Poison

You wake up feeling horny,
search for ‘Asian big white cock’
and wank off
to that poison

You injest that Youtube,
Netflix, daytime TV
poison

You pour yourself a drink
with ice, swirl it sound, add mixer,
tip it, neck that
poison

You think about the past:
failures, misgivings,
negative thoughts, numbness,
poison

You reach for the cupboard;
cakes, biscuits, crisps - one
pack, two packs, oops! eat
an apple.
Poison

You savour cigarettes,
cigarillos, cigars, tobacco,
sucking on that
poison

You long to fill yourself
heal yourself
feel yourself
but first
you gotta deal with
all that
poison.

The wind continues to blow
the sun continues to shine
the world continues to turn
the birds continue to sing

and that poison continues to churn
and that pain continues to sting
and that fire can’t help but burn
and the waiting waits in the wings

Wedding Song

It is de day of my weddin
an me fadder, im lookin nervous.
An I wonder what it is on im mind.

‘You okay, Papi? You lookin nervous
or sumtin. It’s not Reggie, is it?’

Im smile and im say nah,
dis day is blessed.
Because you an ya man
‘ave my blessins.

And den I tink about
all dem boys who nevah did,
‘ow my daddy brought fya
to dem yard.

And I is curious.
And I ask him.
You remembah all dem boys -
dem coulda beens -
who you chased away?

An im cut from his nerves
an im smile at me, an say
“Girl, I remembah....”

*****

De first guy mi Sunshine evah
brought back to me,
I took im to de garden,
an I said, “Dis is me garden.
Nice, innit?
I consider it my place
to keep the weeds
in check.

Weeds ave dere place in de gran scheme
but I got me one special sunflower
to protec.

Tell me, me boy,
what sort of plant are you?
An I give im one o dem
thoughtful stares.

Im nevah come back

after dat.

An you told me,
“Daddy, why you ave to
make im scare!?
Im run away
an im nevah come back!”

Good, I thought, back den.
“Im not overstan’ im minerals;
im run away from himself -
not from me, or you.”
No sweat.

*****

De secon’ man she evah brought back,
im was older. 

I pour us a drink
and I ask im 
while we was sippin dat good
dark rum with ice,
“What are your intentions
with my daughtah.”

Im give me dat usual talk.
Im no say dat 
me daughta can 
speak fe ‘erself
Im say nuttin 
remotely real.

So I nodded an I sipped and den
I look at im very deeply,
fixin im in my stare,
an I say, coolly,

“And what are your intentions
with my daughtah?”

Im wriggle in im seat
like a liccle worm
on a hook

an I kissed me teeth.
I thought, run, boy,
or come back
when you is man enough
to speak your truth
and you knowin
what you is sayin.

An you said,
“Daddy, he was not playin!
I thought he was de one!”

Ah, really? I thought.
Is that why he run?

*****

I look at my Papi
and I take his hand.
“Papi, why you always used to
scare my men away?
An what about Reggie?”

He looks me in the eye
an he begins to speak.

“I was not doin it fe myself;
I was doin dem tings for you,
all of it.

Because it is my job
to look out for you.
I didn’t want you meetin some man
who was like I was
at dat age, back den.

I know I ave to let you fly free.
I nevah want to hold onto you
cause I is scare.

You gonna fly.
And if you gonna fly,
you gonna fly
togeddah -
forever.

An you an you man gone ave
the blessin of de sun,
and de moon, and de stars,
and de sky, and from
de very bottom of my soul,
my salts.

You found im now.
I can see im love you.

You go fly, my pretty sweet darlin.
Thru time an space an love.
An you show your liccle birds
how to touch de sky.”

Drug

You’d pull up home
around 5.30
and my little heart
would freeze.

I’d hear the car pull up
and turn in to park.

I’d hear the sound
of the tyres, then
the handbrake,
then the engine, turning off.

