Wednesday, 31 August 2011


Smell of salty air,
Pebbles, shingle underfoot,
The hazy horizon and sunlight winking at me on the water,
Delicate people sailing past,
Bikes, skates and boards,
Pushchairs, toddlers and grandpa's,
The short drive from work,
Breeze that blows the day from my mind,
The difference in people,
Willingness to understand and appreciate,
The funny accents,
The unexpectedly deep conversations,
The friends I'd gathered,
The warm hugs,
The gentle kiss of familiar faces,
The football banter,
The rare northern pride,
The walks along the coast,
The walks upon the downs,
The view down to the sea from the hills,
The flying stag beetles and crazy insects,
The sweet and clean air,
The sun setting in a tangerine sky,
The pier where my father's ashes flew,
I miss the south coast that once was my home. 
I feel you in my mind and will never forget your embrace,
My own space and time on the English coast,
I long for your peace.

Tuesday, 30 August 2011

I Looked Up

Stumbling home from the pub,
I made the mistake once and looked up,
the heavens in the sky, 
Stars and comets,
Each one so amazing in it's individuality,
The mist of the Milky Way,
I'd never seen the sky so vast,
So truly unique and it struck me,
How we are blatantly not the only thing that's here,
You see, I grew up in a tough, small town,
Built for the overspill, the overcrowded city of Liverpool,
The people that surrounded me in my youth,
They were tough people,
It was hard to express yourself unless through aggression, or through sport, or through shared music,
I never looked up, not at night,
Even if by chance, 
I happened to glance,
The streetlights would shine pink on the sky,
I'd see the vague shimmer of the usual,
Big dipper or the little pan,
Nothing spectacular,
Just dots in the sky,
Shapes that meant nothing to me,
But on that cold winters night 10 years ago,
Walking back to my place of sleep,
I looked up,
I was with my friend Daffyd, 
His brother and his fiancé,
I was not in my usual place,
I was in Llanbedrog, Wales,
I looked up, 
I stumbled in the tractor tracks we were walking in,
I fell on my arse,
Daffyd and the others laughed but I just lay back in the mud,
I couldn't believe my eyes as I looked up,
Daffyd lived on a farm,
He told me the first time i asked about it that it was a field and a house,
He was frighteningly modest, a true reflection on his character,
He was a gentleman,
His family farm was huge,
Acres and acres,
We'd been out to watch the rugby at the pub,
His local pub,
Full of Welsh people, 
Beautiful and happy,
As I lay there in the mud,
The chorus of laughing around me like seagulls chasing a morsel, frantic and manic,
I looked up,
I saw so much magic,
I couldn't take it in,
"How long as that been there?"
I mumbled in the mud,
Llanbedrog is as small as a hamlet can get,
Not even a street, 
No street lights,
No light pollution,
Heavens on display for any that choose to see,
I lay there in the mud not wanting to get up,
I looked up.
Daffyd and his brother helped me to my feet, 
I couldn't walk properly,
I looked up,
I stumbled and slipped, slopped and slided,
Safe in the arms of my friends who now thought me more drunk than I was and proceeded to walk me onward,
Arm in arm in arm,
I looked up and wanted to burn this beautiful sky in my mind,
I realised it was always there,
This history on show,
Each and every night,
This unreal sci-fi scene,
This space of magic that has always been surrounding our ball of madness,
It's rare that I look up these days,
I live in another small town,
For some reason though,
This morning in bed,
Putting off my rise,
I remembered that time,
Wallowing blissful in the mud,
That day in Wales,
In awe,
When I looked up. 

Monday, 29 August 2011

To Run With The Night


My eyes try to open,
Stuck lightly with sleep,
The slumberland hug of warmth and safety,
Just too nice to leave. 

The alarm reminds me of too much,
That I am a slave with perks,
I work for others where the only benefit is money,
My true work is without pay but with sprinkles of light,
That my time is not my own,
And that my time itself is getting shorter,
It will be too late.  

My sleepy hand reaches over,
I click off the noise and feel the embrace of my bed,
Today should be full of adventure,
I should be free to run through the fields,
To walk hills and mountains,
My dog by my side,
The sun smiling down on my grateful face,
But no,
I must force my feet out into the cold space,
My body now on auto-pilot.

The working day, like some kind of sadistic jester,
Pulls me towards it with no chance of escape.

I brush my teeth slow and sure, 
My mind still clinging to the remains of the weekend,
Almost pretending I'm not awake, 
The shower,
Thundering, soothing but commanded by my day,
The towel, a cruel reminder of my womblike dream carriage,
My clothes dictated by my day, 
Not my choice, no tie around my neck like a rope would I choose,
No ridiculous plain White, sterile and soulless shirt would adorn my back under any other circumstances.

