Friday, 30 March 2012


Tell me if the compromise was worth it.

The office is a brothel too, you know.

Find a bigger wave, and learn to surf it,

And soon you’ll have a better place to go,

If you so wish – if you can whore around,

And just forget that someone might get hurt.

Don’t stop to scrape your morals from the ground.

Hey, look – another mug with whom to flirt.

Most marriages are prostitution, too –

And who exactly has the right to judge?

You might live in a big house with sea view.

You might find time to cultivate a grudge

Or twenty – and why should I envy that,

Or wish to soil your "you-aint-welcome" mat?

"Not Convinced"

I could write another poem, but why

When I can’t think of too much more to say?

I point out facts, which you simply deny.

I start to write a poem, anyway -

Although I’m not sure who will want to read

My words. I have not put my pen down yet.

I don’t know if I should stop or proceed.

I want to talk about the "safety net"

That wasn’t there to catch me when I fell –

A so-called "care" system where no-one cares –

"Religious" types who’ve threatened me with "Hell" –

A generation of Karens and Claires,

Now in big houses with their One Point Two

Kids. I won’t get mine, and I feel cheated.

That might sound bitter, but I guess it’s true.

From the start, I could not have competed.

Does it need to be a competition?

Apparently it does. I’m not convinced.

Sick of my own themes – such repetition.

I had my chances, too? Still not convinced.

Thursday, 29 March 2012

"You Both"

when you're in a relationship

when you're married

after a while

you learn to read between those lines

however narrow

the spacing


each track

the phrases like "you both"

"hope you're both well"

"you both this"

"you both that"

"both of you must"

"good to see you both"

but we only ever use one name

"you both" can cover

the "other one"

the one we are reluctantly, currently related to

or friends with, sort of, for now, by default

of course we care about

"you both"

reluctantly, currently

sort of, for now, by default

temporarily, hopefully

"Not Spring For Me"

No crocus or no daffodil

is ever fooling me.

There may be fresh leaves

upon the trees,

dancing in the fragrant breeze,

outside my window,

challenging my reality.

It is winter, still, inside my heart and mind.

Dark days and nights are here to stay,


There will never be another

spring for me.

Monday, 26 March 2012

"Mustn't Scream"

I mustn’t scream. I mustn’t scream.

Can I convince myself?

This life could all be one bad dream.

I mustn’t scream. I mustn’t scream.

Pretend that I am happy: Beam.

Pretend I’m in good health.

I mustn’t scream. I mustn’t scream.

Can I convince myself?

Sunday, 25 March 2012

"What Then?"

When I can't locate the words –

When I can't state my truths,

In free verse or in rhyme:

What happens then?

When all I feel is that I’m lost –

When all that’s left is this sense of sadness –

Not even anger –

And not desire:

What then?

Friday, 23 March 2012

"Tesco Clubcard"

Human contact.

Someone said to me


"Have you got a Tesco Clubcard?

£6.20 please.


That might not be

word perfect,

but whatever -

you get the gist.

Now I can live on that "conversation"

for the next few days,

or so...

Thursday, 22 March 2012


Religions shouldn’t be like some big test.

Guess the right one, in order to be blessed.

Would God save only some, and sod the rest?

I don’t believe that.

"Scrap Heap Villanelle"

They could have helped me but they chose not to,

Each time opting to criticise instead.

They do not wish to hear my point of view.

Bridge Centre CPNs, shrinks, church reps, too –

All took their turn at messing with my head.

They could have helped me but they chose not to.

The ones who claim they’re friends and it’s not true –

The nutters down the pub who’d see me dead –

None of them want to hear my point of view.

For families, it’s easy to blame you.

It’s never something they have done or said.

They could have helped me but they chose not to.

My verdict: None of them have got a clue.

I’ve had it up to here with crap I’m fed.

They’ve no desire to hear my point of view.

I don’t care if I’m moaning. I am through

With all of this. I’m going back to bed.

They could have helped me but they chose not to.

They may not want to hear my point of view.

"Fade Away"

chorus to fade

exit quietly

by the rear door

a slow


spiritual death

"Cannot Share"

I write poems sometimes

that even I

cannot share

however carefully constructed

they are

and then they are there


awaiting their fate

the ripping

the burning

the burial

in notepads

I read

and re-read them

for as long

as I keep them there

Wednesday, 21 March 2012

"Child of the Night"

Child of the night – she is

swept along by the wind and the rain.

She is soothed by the thunder – caressed

by a flash of unanticipated lightning.

A sword through her heart would not penetrate.

The darkness which encloses her

keeps her safe -

her Inner Light burning.

"Your Poem"

your poem

a sonnet


it came from a spark

an essence

pure inspiration

all of which was you

you were spark, essence, inspiration

all of those

then I crafted my words

let the poem form

take shape

as you never did

and still


your poem

your sonnet

my spirit daughter

my baby

my angel

my life

I hear


of Stacey

as well

so what do I say

when they ask

as though there

must be

a quick answer

who the poem is


"For Pets Loved and Lost"

they taught me

teach me

so much daily

more than I

can ever

hope to express




pure love

they made me

make me smile

they made me

make me cry

each bereavement


and is

just that


each bereavement

so much too much

simply too much


"Bus Station Villanelle"

Explain to me the reason or the rhyme.

