Wednesday, 22 February 2017

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
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

Wednesday, 8 February 2017

writing on the wall

 leake street 
     delirious concrete 
colours on the wall
              shapes that enthrall
the smell of piss and weed
    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
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
                         that   by      leaving
footprints in mud
     a trail would be left behind
                                                       rewind time
where did the years go?
shit, where did the years go?


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
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,
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
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 
      they are running away

Tuesday, 7 February 2017


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

Monday, 6 February 2017

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
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


I've been thinking a lot 
about life and death
about the way we left
 funny how change
 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 ____

Wednesday, 1 February 2017

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!