I head downstairs and force down breakfast,
My lunch of convenience stuffed into a bag,
Such sophistication,
These sandwiches sat underneath my books.

My only lights are lunchtime with my books,
Eating second to the reading,
Writing should my soul pop up,
And 5pm when I head home.

I only hope the day does not take my strength like it usually does,
And leave me too tired to do my real work.

Haunted by the glowing box in the corner,
Visions of corporate dictation,
Tv suicide,
Slow and unintentional,
Easy and entertaining,
Until I step into my dream carriage,
And head off into my only truly free space,
My soulful chatter,
To run with the night.

Thursday, 25 August 2011

Blinkers are good...sometimes.

Blinkers are good...sometimes.

I think I feel different,
Or at least different to most,
Or is it that I give weight to that which most don't?
I don't mean that how it sounds,
I just mean that the average Joe, 
Doesn't know or blatantly suffers in silence,
Gives themselves no chance to believe anything,
Other than the monotony, 
The magicless,
The clear facts.

I spoke to someone in public,
About the beauty of the inner self being at one with the outer self,
In retrospect I laugh,
I became aware of standard ears and raised eyebrows,
There disapproval almost tangible in it's weighty stare,
Their uncomfortable shifts in their chair,
It somehow pushed my words quicker out of my all-too-aware mouth,
The recipient, equally buoyed but unaware of the disapproval nearby,
Maybe I care too much,
Then again, I think it's cruel to shatter any illusion,
Blinkers are good if the truth is too much to carry,
If your life is too far down someone else's line to pull back, the truth, "my truth" would be too much to carry.
Or at least the truth I've found that's right for me,
and that seems to harmonise with some others I've met along my way.

The meeting of minds ended and the polite discourse of goodbye resolved the moment as it usually does,
I shuffled papers and moved onto my usual business,
The disapproval was left there, 
Scratching his head,
I had to laugh and went onto my next thing with a smile,
Maybe one day he'll ask me, 
It won't matter though, you don't find your truth unless you are ready, or rather,
your truth will find you when you want and need to find it. You could fall over your truth but ignore it if you are not looking for it as I did,
One day, the weight of the world will force your mind to react in a way you never expected my friend,
Then you might smile as I do, 
Content In the knowledge, 
I may be who I may be but my feelings are my own.

My day seems a little brighter,
I'm glad the sun can shine indoors sometimes...

Wednesday, 17 August 2011

Tears shine in the daylight

He moves as if through water,
His feet dragging invisibile chains,
His head bowed in solemn, quiet contemplation,
He stops and turns towards the handrail,
His long coat flapping wildly in the breeze like a broken umbrella,
His face acknowledges the sea like an old friend,
The Sea rushing to greet him then falling away as if tired,
His hand wipes a single tear from his cheek,
A quick glance to confirm what he already knows,
He is alone.

His memory drifts back to times of old,
Friends running and dancing in the surf,
As if the only people in the world,
The laughter,
The Sunshine,
The happy, beautiful and warm memories that haunt him,
And his hand reaches again.

This beautiful pain,
This silent anquish,
This heavy weight that he must carry,
The face in his mind,
Smiling and fading,
Waving goodbye,
Then suddenly laughing as moments sail through his mind,
The joy suddenly twisted and crushed in brutal realisation,
As his face turns again to the cold, wet tarmac pavement,
His hands both covering his red and wet eyes.

There are no surpises,
His hands now gripping the rail tight,
No shocks,
No mock disappointment,
The man admits to himself his failings,
His faults,
His lack of conviction,
His soul trapped in the prison of his past,
Screaming to the future in blind panic,
But obligation dulls the sound and the man knows his fate,
His dreams broken in his self-fullfilling prophecy,
His face rises, now unthinking,
No longer concerned with others thoughts,
He claims the rail and joins his old friend,
The surge engulfs him as if on queue,
with a sharp and high swell of foam,
And a powerful rip of the tide,
The old man becomes the sea.

Friday, 12 August 2011

It's past...

Beautiful opportunity
Lost in standard retort
Unknown potential unrealised

The dance of standard greeting
Hides true intention
The sorry loss of familiar concepts affecting the reality of the situation

Damn shame how we just bumble on without worrying there and then

Without knowing it's now not then, 
But it will be then and not now,
And we will be there and not here,
Demanding compensation from our ego that set us up for the fall,
And made no attempt to save us from ourselves,
and the beautiful dream walks away,
into yesterday,
With now way of knowing if it could of been,
Or if it would of been like it felt it could of been then,
It's gone on without you, 
Without hope of recapture,
It's over,
And the night draws you away... And on...