1029 - Death's eye

Death’s eye does not look down on us tonight
For it has lost its visionary gleam
And so, not from death’s eye comes any fright
But only from our own internal scream
The light of death, a dark red laser beam
That penetrates our skin, reaches our heart
And, as we lie in bed, dissolved in dream
Some part of us tells us it’s time to part
Our own executioner, our own dart
Rises from within, reaches a great height
Then turns, descending, too fast to be seen
Not seen, just felt, victim of prisoner’s art
A cold black feeling spreading from one bite
Your hear your organs play your funeral theme
Mon 29 June 2009

1020 - Flimsy whimsy

We drive along and we try not to crash
Though there are so many others to hit
We hide behind the beard and moustache
Of friendliness, like Santa the Misfit
Into my thoughts you still do sometimes flit
Perhaps I should keep myself busier
But wait, I work all day and work all night
The weekend’s the hardest of all, for sure
Like overpriced footballers, we can’t score
Any more and we don’t enjoy the clash
Of limbs and swords and shields, or losing it
Write poetry, accepting we are poor
Join groups, meet new people, go on a march
To save Iraq, Iran, maybe Tibet
Sat 20 June 2009

963 - Still playing the game

963, if you put a 1 in front
Was the year of my birth. Is that so bad?
It’s a long time ago, that’s true, I can’t
Deny it, but I’ve lived all that time, had
A long innings already, bat and pad
I’ve hit the ball a few times, missed others
But to be called up at all makes me glad
Thank you, team captain, oh my captain, yes
Once alive, grown up, sheltered, fed, success
Then becomes our obsession, and the hunt
For love, which alone stops us being sad
And empty, even if we’ve got the rest
963rd sonnet, want
To know if I’ve found the grail, full of blood
Fri 24 Apr 2009

880 - Preparations for visiting my daughter on her birthday

My daughter’s sixth birthday, cold and windy
Spent hours listening to new CDs, and wrapped
Her presents, sipped some soup, which is handy
When you can’t chew like I can’t, so I supped
My soup, with pieces of soft white bread dipped
Watched Football Focus, the soccer preview
While the music played on, and then I popped
The presents in three big bags, quite a few
Things bought, locked door, carried it all down to
The car outside, boot loaded gratefully
Under a grey sky, while a fierce wind whipped
Popped in to Maplins for adaptor, two-
Holed, but new brown shoes must wait till Sunday
Can’t be late for my date, or I’ll get slapped
Sat 31 Jan 2009

868 - Now we are a lot more than six

My son’s birthday comes one day after mine
He’s nineteen, I’m forty-six (bloody hell!)
Well WTF, we all head down this line
Arriving to a fading, tolling bell
And if you think you’re different, then you smell!!
See I can still be childish too, you know
The child lives on though my children grow tall
We mature ’cos we have to; life is so
Upsetting; all depends on a dice throw
And two-faced people sneer at being kind
I’ll listen to the whispers from a shell
The setting sun’s a fried egg to swallow
I’ll sit you on a prickly porcupine
Judge everyone on how well they can spell…
Mon 19 Jan 2009

859 - It couldn't happen here

What would it matter if our hearts stopped now?
We think we matter, but it’s just to us
Like locusts we swarm, eager to devour
Hell’s getting hotter with each car and bus
Are stoics, or maybe mass murderers
The most logical thinkers of the lot
Because they’ve concluded nothing matters
Why not be super-cool or extra-hot?
Or laugh in the torturer’s face - why not?
That’s one thing he hates, won’t ever allow
Upset the rotten applecart, make news
Abuse them back, some new gunpowder plot
For good needs goodness to grow. Plough and sow
Poisonous seeds and all we’ll reap is dust
Sat 10 Jan 2009

