We Are Storm ...

Possessed by his muse
Holding the flitting sea-gull
As an imaginary kite -
But he'd lost it, and his
Muse was full of shite.

"We are storm ..." he justly said;
As life blows us from shore to shore
Sometimes tempestuous and wrecking
Our lives - and other times just
Steering us to where we should be.

Reeking of the whisky
That held his life together;
His veins flowing with dope
That flowed through the all -
He sang like the beguiling sirens call.

"We are storm..." again he sang,
As the winds blow us from coast to coast
Like a tempest wrecks -
Yet here walks a round-jawed shadow of
my old dead friend, who lives 'neath the
stormy seas, with his mates,
Full fathom five.

A You Shaped Whole

Unfillable, the you shaped hole
That rots in my heart;
So cannot be whole.

Leeched-white bled, in your passing -
Mine, Lancelot-like,
Remains unhealed.

The you shaped hole, it spreads
And fills the void
Of all my dread desires - this
You shaped whole I take to bed.

Bare My Soul

Irksome itch that wanders
Unsatisfied by all of this,
No matter how much sugar squandered
To sweeten this life I found.
Maybe devour you, swallow you whole,
And for a brief second, candy-glutted,
Belch out the shape of your soul.

Motspur Park

Mumble, drool, loll, lurch
Drunken schoolgirls sit with jerks.
Piss, stink, booze, lose
Shout your fucked up Middle England views,
Fart, wheeze, cough, spit,
Same sentiments, same old shit.
Con, brag, thieve, grieve,
Give me bad attitude if you please.
Clunk, click, cunt, prick,
Half-dozed off the loser sits.
Teeter, totter, stretch, sigh,
A glimpse of adolescent pink-white thigh.
Mediocre, adequate, useless, grey
Give me love - straight or gay.
Blow, charlie, E's, trips
Kiss me with your fast-food lips.
Lust, last, time, again
That was me on a different train.

An Angel Stood

An angel stood
and feathered my guilt
and helped build a hammer
to fracture my heart.

She made a collage of it,
My dreams, holding her
In confined paper,
The stars ...

I read her stars
And through black and white
With astrological applomb
I am hanged - once again
Fractured and corroborate.

Is she not for me?
Not now -
Not forgiving as angels should?
I will let her be.
I would have her clipped -
But she
Flies free from me, again
on my guilt-edged wings.

(with thanks to ex-Priest)

Gypsy

Gypsy curls, powder-painted cheek,
Damp tear trail -
Takes all my love with it.

New Jersey

Marooned vinyl seats,
Brake-dust and chrome -
Sun shines on New Jersey.

The New World

All the old world's dreams
Looted into one pot -
Doesn't make good stew.

The Karma Bin

Missed throw bounces -
Another small service to
synchronicity.