Atticus

Drunken hearts scribble words of cold breath while water still
Lies next to you, the beating drown amongst flattened pulse;
Risked chants backwards (stnahc deksir) and still
Long dog days are what trip onwards, a riot to live and learn
And swim past the cruel guards, strum the blues;
Big calm on strings tagged crimson, our private interlude
Where we stayed together on devil's spoke, rise and fall
Of compassion, full of distractions on the waiting line.
Take a trip out of town, to my old skin
And once your heart stops beating, a beautiful lie broken,
Only the simple things can give away the things that I have seen.

A Sunday Evening

It's already a quarter to five,
day now gone,
(mis)spent
on pointless thinking
and inconsequence.

Tissues scattered and paper scraps
trinkled over blots of wax,
dust balls side by side
are discarded in
an unwanted remains
cemetery.

Hamlet cigar tin overflows
with dispensed coppers
and silver of weighed down
back pockets
and wary days.

Life and love emptied out
and thoughts for today
are withdrawn,
put somewhere else
to forget
and not be brought upon.

Half full (empty)
bottles of wine
are shadows of waiting
for a week to end,
only to be time with you,
arguments and granting.

Unshifted and unmoved
on the dresser side
beside keys askew
and condoms and lube,
painkiller packs laid open,
foil cracked, torn inside.

Dried crusts on a plate
and hair still curly,
just another question
for mum and dad
on why life isn't
what it should be.

Folded clothes wait patiently
on the ironing board, but
we both know that first reached
will be glass and pen
to jot and drown self pities.

And come Monday morning,
when the week has not ended
and feelings aren't rested,
there is nothing to say, only
distaste boiled over,
more meaning less, eyes close
attempted rest.

While He Sleeps

While he sleeps lightly,
eyes roll and flash,
stars that burn through night
like an idea, planted in grey
floods and flashes,
subtle explosions twitch the eye
and hand jerks, body can't contain,
heavy breath takes over
bed bodyweight, shift and sigh
the day done and old now new
not forgotten but placed away.

By home, by the sea.

I was once propped up against a wall,
watching the wind rough up the sea.
Quietly puffing at a cigarette,
contemplating gulls circling downward.

Old man approaches, wind battered drunk;
flatcap askew and squinted glare.
Red faced, a coastal living story:
days of work, whisky and violence.

Sandpaper hands rub together, he
removes his cap, crunches between
hands; when he speaks, voice of a thousand
cigarettes and yells from football stands.

Offers a greeting, "Hello son, fit
is it yer dein oot ere, on
a day like 'is?"  A harsh whisper soft
behind roaring skies, gunkit mettle.

I tell him; "Simply I'm passing time,
watching sky and sea in skermish,
patiently waiting for some
resolution to come between them."

He laughs: a hearty sound full of joy,
unexpected beside grimaced
facade.  He sees the shock I hide.
Try to hide.  He sits against grout and stone.

Together we watch outward for a
time, held in quiet reflection;
angry sea tumoulous, throws his weight
around, spoilt child temper tantrum.

Boats and birds scurry round him, attempt
to calm him, they look to me like
toys and rubber ducks splashed round
merrily Baby Jesus' bathtub.

A timeless moment between us both,
inside a still split second, shared
by between tick and tock, where unmade
thoughts fade and newborn choices replace.

Broken by a thing so soft as the
blink of an eye, frozen intro-
spection to fraught extrovertion,
and the strangers beside one another.

Cigarette passed, hands sheltered flame
and the clouds of our smoke sail up.
Slowly, then faster, caught up by the
rush of the howl, torn inwards and apart.

Two silhouettes in the fading glow,
the watching parent has changed;
Never another word spoken til the
last puff of smoke; simple nods exchanged.

And off he wanders down the path, with
warm glow of the booze and the salt
of the air inside him, and outside
I stand, gaze fixed firmly on the shore.

To clarify...

To avoid some confusion that seems to be happening, Candles Of Death is not a serious poem.  It was written in about five minutes as a bit of fun for me.  Please don't try to deconstruct it as it might be a bit of a waste of time. Or do anyway, out of interest.

Candles Of Death

Something a little light hearted and surreal:


candles are burning a little too quick for my liking;
from the shop for only one pound,
what more can one expect?

apart from, dwindling light and wax only serves to remind
how quickly days, weeks diminish
before years have passed.

but it's too early for one to think of mortality,
but then there are always those gone
so young and so fast.  then gone.

but i am young so my thoughts are always fleeting, aren't they?
always so quick to move on to new things
shiny and fresh, cat with a toy.

corner catches me again, i watch the wick burn further
and my mind trips back and the clock ticks
a chorus to bring forth death.

A Moment Of Your Time

Just give me one moment, of this time,
To ask some questions that trifle my mind,
To what you say and how you do, all of
it contrieved, thoughtless, confused.

If it wouldn't bother you so, could you
Explain to me where it is that you're at?
Coming here with statements pure mad folly,
senseless patter, misunderstood chat.

What's missing in your mind, soul or heart?
Words jaded, muddled and falling apart.
Confusion and questions drive us all,
steering to me seems to be way off mark.

Is it strange to miss part of this world
out of your picture, in blinkered vision?
To throw something out into darkened cold,
A place you avoid, where you subtract addition.

My sense cannot make of who you are,
That cannot feel warmth to one other the same,
Your mechanics so broken and reason
so fallic, recycled words ingrained.

What will it take to make you see, this
life is waste, filled with misguided notion?
Happiness is key, and it won't be found
with your eyes and heart kept firmly apart.

Question living, an answer simple,
All the pieces laid out in solution.
No mystery lies, shrouded round in cloud,
Just let go, to take heed your world

And let enemies that seem like close friends,
Fall away and disperse, so that distraction
can find his purpose, and clarity will follow
to you: see the world, see me, see you.

No need to be on outer quays, let
loose without restraint, and heart a heavy let
go: of bitter days, strange ways of insane.
Find clear concience and faith, change this place,

Escape.