855 - It's a chill wind

Cold Arctic wind combined with clear blue sky
Diagonally crossed by vapour trail
Means rather than go out for a walk, I
Will stay at my desk this lunchtime. The pale
Sun oversees anaemically the tale
Of winter once again, cold spells that sting
The face and fingers, trying not to fail
Employers' expectations; I'm struggling
With aching gums and teeth, and following
Up things I've started, ambitions I try
To meet, lost in the cold atmosphere, stale
As working life reasserts its draining
Of energy and hope. Old people die
In unheated flats. The last coffin nail.
Tue 6 Jan 2009

852 - Becoming less like God

As days zoom by at ever faster speed
Time contracts (unlike Einstein claimed it would).
With half of it gone, there’s twice as much need
To get something done before I’m fly food
Just as they suck the juice out, so my mood
Dictates imitation; I’ll drain it dry
Before evaporation can denude
This living body opportunity.
Sometimes I almost envy bird or fly
Live faster, die younger (the rocker’s creed)
Still conscious of the reaper’s shadowed hood
Behind each bush, but unlikely to cry
At some far distant end when others feed,
As they do, on the freshest flesh and blood
Sat 3 Jan 2009

836 - Blood chant

The night draws to a close, lullaby sound
Of traffic rushing along Regent Road
On which I walked alone to the home ground
Where I now write, safely in comfort mode
The world turns and tomorrow’s cocks have crowed
Though no-one’s heard them yet, yet it’s still so
Just like past winters when it clearly snowed
Whether my eyes saw or feet trod, or no
The future’s fixed just like the past; both go
Where we can’t see and remain to each bound
We’re somewhere in between, and both have flowed
Through our red rivers, arteries that slow
With imperceptible speed. Round and round
It all goes, following some secret code
Thur 18 Dec 2008

835 - Song of the dark 2

Hooray! It’s nearly time to celebrate
The passing of the darkest day of all
You don’t need to spend wildly to feel great
Or pass out through imbibing alcohol
No, why not simply sit back, meditate
On how once again we survived the fall
And now our frozen fingers push the gate
Into the garden sheltered from the squall
Expecting sunlit lawns and time to wait
Joy frozen like a statue in the hall
Surreal escapism a rising trait
As light and heat fades like a parent’s call
Clinging to children, hoping they’ll placate
These chill winds, their bright cheeks smooth as a ball
Wed 17 Dec 2008

768 - Musing without boozing

Been thinking on and off ’bout love and death
Do either exist, or like life, are they
Hard to pin down? Maybe life is a myth
Or just a word that our egos obey
Our life comes from the fire and rock and play
Of subatomic particles, all dead
From that viewpoint we’re all still space like they
Although they create patterns in our head
That we enjoy awhile but then the dread
Develops. Love has gone, and even breath
Is shortening like hair that’s turning grey
Yet when there’s no point getting out of bed
We reach completion, work all done, and stiff
As we may be, that’s where we want to stay
Sat 11 Oct 2008

760 - What he said

So is it true what Martin Amis said:
That when you get to 45 or so
You realise that you too will be dead?
Before that age you thought you'd never go
You looked in the mirror, change was so slow
Hair still dark, body slim, that you felt fine
Uniquely exempt from scythe's swishing blow
Even when sitting smoking, drinking wine?
There seem to be few signs yet of decline
Ignoring yellow teeth and greying head
Change toothpaste, apply hair dye, they won't know;
Too far away to read between the lines
Below your eyes. But there's no cause to dread
The end for forty years yet. Martin, no.
Fri 3 Oct 2008

755 - Skins and bones

I’m pulling at the skin on my thumb’s side
It’s nice to destroy things and self-abuse
Much easier than building up my pride
Much easier than winning. Why not lose?
Distractions, reveries are what we choose
Life’s painless if you aim less high, a slow
And pleasant suicide, room with no views
Except grey sky, on tenth floor; needles go
Straight to the point (Lou Reed’ll tell you so)
Cover your face with veil again, sad bride
For shame that you can’t be a genius
Your name unknown even at home, and no
Direction to roll in but stone. We tried
Now we’re sliding into time’s tightening noose
Sun 28 Sep 2008

