The Wrong Kind

Wharf-pool water –

Century’s stagnant mirror –

Surface made of shattered

Butcher’s knife blades and

Shards of guillotine in a

Brick-sided drawer:

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Let’s Raise A Glass

Let’s raise a glass,

Maybe more,

To the double-intensity,

Up on the stands,

Handlebar gladiators;

To the front-rows,

No-space tiptoe dancers.

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Insomnia

After Mercy’s wine-sweet twelve,

There’s insistent, chain-gang

Routine-carousel one again.

The roads, skies and

Melody-hung rivers

Pour their silver,

Sinful invitations into

My reluctant-to-ignore ears.

The moon and the rainbow,

Still as distant  as they

Ever were.

The Eyes of Night.

      What colour would I choose

For the eyes of my night?

That first-time, last-time,

Never-to-be-seen-again time light?

That appears only when the mighty

Winds and powerful wings

Of vacuum-space and eternal time

Throw dust-and-crystal shards

At the limits of my knowledge; those

That are the too-near boundaries

Of my massive ignorance. Lucky to be

One of many sometime-intelligent observers

I am, nonetheless, very alone in this crowd.

Feted, reluctantly, as master of phrase and

Meaning, I am unable find the appropriate word:

My brain too flooded with majestic dark skies

That sparkle, shimmer and shake without sound.

perseids

11/8/2013

Photosource: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/in-pictures-23680382

Time, Whisky and Friends

As if overstaying

My fragile welcome

Were not enough

I had to fall

Off the wagon again;

Fall so hard I missed my

Leaving-thunder train

By a pocketful of hours.

Now I’m buying

Time, whisky and friends

In a lock-in bar, while,

Outside, in the sodium lit fog

Two hog-jockeys and

A crooked lawman

Take it out of the

Latest version of my god.

Ghost of the Big man

Blows tears through his

Angel horn, like he always did:

Truth is a pale, poor story.

21/6/2013

Human?

Human condition might have to be
That, every now and every then,
We be defined solely by our problems.
Time doesn’t heal.
The phone doesn’t ring.
The tune doesn’t cheer.
The dark that was once refreshing
Is filled only with malice barbs.
The next message can only be burden.
Stand up!
Be proud!
Hold fast!
There is a way ahead,
Though difficult to see,
Even if it goes steeply downwards
For a depressing while.