night on repeat

black flies on the windowsill 

that we are

that we were

that we are to know

the sky opened up above

revelaving streaks of grey indigo

dotted with stars

         some fading and broken 

           some  disused

             loathsome 

hiding in the folds 

waiting for the light to go out        

 I wandered alone

by the river that night

looking upwards
        then the earth   shook ///////////::::::::::

and I coughed

and coughed and coughed
and coughed and coughed

until my ribs shattered

inside my battered

heart, became exposed

                                                    but I suppose 

it was only a matter of time

there by the river

by the japanese pagoda

the gold buddha watching me intently

as I clutched onto my insides

exposed in the darkness

though in the shadows it's easy to hide

like those stars in the folds

shrouded by the forever universe

show man

a raggedy man
does a handstand
under the shadow
      of the trellick tower
    an audience of none
applaud
          walk, don't run
walk walk walk
he's on his way
he's on his way
he's on his way 

writing on the wall

 leake street 

     delirious concrete 

colours on the wall

              shapes that enthrall

and 

the smell of piss and weed

              and        

    a single message to heed

'if you're looking for a sign

this is it'

woolwich life

tranquil vale

defiance avenue

zenith fried chicken

woolwich life

the blue flashing lights

the sirens

the road that lead into the river

the twilight sky

an elongated shadow

was it mine

it must have been

the atrium

the broken warehouses

tranquil vale

defiance avenue

zenith friend chicken

woolwich life

park bench

the moody twilight sky

streaks of grey and swirls of wonder

venus

the crescent moon reflected in a puddle

cold air,

              everythings      a muddle

vague shadows,                

           weeds and rubble

absent thoughts

I settle,  on that bench

watching, breathing

waiting

believing

                         that   by      leaving

footprints in mud

     a trail would be left behind
                              thud///
                                                       rewind time
where did the years go?

shit, where did the years go?

transitions

ten thousand wanders later

a victorian pumping station

a conservatory in a palace

the paper city from a high place

crouch end

the bend

of the railway tracks

the secret door

exploring hacks

                        a packed lunch

a weird hunch

that it's better to go forth

 up to the white house on a grey 

hill, passed an allotment

wandering still

how many hours have passed

when did night turn to day

still finding

new places to lay
to rest old stories
past failures and faded glories
with each mile traversed
a thought unversed
surfaces, i held your tiny buddha baby

he cried

i looked at your daughter

she cried

but those dancing eyes

they defied

the sadness she was taught  

and that old coversation

that left us both weighty with guilt

wish I could explain

why I'm never around

why I never show up

wish I could make you feel

less alone

wish I knew what to say

to make you feel like you're home

when we're together 

but there are no words

life inside the square

everything is alive

the pigeons in the sky

they flit over the water 

over the stone lions

some gather around me 

waiting for crumbs

for crumbs

she hums, she waves
he sweeps,

I gaze 

into space

I watch them

I watch the people pass by

an old lady takes a seat beside me

an young man gets up to leave

the busker

sings a sad drawn-out song
and then another, so she prolongs

a silent conversation
with herself, and everyone she had ever known
there alone, with pigeons in the sky

with the stone lions

everything is alive

where do we derive

our inspiration

if not through watching 

simply watching the world

observing encounters

they gradually unfurl

and give way to clarity,
a thousand lives play out,
       inside a cloud of profanity
                      kind words, and vanity
the world is a theatre,
                              ////sweet banality 

there is beauty, difference, there is life

after watching a blip of it

I went to watch paterson

watch the world

through the windows of his bus

in that empty theatre
I watched him watch life
the small details
to find peace and beauty in them,
every day is filled with beautiful surprises

fiction satirizes

fact, and everything is alive

the pigeons in the sky

the poems we write

the things we see

places, people, and objects, 

the things that render us free

the imagination, faith, hope

a thousand ways of seeing

everything is alive

imagining freedom

floating up and down

at night in the museum

and then it plays

if you want to view 

paradise, simply look around

and view it

and a smile crossed my face

and a feeling entered my heart

a feeling of pure joy

so powerful it could destroy

every molecule of ill

everlast everstill

in awe of life, and living

the beauty of imagining

everything

for in dreams

we are forever free

for in dreams

we can forever be

wherever and whoever

we desire

so live in dreams

where you will never tire

of the sublime too ordinary

things that make up existence

/////life is for the living///////////

living london in scattered places

there i was

sitting in australia, 

                                                 what a failure                  

south west thirteen 

in the company of a black swan

my mind was kind of hurting 

from thinking about all of life

and nothing in particular

exit five thousand

try not to be particular 

                          a wander by the thames

ten thousand memories

half grey, (a hundred more steps)

