge.

I feel like an ox.

See the idiots as they roam.
They're quick to chase their ringing phones.
Brightly coloured lights attract
Spines contained in broken backs.

The promise of something more
Than what you know is assured
Of the things that you seek
Each blighted day of the week.

Brains on empty; mouths on charge.
Porridge language is discharged.
Mangled words and meanings lost.
Bleating herds of sheep - I feel like an ox.

See the idiots as they roam;
With brains as dense as airy foam.
That, my friend, is a paradox.
And, on that note, I feel like an ox.

But I am of the same breed.
My genetic code contains similar genes.
I can distance myself; build up a box.
I'll cage myself.
I feel like an ox.


In darkness it rises from its winks;
Eyes the red of deepest crimson;
Teeth the plain white of bleached bone.

It snarls and snaps in agony;
The howling of the sea squall
Drowns out its moonlit cries.

Born of the night,
It takes to the air
In search of that which it seeks.

A lighthouse stands
Perched above a cove
Like a matchstick in unknowing tinder.

With a slight thud
It lands atop the search-light's crown.
It's the last thing you'll ever hear.

A boat on the ocean.

The peaks and troughs rock my vessel
As the tumultuous brine rises and falls
With the heartbeat of the water.

Rain sews the sky and ocean together
Like a watery tapestry;
The grey streaks are like thin threads
Being exchanged between two great beings.

The air is thick with salt
And the winds pelt me
With all the ferocity of
A pantheon of ancient gods.

The undulations become softer
As the tempest passes by.
Revealed is an evening sky of sapphire
With a few cumulus clouds gripping the horizon.

Behind me is a dark sky pregnant
With the moisture brought
With updraughts of warm air
Colliding with cooler air.

The wind dips to a breeze
And I feel a brief sense of security.
I'm floating upon miles of water.
I hope I'll soon find land.


Heavy breaths and far-off sirens
Punctuate the still air.
Gentle rain trickles over slats
And the sky is grey and bare.

I'm here alone with my thoughts;
They resonate within my head.
They're too loud to contain
But they're too heavy to shed.

I can hear a gull's squarking;
I can hear a slow rumble in the sky.
My silence is interrupted by a jet
Passing idly by.

Thoughts occur now and then;
Some of them I dispell.
I think of how the blessed in Heaven
Are really the unfortunate in Hell.

As floorboards creak and moan
With the voicings of my house
The world outside becomes quiet
Like a dying mouse.

My thoughts settle over me
Like a haze of foul air;
As my mind is overcome
By the faint silence of despair.

In a quiet room I unravel;
My mind's hems come apart at the seams.
So, this nightmare in which I live
I'm living as a dream.


You gotta stun 'em in
Your headlights
Whilst darkness prevails.
Put on a good show.

They'll not see the bait
In their sights
'Til it's passed through their entrails;
Only then will they know.

Make it big.
Make it loud.
Drown out small thoughts
In a glistening shroud.

Make their eyes bite down
Like vipers' jaws
On the images
Scarred on their retinas.

Make their approval -
Their applause;
Their approbation -
A wine souring to opprobrium.

When they look back at
The spectacle of
Glorious theatre,
They'll see they've given you centre stage.

Their happy glances
Will turn murderous;
They'll slaughter you slaveringly
With their once-smiling knives.

Tree line.

The trees shiver as if
Endeavouring to promulgate towards me,
But their roots refuse to yield.

I stroll up to the tree line
And stop -
In an offering.

The branches and stems extend,
Putting a gripper on my limbs;
Pulling me in.

Within a world of ivy and bracken
And foliage, I find myself
Absorbed into a colourful scene

Of various vegetation
Chattering away about how
Autumn is their vacation.

Life is soft.

Life is so soft
And it
Drips over
Your pale skin.

Through verdant vales
Caked in dew;
I will roam
These lands with you.

People are
All the same;
Lost in thrall
Of the game.

We are hard
But we float.
We breathe in;
We all choke.

The softness of life
Lines your throat;
Lights your eyes.

We are one
But removed
From the thought
That we are fused.

Human nature.

I thought about human nature in the half-light;
And how feebly I understand it.

What drives us?
I know not.

And so every night I now kiss her cheek
Because there's nothing else to offer.