The Boy in the Bubble

Did you hear the one 
about
the boy in the bubble?

He coming bringing joy
and bearing
trouble:

he saw visions of
perfection
but left mounds
of rubble.

Rome was slow to be built 
and quick
to be burned;

such excess can be fitted 
in the
tiniest urn,

and the wheat
in the field 
dries to stubble.

‘Quick my boy, run!’
your hot brain
shouts at you

but your skull stays
heavy - be still,
stay true.

Boy, oh boy,
it’s hard, getting
harder.

The fruit’s rotting in
the orchard, there’s
nothing
in the larder.

‘Harder! Try harder!’
demand
the dead.

‘Burst that bubble.
It’s the one in
your head.’

Could you lend me a blade,
could you strike me
a fire?

Could you offer a shoulder,
boost me up
higher?
I tire.

I’m trying, I’m trying.
It will all work out
for the best.

I’ll keep fighting on
like I’m fighting
for rest.

All my life I’ve been a bubble
blown hither
and thither,

a flimsy coat of film
surrounding a pocket
of air,

for any odious mouth
to pass on
and make quiver

something you make out
that’s not
really there.

Now it’s time to break
the shivering walls of this cell
I’ve made my home.

It’s empty here, though filled
with comforts, and it’s time
all that was gone.

The Angry Young Man

He's an angry young man,

his name ain't important.

What is important

is he's angry as hell.

He's an angry young man,

but what are the causes?

There are many things to consider,

some of which I'll tell.

He's an angry young man

who's addicted to porn.

He can't get an erection,

Now he's weary and forlorn.

He's an angry young man.

He plays Call of Duty.

It's fun to shoot people

on a computer screen.

He's an angry young man,

he'll be joining the army.

It takes valour to kill

on the battlefield.

He's an angry young man

looking at a tsunami.

Some of the friends he makes

will be shot and killed.

He's an angry young man

and first girlfriend, Sarah,

told him that he

had to get a grip.

But he weren't being told

by any bloody woman.

What do they know?

He gave her the slip.

He don't dream of babies,

he just dreams of bombs.

Percussion beats of bullets,

fragments of IED songs.

He once dreamed of fireworks,

bright in the sky.

Big, brazen, beautiful,

like the 4th of July.

The fireworks now

are ugly and red.

And everyone watching

ain't gasping - they're dead.

He's an angry young man

he don't like what's expected

of him - too much, unfair,

feelings, talking, loads.

He's an angry young man,

and he's always running

head-first into danger.

That is his code.

All he wants is to be manly,

He just wants to be a man.

But all he ever is is angry.

And he'll be dead before he understands.

All, say a prayer for

the angry young man.

All, give a hug to

his mum and his dad.

As they exit the church

and the funeral song,

they're all so broken and lost,

they don't know where it went wrong.

But the angry young man

is still out there,

still fighting the ghosts

in his head.

A sad little boy

who became

an angry young man.

The thousand sore tears that he shed.

Magdalene's Message

Merry Christmas, everybody.

It's a wonderful time of year.

Giving, loving, community,

a time to way lay fear.

You know, I knew Jesus.

He was just a bloke.

A very special bloke.
All wisdom, love, and jokes.

He told me I was God's child,

despite that I'm a girl:

he said that men tend to spoil things

because they think they own the world.

He told me he had a wound
from where his kindness came;
he told me the source of his wound
was his Father's pain.

He told me he loved man,
woman, child; every living soul.
He said all he wanted to give us
was a chance to be happy, and whole.

He told me that God

means whatever it means to you.

God could be a kiss,

or a bible bound in blue.

He taught me God forgives a sin

but he holds good acts in high regard.

He won't drag the sinner down,

but he lifts a hero up.

You can be a hero, you know.

But first, you gotta save yourself.

Because others look to you,

that's how you save somebody else.

With la-la-la-la-love.

Sit around the table, eat, feast.

Fill yourself up with life.

Too much death makes man a beast.

And who am I, you ask.

I'm just a woman. A woman

who loved Christ. A sister to him,

a friend, confidante, lover, wife.

And, so, Merry Christmas.
Let's remember why we remember,
and try to live each day in peace,
not just on one day in December.

I am

I am a father.
I am a son.
I am a husband.
I am a feminist.
I am a vegan.
I am human
and animal,
higher
and lower.

I am a lover,
but I am capable of hate.
I am capable of fear,
anger,
pain. But
I have a higher brain,
and I am more
than just my weaknesses.

I hold myself back
so others don't have to,
but I am breaking these chains.
These self-imposed chains.