After 10-15 seconds of silence
I’d hear the door open
and slam shut
and I’d listen to those
ten or twenty footsteps
leading around the car,
across the pavement, and
down the steps.

The key would turn
in the door
and the calm
would fall to pieces.

The anxiety balloon
that was filling in my body
and my head
would burst.

Now, for every tenner you give me,
you might as well be handing me
the drink, ciggies and drugs 
yourself.

It’s just a good thing
I’m not the same man
as you.

It’s a good thing that
one of us was listening
to Bryan Ferry
when he sang

that love
is the drug.

Blessings

Keep it bless, breddah
Man’s got dis in the bag
Bless the sunshine, bless good weather,
Sendin blissins, fam.

Ain’t no big ting;
Don’t sweat yu back;
Take it chill, don’t get mad.
Don’t go on the attack.

Keep it cool, keep it real:
Keep your enemies very close.
If you gotta do dis, keep it fya,
but just a little dose.

Witching Hour

I saw you on the dance floor

dancing by yourself,

as if you the music was for you only,

making love to your body.

I took a few slugs

bided my time and orbited you

like a satellite,

hoping you’d see me as your moon.

We grew closer to each other

with the gravity of feeling;

our feet were on the ground,

our minds were on the ceiling.

You started grinding on me

and I caught your scent;

I was like a tiger.

I wanted you in bed.

We were circling so close now,

your hair gently brushed my cheek.

My lips were near your neck now;

you quivered as you spoke.

You took me by the hand

and we fled and hailed a taxi.

You said, ‘Shakespeare Street, drive’

and we were kissing in the back seat.

And my hand inched up your leg

to the peak of your desire;

you were a mountain,

I was the climber.

We tumbled into the sheets

and we rose 

inwards and outwards

like the moon-pulled sea.

We slept for a while,

I awoke and from my wing

I plucked a single feather,

held it gentle in my hand.

I brushed your inner thigh,

lightest touch, awakening you;

then I inhaled, descended, gulped deeply.

I kissed your body like the land.

Off the Rails

Keep the wheels greased

keep the line clear

keep the good fuel in the engine

and keep some spare.

Don’t burn it too quickly

and keep your eyes facing front;

don’t look backwards or sideways

not even for a dare.

Watch the skies and see the mountains,

keep the passengers’ bellies full.

Don’t give thought to mutinies

don’t panic when the cord is pulled.

Pay your journeymen well:

give them smokes and liquor.

Keep your cabin lady chill,

don’t ever bicker.

Let your best man watch whilst you’re sleeping,

glide smoothly open sail.

Stay aware but keep on dreaming.

Don’t go off the rails.

Poor Boy

Soaking in shame,
toking in vain,
set in fear
like a jelly, inane,
convulsive and pallid,
sweat dripping and
the stench was blame.

Fear aswirl all round my head,
memories of lies and
a piss-riden bed.
Torn apart between people,
feeling like a dog’s toy;
looking up to broken men,
O, what a poor boy.

Cigarette ash trays
and half-empty bottles;
social club nights
and passenger seats, full-throttle.
Fights and sights and
bellyaches.
And ruptures so small
that seemed like earthquakes.

Bowls full of salted peanuts -
“there’s twenty men’s urine on those”.
Put on a smile,
cheer up, come on: pose!
Christmas with violence
and Easters of binge.
Always wanting to be a king,
but I never was a prince.

Circled by fretful women,
their friends who were protectors.
Then straight back in the lion’s cage:
it’s feeding time, deflect this.
Bullets that went skin deep,
buckshot to the body.
The neighbours’ cats would fight all night.
I’d wake up feeling sorry.

Baths of bubbly water
and lying down, nose above the surface,
or lying, back against the cold porcelain,
putting a wet flannel upon my face
and practising breathing -
beneath the water, fanning out, my hair,
and listening to the muffled sound of my voice.
I’d hold my breath and count to ten
then come up for air.

