Post christmas lunch

So if I told you I was drunk
Soporiphically sedated,
And wrote unguarded words
Would apologies be less obligated?

You might say, why do you waste your time on me,
But its my time
And I shall waste it as I please.

I have told all the staff
That sitting with you is like
Uncorking a summer day
And they laugh.

Told them that if JCB
Built social change
They’d model you for plant machinery.
And I think that they believe me.

But I can tell you nothing,
As you won’t listen
Could try to pass a flower
But would see you hand go missing
I guess you’ll always taste
That ill fitting kiss
And I dream of an embrace
That never did exist.

Meeting

Once my muse,
Object of my affection
In what direction do you pass
Can I ask ? Make some connection
Or maybe a correction.
And she just going for a swim
Pinches straight thinking
God it's him.
So what you up to, how you been
Oh, you know
Can't talk right now, gotta go
Maybe one day
You come by and see a show.

Cheesy valentine

Before I saw you, I had never seen a woman
Only so many approximations to your perfection
Like pencil sketches of a rose
There's so much I didn't know.

So now I wonder, awake at night
In a world so wrong
How you can be so right.

Number 8

As Artemis,
But mistress over cupid's dart
She weaves amid the boughs of love,
To catch the ripened hearts.

And I who strayed upon her charms
Awake with fevered loves dismay.
Oh that she take me in her arms
And there to stay always.

My floor

Right now I'm racing rapid, abstract mind designed by acid
It's kind, but rarely placid, I thrash it
Passionate proactive not passive.
Let's make this massive, jack it up and smash it.
Lashings of loquacious equations lasso the masses.
Massaging the molasses to vapid conscious nonsense that catches.
I want to quanitfy the stashes my massif has turned to ashes
And gases and assets, assess the mess their's gaps and lapses
Not drastic. No longer linger long on perhaps
Remap the project
And dash off odd logic in batches.

Fingers

These days I'm at an age where I look at women's fingers
And could've beens and loves lost can catch a moment and then linger.

I get strung with questions
Watching a man with grey hair chatting to a woman
With a ring finger that's bare.

These days its where your scars show
What was it with the issue
On the chance that made you throw.
Half of them don't know
Blind painters with pallete faces
Traces of misplaced grace
You can't compare with security
You see when bond is their.

We all love love
Get twisted on charisma
Chimera, wish you were there
Long before the wearer.
They say we must be scared of
That, but it feels more like anger
That's the clanger I drop
So its like, I don't cop.

I guess you can take to my mother
Feel she never wanted I for me
With age complicating selfishness
In amongst the wood that's trees.

I said it all before, and anyway
She don't wear one anymore.

Why you do that

Why you give me your number,
And then not pick up my calls
Why you do that,
Why you do that ?

Why you charming with your chat
And smile when I catch you scowling in the hall
Why you do that
Why you do that?

Have you got an adverse version of love,
Or is that for your ideal person
I'm ticking none of the above ?
A summer bell,
You camoflage your trouble well
And sabotage your feelings
Soon as they begin to swell.
I could try I kiss and tell
But then I reckon that you bite
Hopeful. Worse than that
I reckon you turn up your nose and cut it off,
Just to show your spite.

For Cat

You the most voluptuous temptress
Faye hostess in the black dress.
Oh to know one slow caress
I feel my whole soul possessed.

Your blessed chest makes my eyes mist
The way your thighs switch,
I try but I can't fight it.
Oh for some golden moment

Most precious, presses of your lucious, languid kisses and flesh
Leaves no breath
No less
The sweetest death.

Hello again

I say hello again.
Your face in the morning
Intoxicating,
Making me loose myself
My mental health escaping.
I've had my warnings,
But torn between your haven
And being born again
I fall once again
Into harm,
Into your arms.

These psalms from rounded palms
My soft alarm bells
My yarn that there's no way to tell.
My hell, or quiet purgatory.
It's funny, at night
I think how I might murder me.