There is too much love in me
for me to warrant
hiding myself.

I am me.
Similar to you.
Similar to her.
Similar to it.
Similar to them.
Part of something bigger
than just myself.

I am not alone.

I am.

Fathers and Sons

There was once a wall of fear,
with father and son on either side.
It was a wall of anger and division,
but no one saw it - they'd just hide.

It was like East and West Germany,
soldiers patrolling the border.
Men in watch towers; under, squirming,
small people trying to see over.

What would it take to bridge the gap?
It seemed just like so much,
when all it took was to learn one's history,
replace walls with human touch.

But to this day, on either side,
father and son run.
One planting a flag, the other
extending an olive branch,
which the first mistakes for a gun.

There is no resolution
when loving acts
are taken as threats,
when men all live in anger,
when walls are all they erect.

Fathers and sons are distant,
distant as neighbouring stars,
whilst mothers are kindly Suns
light-kissing those in their charge.

What would the world be like
if we all shared one heart
and one mind?
I think we already do,
we feel so much.

Then why are we so blind?

Sixteen steps

Know your history
Let in the mystery
Live blissfully
Kiss kissfully

Always be honest
Try to read sonnets
Be hasty, like sonic
Be aware of your phonics

Give to others
Be kind to your brothers
Help one another
Don't hide under the covers

Seize the day
Use your brain
Bike or train
Be nice, keep sane

Hailey

There was a girl

at school

called Hailey.

I dead fancied her.

She was beautiful,

in a boyish way.

She was dead good

at gymnastics.

Once, I'd brought these

chocolates

into school.

We all must have been

eleven, or twelve.

I was standing at these doors

open slightly,

peeping out the gap

at her and a couple of her friends

surrounding her

standing on a verge.

Hailey saw me, and whispered

into one of their ears.

The girl came over to me.

'Robert, we all know

you fancy Hailey.

Can she

have some chocs?'

Of course I obliged.

I felt thrilled!

I also had the sense

of feeling a little used.

And a slighter sense

that this trend would continue.

But never mind that!

She must like me!

These days,

I wonder where Hailey is,

what she's up to,

who she's with,

got any kids?

Her partner might be

a right arsehole.

I think what it might be like

to bump into her.

Oh, hi, Hailey!

Robert?

Yeah! So, how are things?

Well, you know, kids

blah blah blah. You?

Me? Oh, pretty good!

Maybe she'd sense

that now I had

more than just chocolate.

Something she really wanted.

Needed.

Maybe I'd withhold it.

But you know what?

To behave like that

would be no better

than that eleven-year-old girl,

that breaker of sensitive boys' hearts,

and no better

than the grown woman's

imaginary

piece-of-dirt partner.

Truth is, I don't think much about Hailey.

But I hope she's happy.

She can keep the chocolates.

It was a nice memory.

Just something that happened.

One of those things.

You learn from 'em.

I'm still learning.

Still growing up.

I'm getting there.

Dear mum and dad

Dear mum and dad,
I love you both so much.
You did a cracking job
raising us.
Three lovely children.
But mum and dad,
I have to ask you,
do all families have
as many skeletons in the closet
as we do?

I guess lots do.

It's just that
recently
the rattling of the bones
has got too much.
It's woken the dead.
So it's time to put them
back to rest.

Yes, it's true.

Dear mum and dad,
I know you tried your best,
and you were only human,
but why
did you have to argue
in front of us
like we were nothing?

It made us blue.

Dad, why did you have to break things?
Mum, I loved you,
but I hated it
when you would just
lie in bed.
I just didn't understand.

And I don't think you knew.

Dad, why did you have
to make me feel so scared
and so useless
half the time?
And why was it so easy
for you
to make mum cry?

I guess you could not see through.

Dear mum and dad,
Thank you
for bringing me here.
I've got my own kids now.
You know I've already repeated
a few of your mistakes.
But I have to claim this
as my journey now.

You don't hurt the ones
you love.
I love my wife, and I love
my children.

And you know I love you.

Fish Love

I've often heard people say
that they love fish.
But how can you love
something
if you've killed it?

People say they love meat,
and, in the next breath, cows.
But if you loved one
then wherefore
the slaughterhouse?

People can be thick as pigs
and common as muck
when they say
they love things
but don't really give a fuck.

Like you say you love your dog.
I don't doubt that you do.
But do you know
pigs are just as clever?
I'm sure they'd love a bone to chew.

Anybody, no doubt,
would say they love their partner.
It doesn't mean they're gonna
chop them up
and put them on a plate.