School was a heavy sentence;
some teachers’ smiles were golden.
But others had mouths full of
sneers and teeth like jagged grains of rice,
their gaze would fix you frozen.
Playground fights and fairground lights
and rides that left you reeling
and lying in the darkness
staring at the ceiling.

Count one breath, two breaths, three - ten.
Breathing in the fleeting joy
before the pain washed over again.
O my, O my, what a poor, poor boy.

My Truth

I’ve always been terrified of people,

never knowing who to trust.

I’ve always seen the worst in people,

and thought in God we rust.

I’ve never really put myself out there

because it’s cold going out on a limb.

And when I inevitably got knocked back,

I never learned to take it on the chin.

So I practised wearing masks and doing voices

and I practised striking many a pose -

even though I don’t like the music of Madonna 

and can’t stand that fucking awful Vogue.

There are so many places I could have been to,

so many friends I could have met along the way,

so many lovers’ names I could’ve carved into my arms,

so many beaches where I could’ve holidayed.

But I chose to keep myself within a box then

and curl myself away in all my hurt;

somehow I felt safer bumming in my socks when

I should’ve been brave and wore that shirt.

Now I see the many years I wasted,

squatting in a den that reeked of fear.

All I have to do is pick myself up now,

see the truth, dust the shoulders, face the years.

Let Me Rock You

Maybe

you look at me

and see I’m somehow

treating you like a lump of coal

and trying to

push on you

as a vice,

like a tectonic plate,

enveloping you

and squeezing you

into a new shape.

Nah, that’s all you, baby.

No pressure!

Honestly, honestly -

I’m not here to stress yer!

I’ll just be a warm hand cradling you

putting you

where you need to be.

There ain’t no scientist

running my show -

I flunked geology.

But baby, I think I’ve won

the geologist’s lottery.

And I don’t know what you are.

Perhaps you were born in a star

eons ago -

light years and light years afar.

But your atoms, they excite me.

And I feel your electrons flow.

I can feel the crystals of your surface,

and sense the structure deep below.

Darling, just let me shine a light on you:

you’ll see

where you need to be.

I’ll rock your world,

I’ll ‘stack’ around

till 2073.

Oh, if only you’d let me,

if only, the light -
so prismatic.

We could set each other free.

A Conversation with a Stranger

I saw her come out of the
Ilex with her dog.
‘She’s very sweet,’ I said.
‘Oh, I couldn’t be without her,’
she said.
‘She keeps me company.’

‘Are you alone?’ I said,
not realising that was a strange question.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘my
husband died fourteen years ago.’

‘It’s hard, isn’t it? I bet
it doesn’t get any easier.
My auntie was listening
to an America song
the other day:
‘Ventura Highway’.
She started to tear up.
I held her hand.
Her husband died in 2009.’

And I said,
‘I think that when someone you love dies
a piece of them breaks off
and it pierces your heart,
and it burns, and it aches.
But, after a while, the
pain goes, and I imagine
you’re at peace with the piece
of them
that’s in there.’

‘I suppose so,’ she said.
‘I imagine it like he’s on a boat,
slipping farther and farther
into the horizon.’

‘I wonder what he’s doing
on the top deck,’
I said.
‘I bet he would love you
to join him there.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I bet.’

‘But not yet,’ I said.

‘Have a good day,’ she said,
smiling widely
as she walked away,
past the gardens
full of bright and beautiful flowers.

‘Enjoy your life,’ I said,
as I pushed my lady
in her wheelchair
up the path
and into the trees.

Up in Smoke

You take the brown paper
and softly take a tuft
of memories from the pack,
placing them gently into the middle,
right along that line.

You take the paper in your hands
and carefully roll it
between your fingers
feeling everything from the past,
and it all feels fine.

You roll the paper into a cylinder,
lick one side and seal it down;
you think of all your choices,
those responsibilities you squandered,
and you keep your head up
so you won’t drown.

