Conchord Dawn

She wakes up
And it's over

An Old One

I think I lost myself
In a pocket of the past
Or in my other pants.

To Smile and to Cry

Happiness

The smile that tugs
At the tired corners
Of your night time face

The warmth inside your ribs
Like a hot water bottle
Next to your heart.

The silent music that sends
Your limbs to trembling dance
And sitting still is holding
An arm full of ginnie pigs.


Sadness

The gravity that tugs
A rinsing waterfall
From hiding eyes.

The chill inside your soul
That wraps your limbs like a cradle
Around your aching heart.

The silent voice that echoes
Down dimly lit corridors
The tear that lets the pain
Wash slowly away.

A Gentle Plea

Hello there anyone who may/may not read my blog.

Hi.

How are ya?


Anyhoo onto business.

(I know I know, you are thinking "This poem is RUBBISH!" Well. It's not a poem. So yeh.)

Umm.

Yeh.

What I mean to say, is if you happen to peruse my back catalogue - anything before say April-May of this Year the 2000 of 8.

And you find something that you really like, or something that you think has lots of potential.

Please lemme know which ones.

Cause I'm looking to assemble a bit of a book for print (I know, Jack and the Beanstalk but there you have it), so I'm trying to pick out the goodies. Only I don't really know half the time.

So you'd be doing me a huge favour.

Any ones you really like.

Just like email me. Or post a comment to tell me which ones or sommink

I would be most gratefull.

Have a nice day.

An Emotional Response to "Karma Police"

Tie your thoughts polite together
And pile them up in storm clouds
I know you like to let it rain now and then

The government took all your toys
And threw them in a iron box
You can't be trusted to play it safe
Hold hands with the other children
And forget about your loss.

They have civil servants to feel your pain,
now and again
Post the envelope, have your say
Pick a tyrant on the day
Tongue tied and dignified,
Sign your rights away.

By all means carry signs in to heaven
Paint your black words
Against the bleached white of their success
Shaking fists and raising lungs
Rain on their parade
You've got a straw man's chance in hell
They wish you all the best.

Princess

Cinderella
How's your fella
Does he treat you well? Are
You loving your life
As the pumpkin princess,
In a fleeting ball dress
And a fleeing pale mess.
I hope it's working out
And he sees what you're about.
Not just some discarded glass shoes
Orphaned on the steps.

I don't build on sticks
Or stack wooden bones high to the sky
I was once caught afire
But now I'm running dry.
I stack up well
When the numbers are being crunched.

Rude things your eyes never said
You store them up inside your head
And feed, all butter and bread
Cut the roll, cut them down
No one listens, no one wants you dead.

Eventime Musings on a Camp Evening

Come sister let us ride These vagrant twilight mists
Where light springs unbidden from the glee of a hanging moon
Flitting like winter quickened sparrows
From bastion to bastion, between overhanging sky.
Cell coverage stretches perilously thin,
Bleeding out to the white signal of nature.
Were you and I to share one single clouded breath
Were us two to be linked as warm air flees to freezing death
What strange encumberance these feeble phones,
Collections of plastic, gold, and whirring life, compared
To the moonlit splendour of faces real;
Stealing no more moments as they arc into damp unknown
Perhaps to be gathered in like lost sheep
When the sun drives reality back beneath our eyelids.

Reach out

No arm so long
No dark so deep
No heart so black
No face so deformed

That He doesn't want to hold you tight
And never let you go

Attitude, black carrots
Sandwiched in a bleak weekend
The willow falls or bends
When winter winds whistle through
Attitude, hell's angels
Whistling a different tune
Devils advocates
Noone says anything of any use.

Messenging

Potential
One word, three easy syllables
A world of weighted, dragging pulls
Sitting on my shoulder and shaking its head

Consequences
The harsh grip of a cheese grater
Cutting healing wounds ever raw
As I clutch the paltry glittering prize.

Cages of the imperfect
Potential hanging ominously above
Consequences hemming in on all sides
So much room to stand,
and none to rest.

Final Thoughts From an AGM


You want to mess with me?
I can take you down a notch
Spill the beans I’ll spill your blood
Tooth for tooth, splotch for splotch
Scream your death threats little man
Come and catch me if you can
Uzis strapped to both my hands

Gun you down boy
Gun you down

I’ll flipping waste the lot of you
Fat dumb stupid dumb fat dumb
Stupid. If you listened when you glistened
Spittle precipitating on your quivering chins
I’ll lay you down boy
I’ll smoke you bad
Sooner or later the gun always wins.

I can feel thick winter chill
Oozing up through floorboards
Are we locked in a timewarp
With cold-and-broken clocks?
Grim resplendent lush
Sends a shiver up my spine
Staring at the pulpit’s sad face
I am forced to the back of the room
Where I can lord over everyone
In relative safety.

Who is sleep?

Look
Batteries tick down.
That’s how life works
One moment a clown
The next a drunken jerk.
I can see you glazing over
A pot in life’s oven
A man with salt in his eye
And it tears me up.

If my thoughts make sense to me
I sense the taste of victory
Haste! Haste!

Tear the heavens in two
And spit at the sun
Scream into the sky
And you.

I can’t see you crossing x and y

Undercry slaspstick dog

And smoke us all away

Sibilance in a trance

Hours wearing on

Sheep dog’s on the lawn

Reach out to the horison
And put the sun back
To rest.