Poor Father & me – Pour forth craclin fire into hearth To warm knuckles Smoke out blood lined secrets, Sit tight in cropped semi-circles Tongue-craft sail storying breath, Imperfect enough to keep survival flowing.
Mouthfuls of broken glass - Smash whisky tombs into embaying embers. In everyman Fern Hill Under valleyed verse Boughs bend towards secondary sun Gravely glade stones form bascule bridge What force of storm uproots trees, unending? Seeds of light that grew Here and gave being. ...
Lipstick traces on rim of chipped cup As if that why God gifted her beautiful mouth Rouge palimpsest of vineyard map, terro(i)r crushing, Each Jesus-fixion turned wine to fetid water. Window ledge, emptied cup collects springs of love.
Mind Skating On Sun Blades
Sharpened by teeth of golden disc Salchow sonnets sluices into ice age(s) Calligraphic curves wheeling figures of eight Pulled by hips thru’ 1 to 7 degrees of avalanche arms. Pillowing snow falls on mountains in summer nights.
Forget the unforgiving Summer Rain desecrates the sun of all I am Moonshine is all I see on BBC3 Oh how immoral of me Sleets of spunk on my computer screen So when you love, scream me to death. Whatever, whoever, when ever But it is so closely over The men and women waiting for Your cunt to open as Autumn leaves I will share this or should i?
My beautiful friends will write my biography No stanza, verse or paragraph From Sabeen to Stacey Oh what a fucking appalling motorway mess CRASH And the 500 in between ...
Leaving slab of chocolate on emptying chair: Day of the Father, 2019
In dying embers of your eyes Charcoal from where you were a miner Turns blackest hue to iridescent streams In our clandestine eye-language This is where fountains speak In crystalline Father to son cradles.
I nestled your head in my large hands Those pugilist claws you bequeathed This is no Yorick, Alas, no Shakespeare theatrics - Have you ever smelt the lemon dew of dying? Rows of disinfectant as coffins.
No Vacancies for his lonely place ‘MEMORIES FOR SALE’ We have them beholden In quill & parchment...
The wreath of my words Hang me until the fatal stanza An orchard of dying roses From Tottenham to Torquay And the dying lisps of Madrid Why do I kill myself in European Cities? In Bruges her love bite Sucked my neck to no breath.
From Rome to Paris in Dublin suburbs The truth lies on Cardiff streets Y Rhyl feel the tattoo on my heart Inked akin to Morrissey and Wales Oh just go to bed And dream your dearest nightmares Did Pasolini fuck Sexton I have read to my heart is bled Red for the colours of my heart ...
Your hand clamped so tight A nurse prised them apart As a ballerina wearing boxing gloves Why should she contemplate Each nation of heatbreak?
In your beautiful pooled blue eyes Fountains of that which will never lie In my cradle you whispered lullabies I can still hear them Dad The stories from womb to tomb Pencil stains on skies of all black & white Let the rainbow descend Guillotine all abstractions Speak to me of your love In the simplest of all colours.
Forever breathes the chaos words in petalled canyons
Hushed surrenders - Listen to colours of silence Exquisite sorrow of shaded pastels Rainbows make love in darkness Into tombs of moonlight verses Where midnight fuckers flail skin (Torn Ripped Bit Licked)
Green the grace solemnly bequeathed to us In indigo baptismal birthing Berthed in ghosts who Won’t shut the fuck up - They try to bury me again Crucified by labelled nails Who don’t bear even bear my name.
The sound of vodka rushing Down the throat Resonates as a death rattle Smash the glass...