New Poetry

leaving games  - July 07 -

  i watched moving shadows on the bedroom wall as you packed your bags to leave the shifting shades of grey and brown the rapid movements
  in the faded sunlight twisted your elevated
  outline into deformed bitter demons

  your blue shirt was hurled crumpled to the floor left presumably
  to remind me that it was the gift from me you never wore

  afterwards when the door slammed as the taxi arrived
  in the driveway

  i turned on my side and faced the wall curving my knees to cover my belly
  protectively smothering grief beneath the heavy duvet

  a long time later in the dark evening i dressed and walked these streets
  not wanting to sleep in our bed alone


  you are out there somewhere still seething still planning
  still calculating exactly how long to punish me for

  this time

so much more than the pain

which can be smothered…
is the emptiness
the sense of
that pervasive belief
that already
i cease to be
time moves like glue
and glue
inhabits also the gut
sucking at that image
which i try hard to steer away from
pushing the heart rudder
each time it looms large
and yet so much more than the pain
it insists on shuddering to the surface
forcing its way from the gut
through the heart
to emerge like an oversized egg
from the throat
…so much more than the pain
…is the fear

Poem for the new Poet Laureate 2009
  (the ‘official’ poet of the Monarch proceeding
  Shadwell, Cibber, Warton, Pye, Bridges etc)

…as we knew she would
  she accepted the
  royal instruction
  to be reined in on a leash
  selling her alleged ‘talent’
  for soap-opera sentiment,
  and a few tubs
  of plonk-sherry,
  following the long
  snail-like trail
  of talentless
  sluggishly creeping
  that preceded this
  countess of cliché

  despite her kind
  some elements
  of worth
  on earth



sweet as a nut
slim as a lathe
sharp as a razor

  the gap

as he scuffles internally
rejecting the attraction
repressing the ethics
it is wrong to care
so much for this tender
fragile woman
  who seems
  to expand at his
words and his touch

the internal struggle
  un resolved
tearing holes
in corrupted logic
on his weakness
he concludes
  he must stay distant
decides to deceive himself
as he has done all of his
anarchic and disparate life


5th March 2007


no point at all
in participating
in the life

)darkness will  descend
  at noon

save the breath
that nurtures
our cell culture

)nothing will  occupy

savour all
that we have
and experience

)light will  cease to

ashes to dust
dust to ashes
nothing from nothing
nothing to nothing

where lies the

)emptiness will  occupy


15th February 07

at the end of that
final session
i suggested a diary
or if she preferred
some brief notes
to measure mood swings

the day after they
discovered her body
i sat alone in the
counselling room
when a photo-image
arrived in the post;

to one side of the head
on the bedroom wall
three vertical chalk marks
stood in solitary rank
the slogan above them read
‘Good days’

to their right
27 vertical chalk marks
slashed through in fours
with six diagonal slashes
and above them was scrawled
‘Bad days’

beneath her heavy
shadowed empty eyes
she had written
in vermillion lipstick
‘I did as you asked,
 it didn’t help.’


October 2007

i tried to write a love-poem today
in memory of someone past
but a silly pop song intruded
telling me about bicycle statistics
in a City called Beijing…
words wouldn’t come,
i tripped awkwardly
between doggerel
and repetition
until i just… gave up…
concentrated instead
on a repeated phrase
in that haunting song
which informed that
i will love you ‘til I die…
and that’s a fact i guess
and hey,
i guess this is a