Saturday, 31 January 2009

Two stanzas on debt

1. Somewhere between the pavement and the sky these words write themselves
In a motion of awkward asymmetry
Hanging, laid flat
Notebook cover against pillow
Whilst thin wall breeze shoot conversations waft toward the page
And I'm thinking
"I have a great line with no where to stick it"

"I hate to owe people money but it seems to be something I'm getting good at"

2. And all that rush of creative blood
Effusing my hand and heart
Was but a flutter of ladybird's wings
Pretty easily missed
Like Turin river bank moments
Finished, colourful and catalogued
Dead with a plaque
And cheap pins right through them
I think I owe words more than that
My life, however, is not yet worth giving
Accruing as it has minimal interest.

Scarves and Rainbows

"Awesome Scarf Man!"

"Cheers Mate!"

Five words, brief exchange
Wonderful Pink moment in a melancholy Manor House morning
Saturday, post-party
As I picked my return down the road of hermits, Shisha and doleful sad Alsations
Holding rescued mug plucked from a distant
neighbours wall
Last night I saw my best friend
For the first time in six months and we laughed until we cried
I danced mid clean up at 430AM between the sun set and oblivion
And I jumped at the spark of new connections
I can't know yet if the voltage is correct
Appropriate for the plug I hold
And in the frozen light of Finsbury park at 1130
I didn't feel so electric
But it's amazing what a little stroll and a word from a stranger can do to settle that which is in flux
Sometimes current flows, sometimes it doesn't and I'm thankful to have seen no storms
Flushed with half sleep, cold air and the promised bounty of tea sitting at the end of the road
The road becomes my rainbow and I keep following

Others (?)

Heavy load makes light work of the significant
And squeezes out The Other
Inconsequential then, the trickle of self when all the consequence I want
Is my health, his health, a cat and someone to make Mixtapes for
They're actually CDs
But what's romantic about a
Ill equipped, unsure and suspicious,
Unease sneaking that I'm not good enough for her
So why waste both our time?
There's so many projects in life.
I can't apologise enough for the bad habits I'm entrenching
Naked ambition, Short Attention and a million and one referential mentions
of this
of that
of The other
Squeezing back in for a second
And all because there's certain things I never want to say
Until its to late
So I lock my truths in indefinite detention
Screaming in space
Suffocated by the vacuum
Condemned by deals made in a a back room
Off the Radar
Like a single bird in lonely flight 'cross a fractured sky
The devils in the detail
And this is a Big Picture
Big Enough for things to slip down into a fissure and never return
Like I did; fresh, clean, two lifetimes ago

Sunday, 11 January 2009


If I am to be a log on the fire of life
Let me burn bright
As each white cinder joins the night
Glowing orange against the desert
Let me give comfort, warmth, energy, inspiration
And even as I cease to burn
And crumble back to the soil where I was born
Let me leave a powder memory mingled underfoot
It would be an honour to heat the kettle
Nestled snugly against me
Boiling the water which you use to make your tea
Drink deep and smile for me
Beneath the stars and moon we share