And yet many of these
same people
are the very ones
who slap them up
and drive them to early graves.

Because you can't say you love something
if your heart's not in its place.
My friend, you don't love fish.
You just like the way it tastes.

When we can learn to love others
just as much as we love ourselves
then I think the pain might dissipate
and we'd have a much more loving world.

There was once a boy...

There was once a boy.
He could have been any boy, really.
He used to look at himself in the mirror,
and pretend to be
the emperor
a soldier
a conquerer.
Anyone but himself.

He hated himself. Hated
the shape of his nose
the look of his clothes
the slant of his eyes.
He'd pitifully cry,
and the other boys would laugh.

And then, alone,
he'd rage in anger,
'When I grow up,
I'll show them I'm a man
I'll show them all
one-hundred-feet-tall I stand,
made of iron and flint and rock.
They'll all listen to me -
they will not mock.

I'll make my enemies
sweat in their sheets.
No! Piss-soaked nightmares
of my armies.

I will shake sleeping babies awake
with the quake
of my sneeze.
Whole villages of infants wailing,
parents on no sleep.

And women will respect me -
or I will make them.
And if my subjects aren't
quietly shaking
I will shake them.

Only, he never thought
those thoughts.
He thought only,
Why me? Why
am I so bad?
Why can't I
just please my dad?
I just want a hug.
I just want
some love.
For someone to tell me
that I'm a good kid.

But they never did.
No one ever did.
And now
they're all dead.

The Moment

I remember the time

I played guitar alone

on a beach in Limnos,

watching the sun rise

alone.

It was nice to be alone.

It would be nice to go

back to that moment

with you, maybe make

love on that beach.

But that moment has gone.

We chase after silence,

the clamour inside us chasing us to it,

but we can never achieve it.

But I'm close:

the thought spills a word,

disturbs the silence,

but the feeling hangs in presence,

emanating like ripples on a pond.

If there's one thing I know,

it's that there are very few

moments of perfection

in our lives, because we

do not allow them

to be perfect:

we must not snatch the moments

of our lives,

but let them be.

Learn from them,

live in the new ones -

each one a chance

to be free.

A Joke

Some people treat

life as a joke.

And then they croak.

Never woke up

until it was too late,

and by then

it was time to go to sleep

for ever.

So don't wait:

make living

your first exhibit.

Ribbit, ribbit.

Modern Man

I live for Wi-Fi
My music's hi-fi
I'm convinced I won't die

I've friends on the network
Nice guy, but a real jerk
I rarely cry, but when I do it hurts

I'm so loved, yet so alone
So much to do, the choice is gone
I'm right here, and yet miles from where I want

I am a modern man
I am a modern boy
And, occasionally, more of a
Postmodern android

In a world full of green
And a world full of grey
The concrete crushes my soul
And yet it's where I choose to stay

David Cameron's Pledge

Long-term economic plan
Long-term economic plan
Long-term ergonomic plan
Long-term ergonomic flan
Long firm ergonomic flan
Wrong firm ergonomic flan

The words coming out of my mouth
are meaningless, man

You'd have to be foolish
or blind
to eat our Tory spam!

---------------------------

Besides, how could you
trust a guy who's so shiny
it looks like he's just
swallowed a gram?

More like a key;
not the key to the city
or a key policy.
Just donkey idiocy.

'Cause Bo-Jo gets his mojo
giving blow-J's
to the Daily Maze.

But back on track:
could you stand
another five more years
of an economic plan

that has barely been able to stand?
It's weaker than an Eton elbow-licker
born-in-a-beaker
recycled sneaker-wearing
shiny-headed 
Tory poster feature.

But it's funny:
whatever happened
to the sneakers, the bicycle?
Did you shut them in the shed
when you entered office?

And whatever happened
to those green fingers, Dave?
Did they fall away
like autumn leaves,
with all your brown-nosing?

Mr Cameron,
you can shove your 
long firm ergonomic flan
up your arse.

I'm voting for real change on May 7th.

Fatherhood

I'm soon to be a father,
and now the wind seems
to cut through me like a razor.

I will soon have a daughter:
there is no greater fear
or awe in this world
than embracing the aura
of a newborn child.

My hands will shield her
like two great wings,
and I will protect her
always,

because there is no greater commodity
in this world
than innocence,
and hungry jaws savour the taste.

But if tyrants want to prostitute
the innocence of my kin,
they will find a rumbling mountain
in this man.

Come stand puny at my feet,
as this mountain flower
I hold aloft,
open to the light,
hungry for the sun.