the rest

is history (the ancient kind)

so I settled in the walled garden

an orchard filled with apple trees

and tall tall sunflowers

and I sighed, an easy sigh 

cos despite it all

life is the shit

it's beautiful 

there's so much of it

beauty in the small details 

the sunlight on an orchid 

the crimson of his beak

the silence, the solitude, the freedom

what more does one need?

here be everything

your card has been declined

scars all over your face

red gashes and cuts

you were a costume maker

you said you couldn't remember

the name of the man you fell in love with

so you just wrote gorgeous man

how we live

sugar house,
                     cottonmouth
limehouse cut /
                         the slaughter
a barcodeless bottle
                                         of stolen water
and the future is just like now
but in a little while
                            so surrender
          and just smile,
at that stupid giant thing
on the wall
the barnacle geese
are landing on the water

 and the house boats
and the anecdotes
and the lessons learnt
the shits that burnt
a little bit of our insides
and
the red squiggle
the lidl pastries
the path, the past, the daydreams
the trampoline
                                 us in the air
up in the air
not a doubt, not a care
just the moon, and following lights
the neon, the scribbles
the fading nowhere nights

ethereal delights
small details

living london
is that what this is

our friendship is forever

and this is how we live

wild horses

wild horses

running through the green

one after the other

so free so free so free

the wild horses inside of me

are running still

the ocean

it will fill

every gash and gap

every undefined avenue 

on the map, 

that is you

the heavens cut in half

everything is new

the lights spreads, and reflects

and seeps in

the ravens ride the wild wilds winds

over the hills, these ancient hills

for a moment, everything is still

wild horses

they are running 

       running 

      they are running away

souix

sioux and buxter

sitting in the morrocan garden

dreads in your hair

a smile, a can of beer

beneath the trellick tower

you gave me your number

suggested I collorate with your son

the musician, the photographer

i said maybe see ya later

and wandered some more

wandered some more and more

into the grafetti yards

the trees were covered in ink

and the grounds were empty

colour but no people

silence, no noise

a thousand little windows

that brutalist building

the world is with you

australia reveries

all those rainy and sunny

afternoons spent on a ferry

crossing the sydney harbour

alone, with time to spend

all those days in the botanic gardens

lying on the grass under

the winter sun all those days

in australia

all that time spent alone

all those journeys

and sunsets

and bush walks

and regrets

all those conversations with the dogs

all those sad nina simone songs

all those pages, filled with all those thoughts

///the dog ate his notebook

shit

old school wanders I

a wander, sunset fades to twilight

pass the cemetery with ancient trees

through the aboyne estate

pass the estate boys who would light the fireworks

over a decade ago

but no, they grew up

these boys must be their boys

and there's that corner shop

where we would buy giant strawberries

the autumn leaves are strewn across the pavement

the colours in the sky are fast changing

fast changing

so many memories

 fast fading

ageing

and I’m making

my way to school again

only now, everything's changed

The school

The trees

still a fool, still too free

nothing remains, so I go around it

Peering in

Peering in

feeling strange

In my school girl skin

Sad, life passed by so fast

How did that happen

And where am I

a golfcourse

Remnants of the sky colour, over the green

Through the hospital

Through that hospital

Past the church

The old victorian buildings from the past

A shadow is eating a shadow banana

And then there are those colourful painted houses

the recovery centre

so magical and sad

They don’t look real

Like an obscure apparaition

Dreamed up by a dreamer

Wandering at twilight

In a place where real is an alien concept

history

I've been thinking a lot 

about life and death

about the way we left

                             things

 funny how change

brings

 about revival

                            a tidal 

wave of emotions

                    come crashing

so many fixed notions

                begin unlatching

they come undone

and you become 

a free bird again

but i still remember 

when all i thought about was you

it's always a rainy day in march 

when i think of true ____

lazy day

a boat called lazy day

fading and rusting, 

net curtains all frayed

it looked dirty, upkempt

the signs on it were bent

all funny, a barnacle geese

passed by it, heading shaking

eyes steely, as if to say

get your shit together lazy day!