They’ve had all day. Why now, at half-past five?

Why do they change the drivers at peak-time?

We’re treated to this daily pantomime.

Took so long for the damn bus to arrive.

Explain to me the reason or the rhyme.

Sick of this bus station with all its grime,

and watching these two drivers chat and skive.

Why do they change the drivers at peak-time?

Worked hard all day. Did not commit some crime.

I’m freezing, but the driver still won’t drive.

Explain to me the reason or the rhyme.

What made that woman pick her coat in lime?

I focus on daft things just to survive.

Why do they change the drivers at peak-time?

Somebody’s ring-tone sounds like Big Ben’s chime.

So cold. Will I get out of here alive?

Explain to me the reason or the rhyme.

Why do they change the drivers at peak-time?


These tangled emotions

Their elaborate dance

Their power to entrance

To enchant

Dreams that repeatedly bleed

Staining my subconscious

Stealing my sanity

Dark delusions that scream at me

Scream at me constantly

Obsession that overtakes


"So Near"

Am I still here

Am I still near to

But not there yet

Residing in the deep, dark hollow of


Oh such sadness

Hovering on the edge

The edge

The window ledge

Knife's so sweet, enticing edge

Edge of this

Potential madness

Why still here

Yet so near

So near

"You Are My World" (for my feathered babies)

you are my world

my reason to

emerge on my darkest days

to smile on my brighter days

you still inspire me

every single day of my life

I love you

and you will always be

my babies

my life

my world

"Fail To Capture"

There's something which I fail to capture now.

The clocks tick-tock. Words echo in my mind.

Is there some other route - one "they've" designed?

If we can right this wrong, please tell me how.

"Emerald Dreams"

I trace my truths

with fragile fingertips -

floating through emerald dreams,

into azure infinity.

Tuesday, 20 March 2012


Naked terror:

sharpened blade



"I Am Not This Flat"

I need my friends.

Why can’t they see?

I need my friends

to hear me –

stay near me –

not to so-called "tidy up" the flat.

Don’t any of them

understand that?

I need to love,

and to be loved.

Who cares about this flat?

I am me, a human being.

I am not this flat.

"Black Coats and Lost Tickets"

And the thirty-something to


chicks are all made up

to look eighteen - and

they all believe that they do.

And the twelve to fourteen year olds

are all made up

to look eighteen -

and they all believe that they do.

And the music pounds -

repetitive, incessant lyrics, programmed beats.

And the beer is over-priced,

and irrelevant - since they are all

drunk already,

and most of them are here

for sex and drugs,

or drugs and sex -

priorities vary.

And the thirty-something

to forty-something chicks

are looking out for

"fit" eighteen to twenty-four year old lads.

And the twelve to fourteens...

Don't go there.

And at morning light - "chucking out time" -

you face all these women, girls:

emptying the contents

of their handbags

on the floor,

looking for tickets

in order to re-claim their coats.

And they all curse and cry and scream -

because they can't find

the tickets.

Ask them to describe

their coats.

They might tell you:

"It's a black one."

You look in vain

at the endless rows

of coats -

a significant percentage

of which are black -

and you say:

"Can you be a bit more specific?"

Blank looks.

Brief silence.

"It's a Top Shop Twelve -

if that helps."

"You are so not a Twelve, Katie.

Not a Top Shop Twelve, anyway."

Now you want to

curse and cry and scream

and they don't seem to understand

why looking through every label...


The sensual ascent

of my spirit,

mind, body

I feel it approaching.

I crave it.

I visualise it.

I touch it –

become it.

"Brief Song"

looking at a photograph now


your sweet brief song

such sunny days

enjoyed on "borrowed time"

each day a gift

a miracle

to cherish forever

to truly appreciate

"Fade Into"

fade into



that daily

dares the heart

to stop

to start


dares the mind to know

that daily

dreams must fall apart

Monday, 19 March 2012

"My Emotions"

my emotions

such overwhelming emotions

all are crashing waves

within this sea storm

such a violent

vehement storm

and they crash

how they crash

and I drown

drown so slowly

in these emotions

with which I cannot cope

"No More"

hard at my core

heart screams: no more

self-protection being my

new priority

never trusting

I simply do not

believe you

any more



stretch like lycra

across the span of years


dreams sparkle

softly silvering

my conscious mind






be with me

stay with me


"Deep Depression"

drowning drowning

in this ocean

deep depression

finally lost it

lost my art


lost the art of

even vaguely



each wave a scream

each scream a wave


the silent screams

the ones that hurt

the most


that sound the loudest

to my soul

which constantly cries

as each flat-bound

sometimes bed-bound day

becomes a cliche

dodgy tummy

and running out of

supermarket supplies

and friends

who are not yet

sick of hearing

about my tummy problems


but most of all

this deep depression

deep dark ocean

of depression

in which I daily


my remaining


my dreams