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.