And then you take the roll up
to your lips,
as you’re out there, vulnerable,
in those cold shallows,
and the taste of liquorice is on your tongue,
and you start to feel mellow.

You take the lighter from your pocket,
click it then hold,
and you’re careful not to burn
your fingertip,
as the filter starts to yellow.

You light the end,
inhale and feel that smoke
pull down into your body,
right to the very bottom,
then back up to the surface,
as out you blow.

And your head starts to feel light,
and the aching in your heart
all makes sense,
and the music in your ear
is playing just for you
in present tense.

You take a drag, exhale.
Inhale your new truth.
Then one toke, two tokes
three - now you’re floating
up there
on that roof.

You’re getting high
on your own supply
and it’s good; and it’s bad.
But you’re alive,
and you ain’t broke.

You finish it
and you smile;
you take the bad things
and you see their lightness,
and you send them up in smoke.

My God

I saw a man in a robe

with a comb in his hair

and his hands were open

like a book.

There was a woman

sitting cross-legged outside

a supermarket,

her ears plugged with phones,

and everyone passed her by,

eyes sucked into their screens.

She might as well have been alone

and her friend was sitting slumped

beside her;

he was like a mudslide made flesh.

His hands were all worn,

fingertips nicotine yellow;

his shoes were a mess.

The man sat between them both

and calmly held out two hands;

he took one’s hand, then held the other’s.

The three 

were like a wedding band.

And he removed a single earphone

from her ear and

placed it in his own;

the woman stirred.

He looked her in the eye and

without a word

he smiled fully, without smiling,

and the noise that he heard

was an ugly concoction

of fear and pain,

and doubt, laced with thunder

and pouring rain.

There was howling and yowling,

and a mother was crying.

A father shouted blearily,

whilst his empty beer bottle

was drying.

And the man shook his head gently,

as he looked into her eyes.

He squeezed her hand a fraction tighter

and he kissed her on the lips

softly as a feather falling

from a dove’s wings

which had dipped

from a highest elevation.

And now the slumped man’s slumber

broke, and he stared at

this interaction.

And the man turned his head

and saw his satisfaction,

as he touched his face so gently,

and he brushed his arm so lightly.

And with lips so full and heavy

he kissed his mouth so slightly

and a halo there did break out

and above their heads did glow.

And he led them by the hands

into the streets below,

far far below the city lights

to where children played in glass,

where women sold their bodies,

where men cried like rueful brass.

They climbed a flight or two of stairs

and into an empty room;

there was a mattress and one candle,

and the light did break the gloom;

their clothes were dropped onto the floor

and in the light the shadows on the wall

did show the silhouetted three bodies

softly moving, and moving softly,

and the angels there did sing

and their flesh was warm and motley;

and the man, his robe now forsaken,

did kiss these two so hauntingly

that they felt Heaven take them.

He asked them honestly,

‘Will you let me in? I can

see you’ve been a bad, bad girl.

I could kiss away those sins.’

Their eyes were closed

and their spirits free

and they’d never felt such love,

such pleasure and such peace,

and they whispered tremulously

‘My life, my love - my God’,

and their aching was released.

All I Want

Life with you on paper

might appear boring

But that’s all that I want:

to sit in with a good film

every night,

or visit a local haunt;

or skim stones

on the water’s edge,

as the froth breaks with the sea.

Seven, eight – 

nine skips!

Those stones

are you and me.

And to take the kids to school

would be the greatest pleasure –

then all that time

from 9-3:

we’d get in

plenty of leisure.

We could sit and talk

over coffee and cake,

or read a book,

see a friend,

spend a token.

Or sit and dream,

or start to scheme

to put some plans in motion.

Or walk the dog,

through rain or fog,

by field, by canal

or by ocean.

Yes life with you

on paper

might seem boring;

but the fires we’d make

between the sheets -

between walking and talking,

and snoring....

I’d leave you out a gas light burning,

it would see you safe forever

through even the darkest night.

