tides

the tides of the heart
wash in the debris of a thousand lives
and carry away our broken stories
and unfinished dreams
but still we stand here waiting
as if lost between the waves
or swept up by the salty breeze
that dries our souls
I played here with my toys as a child
and now I sit here as a man
weighted by life
for there is a longing in me
a desire to find peace
and a connection to my youth
so with eyes closed
and hands that know only emptiness
I think of the ocean between us
that is steered by your moon
and then I hear a voice
your voice
which sounds my heart
and points me towards home

I want

I want to lose the sadness
from my memories
I want to erase the heartaches
and take back every sin
I want to see my Father again
and talk about poetry with Burt
I want to savour all those moments
that were really endings
and soak in a love
that I never realised was mine
but most of all I want to sleep
like I did when I was a boy
and dream
and dream
and dream

sparks in the dark

lowering myself into words
reminds me of baths
that are nearly too hot
and puddles
with muddy hidden depths
but still I ease myself beneath
a soft verb
or step into
an accusatory pronoun
once in
I'll swim through adjectives
and scrub my thoughts

with abrasive adverbs

until my brain becomes a prune

and then I'll soak there for hours

trying to match words to moods

and memories

whilst desperately trying to find a spark
in this dark

you were never worthy of her

she's between nevada
and colorado now
married to another
and content
but there was a time
I waited
until early hours
to say goodnight
and once even her name
sounded like a prayer
but when you love someone
really love someone
when your longing is
overtaken by your own worthlessness
and all that is left
within your dying conscience
is the desire
to see her happy
with someone else
with anyone else
then you must let go of the ledge
and fall deeper
into a loneliness
where love cannot breathe
and where truth speaks cruelly

blossom on bridges

blossom on bridges

can hide cracks

that reveals the

rocky water beneath

blossom on bridges

can hide the smell

of rotted timber

that will not

support my weight

and blossom on bridges

can blind me

as I fall

why do it?

I tell myself
that I write to heal
but that's not true
it's just
that the suffering I endure
is slightly less
than filling my wounds with salt
and watching
daytime soaps

a fan

I found your blog by accident
you write beautifully
but you are such a tortured soul

cool
thanks
yup

the home

she is tuneless
but still beautiful
yet he will remove his trousers and willy
without warning
she can't stop walking
and he will tell you to fuck off
with a smile and a wave
but this is where they all gather
with their blurred minds
the slowly forgetting relatives
who offer nothing to this day
but the odour of urine
or a gravy covered chin
their memories are caught
like needles in grooves
endlessly repeating
as their lives slowly
count backwards
to their mother's womb

imperfect

drunk dancing in a kitchen
and cold honesty as I drove
it wasn't a perfect love
but I remembered how to care
and even when my heart
was dropped in a green mug
and the silence
fell between the distance
I still remember her
with a truly english smile

you still make me smile

our first meeting
that first meal
our first kiss
your naked shoreline
your late calls
and my early morning texts
still make me smile
like a loon
in crowded rooms