741 - No escape

It’s mid-September; the year’s running out
Even the decade’s running out of steam
Or is it me I’m really on about?
Is it me who’s becoming a has-been?
Can’t be, because I haven’t really been
Anything yet, and that’s why I can’t rest
Can’t tend a garden, contentedly lean
On my front gate, sun sinking in the west
I can’t relax, only escape at best
In the late evening, and when lights go out
Consoling visions turn drought into streams
In dreams that drown out shouts and screams, unrest
Upstairs and down, outside and inside out
That within minutes pulls me from each dream
Sun 14 Sep 2008

637 - Womb with a view

The pain of life climbs upward in a line
At forty-five degrees from left to right
Before conception everything is fine
Millennia make up one long peaceful night
That’s bare of nightmares, reality’s bite
Then some dick thinks with his, the jizz meets egg
And all that jazz; addicted to the fight
The hybrid parasite kicks out with leg
But when womb’s closing time is reached will beg
To stay dependent, waited on full-time
Sirens of prison, syringe, lines of white
Pickled liver, retiring to a dreg
Of mankind, call out: come to us, rewind
Retreat, relax behind the lines, that’s right
Mon 2 June 2008

636 - Dark June

Oh hell, now June is here so soon it means
That soon it means to get darker again
Enjoy the last three weeks of increased beams
For then the orb we orbit turns just when
The light we worship seems a trusted friend
For its far distant frightening winter home
Growing shadows bestow their death kiss; end
Approaches in its dread red and white form
With frosty beard and funeral bells. Now comb
Your thinning hair and don’t forget sun cream
You mustn’t let your skin peel off. Back when
You were young you could burn and smoke and roam
But now stay safely home, avoiding scenes
Your oxygen, your lifeline, is your pen
Sun 1 June 2008

417 - Cold comfort flat

Life's not much fun when you're old and alone
The heating's broke or turned off to save cash
Your kids have left and rarely even phone
You're haunted by that burglar's window smash
And grab. Christmas is coming, but no flash
Of pretty lights will be adorning your
Forgotten flat, up in the rain clouds. Splash
Some water on those plants on your tenth floor
Balcony overlooking all the poor
And lonely people. But you mustn't moan
Not even when your blood runs from the gash
Because you know that no-one cares no more
The hooded kids are hunting for old crone
To look for help in these times would be rash
Fri 26 Oct 07

405 - Bless this damned house

The family unit is the place to be
Especially when the times are getting bad
When interest rates are rising and money
Is scarce, good investments aren't to be had
And then, as you become just an old dad
No longer looked at by the lustful eyes
Of the young, then the family's not so bad
No money, no looks, not such a surprise
That you accept her unfair shouts and cries
What's the alternative, a new lady?
How much would that cost? Would she like my pad?
Would I have to eat salad, drop the pies?
Nah, best to stick with what fate has dealt me
And it's enough, I think, for this old lad
Sun 14 Oct 07

374 - The real meaning of living is to live

The real meaning of living is to live;
That’s the feature of creatures large and small.
Yes, having offspring’s the thing if you give
As well as take, but make no mistake: all
That calls to cells from nucleus to wall
Is DNA, saying “Do anything,
As long as you unravel my string ball,
And play with me a while. Go travelling
In style, or, like reptile does, do nothing
But keep living.” This seeps in through the sieve
Holes of your soul, like North Pole seals that crawl
The snow, not knowing how, why, just going.
Life wears out, hair falls out, but all forgive
The decline. Be so kind to stall the fall.
Thur 13 Sep 2007

366 - A year seems such a short unit of time

A year seems such a short unit of time
When filtered through the sieve of memory:
365 days of rhyme
And reason, four seasons, as seen through me.
But we’ll only see seventy, eighty,
And the first few of those beyond recall,
Hidden from sight in clouded infancy,
Repressed perhaps, waters too rough to trawl,
And by old age the mind is apt to crawl.
And so these years belonging to our prime
Are long and rich and of high quality,
Each day another deep red rose petal.
I hope, therefore, that my daily words chime
With your love of life’s finite mystery.
Wed 5 Sep 2007