I could hold you

like a promise.

You could wear me

like the weather.

We could wake up

to the light.

The Boy in the Bubble II

I’ve had the art
of self-deprecation
down to a tee;
I’d yell at all the old men
on the green.
That’s self-sabotage:
there’s no playing golf
with me.

Not even would I try it,
even out of curiosity.
But that’s okay,
no probs,
fine by me.

In the hand of every golfer
is a nine iron
and in mine a beater’s club -
don’t ask me
to your private bar,
you elitist, racist thugs.

But I could have met a kind man;
he may have offered me
a job.

He would have invited me over,
with his wife and kids,
to Ibiza -
forgo the private yacht.

But I’m the Master
of depriving myself.
I’m the Captain of None.
I’ve been out here
in the cold so long
I barely recognise
the sun.

I’m the Champion
of lonely entitlement;
I’ve been in love
with my own struggle.

I should set a reminder:
there ain’t none blinder
than the boy
in the bubble.

All Good Things...

I see you standing there,

the stunning girl with the wonderful face,
(smile full of soul and warmest grace)

the shapely body,

the longest sleekest legs,

and the breasts 
which take the sun’s breath away,

and I wonder what you think of me

as you return my gaze -

am I a horny dog to you?

You seem hardly amazed.

But if you must know

I imagine your father holding you as a new-born
and I see him welling up with tears of joy

at the majesty of this babe

trembling fearfully, fretfully silent

covering you like an angel within his wings

although he is just a man,

and at times feels less than.

And I see you as a child

being walked to school,

holding his hand,

and he’s so in love with you,

and you’re his everything.

And then suddenly you’re almost grown

and all the boys hold you in their mind

although not with the cleanest

of intentions,

and he’s not gonna let you go.

And I can see you in the future.

You are still beautiful.

Time has been good to you,

although all things must go south.

But time is your friend:

don’t fight it -

hold its hand.

Just like I can imagine holding yours

until your dying day.

And yes, I can also imagine

setting your inner animal loose

between the sheets

as you snap at me like a wolf,

at my fleece.

But I’m only a man.

I’m nothing more.

I just want peace.

I’m not your father.

No one could ever love you

quite like him.

But I could love you

like no other.

I’ll forgive your every sin.

And just so you know,
I wouldn’t put all the pain
of my past on you,
I made that mistake before.
That stuff’s my stash, it’s good shit;
it gets me pretty high.
The last one I took down with me,
I charged like a fucking boar, a beast;
but for the next girl
I’ll touch the sky.

Did I already mention my fleece?

But if you’re taken,

don’t be mistaken:

my little heart ain’t breakin’.

I’m not quaking:

I’m glad someone loves you

and you in turn love them.

I just hope they’re giving you

all their best - giving you the things

they love the most

about themselves,

their deepest shades of green and gold,

and all the treasures with which

they’re blessed.

And if they’re not,

you should put them

to the test.

Know I’m always here -

just wanting to show another

their loveliest reflection.

But for now?

For now I need some rest

You Are Golden

Recently

I have found myself digging

through the wonders

of the treasure box

of myself;

where golden coins from aeons gone

glint besides rubies and opals

that shine like the sun.

Just be careful not to polish

the iron pyrites -

that’s fool’s gold to some;

that’s no tonic for good health.

All those dregs of your experience

you’re dredging

will make a paltry sum.

I’ve done that too many a time -

I looked into the crystal ball

and I saw a future devoid of light,

but in the darkness of my past

there were stars shining up

from the very bottom,

like an upside down sky.

And these things appear dangerous,

these things appear hot -

but that’s a cold game this illusion plays,

because really they’re not.

Not until you’ve dug

to the very bottom

of your soul

will you ever realise

that what glitters

is sometimes

even better than gold

and if you’re lucky -

and you’re not lonely -

then one day you may find

that another sun will rise with you;

be good to her -

see her treasures every day.

And, for goodness sake, be kind.