Praise be to calm and the straight laced.
Praise be to them that charm with a straight face.
Praise be to those happy with any, any embrace.
Sometimes I envy these heads,
But it ain't the way I'm placed.

So I sit where I can hear the wood creak
Sometimes think of friends with whom I could speak
But I guess as we grew we needed more space
And I guess there's no law now that ties to a place.

I remember the formica and concrete ramps
I remember the parties where we blew up the amps.
Those days aren't what's missing
Though I miss the collective
I've never had what I'm missing now
What's changed is perspective.

Happy birthday

Many happy birthdays
Long sundays
And sunrays
Expectant mondays
And fun days
Well used tuesdays
Good news days
Tender wednesdays
And friends days
Cut and dried fridays
And fly aways
Chattering saturdays
Good latter days
Try and succeed days
Brave days
Well worth days
And always happy birthdays.

On a return

I missed your love.
Missed loving you
For time, a long time.
Until distractions, complications
And daily degradation
Made me just miss love,
Miss care and company
Miss being something someone wants of me,
Miss meaning
In this quieting
This careful contemplation
Of my hard drive humming
A moment's movement
Of my central heating
And the company of the wireless bleating.

Ginger tea

Ginger tea
Was prescribed
By the witch
And I inbibe it
Writing poetry.

Its not that she’s evil
Just magic
Not white or black
A mixed magic
One half, two quarters
To be exact.

She’s fetching
But there’s never any object
Clearly bewitching
But I can avoid that.

It’s a rarity
Intelligent, curious company
I guess that why I sit here
Alone writing poetry.

Papers

When I sit down with my papers now
They don’t always roll and rhyme,
Sometimes now my papers
Are made of grids and lines.

And where before the score
Sang always of the past
Now it sings about the future
And regiments my tasks.

In my papers I find orders
Of all the things that I might do
The past now represented
By single line struck through.

In my papers,
There was much confusion
Often I would loose them, abuse them
Or get lost in sketched illusions.

But now I use my paper
To store my thoughts for later
So all the little potterings
Add up to something greater.

It’s a marvel
Now in my paper I find plans,
And they might not make the weather
But they tell me where I stand.

Painting the town

The pains you cannot confront
Perhaps you can paper over
With the craft of wash and brush.
Like you do the plain,
Pale and thin dream caught
Flat in your reflection
Watching a new layer of foundation
Grow up over the bruises
From swift draughts drawn up
Inspiring new abuses sustainable
Within this old, crowded amalgm
Of Self, blinded to the pain of the past
By the distress flare smile that leaves
To join will-o-wisps frozen in amber
Beyond the glass.

The magic has been paved over in this city.

28th November

Dear Gorgeous,

Could you afford us some spare moments?
Save a few up and keep them together,
So that I can come by and take you to
A comedy, gallery, Galilee or whatever.

If we gathered up some hours
And squeezed them real tight,
Perhaps they'd drip some minutes
That we could cast into the night.

It's just in this metropolis
There’s much that gets on top of us
And time between here and there
Adds up to such a loss.

But somewhere amid bricks and aisles,
Paving stones and tube
There are golden instants, moments, whiles
We seldom ever use.

Save a few for me.

Then maybe if you’re so inclined
Spend some of that precious time
Over tea in Galilee.

Some similes

So silliness
Some simple similes.
You are like the morning dew to me,
Disappearing into sunshine.
That night like a shady tree
A sun-kissed rest that’s cool and kind.
Can I be extravagant
And say lying with you
Was like touching firmament?
Better not, unless I throw in
You’re finer than Kate Moss on top.
But then why stop?

It’s late, but loosing sleep over you
Is like the only dream I’ve known.
Your hips move like horn section
In Nina Simone, feeling good.
Seeing you was like seeing trees
When before all I saw was wood.
Being alone before was like meditation
Now it’s like wondering
Whether there’ll be another train at the station.
In your eyes I saw the birth of creation,
You holding me felt like a slave’s emancipation.
Possibly, maybe, going for a touch of sensation,
Buts that’s what you are,
More than an A-List occasion.