& he was found hanging
in a barn by a farm hand
& two infants died in her
wire arms [& other ghost
stories recounted] – Our
narratives fail to include
death’s guest pretence –
we’ll avoid auld bodachs
& their hints at finitude’s
sure grip – My own tales
of spectres are with less
half-seen thin figures – I
was tailed by an unseen
presence from a terrace
house – another time my
fear would not let me eye
a dark corridor – no more
than that – Death my less-
worryin’ future trend – all
fear is of life just before it
ends – that leaden decline

You cannae write that
he said in mouthful-of
voice as he read it out
to a throng of two [an
obliged turnout of us]
& laughed aloud [as if
in a bit-part role] – My
stomach’s load rolled
with vomit’s promise –
I cannae drink nae no’
was his next wordplay
of too many beers – At
times Scottish-Dave &
his ways would launch
into endless reveries –
not tonight – stumping-
done by my verse-line
& his eyes – Shite! You
write shite poems! My
wide smile caught his
loud brightened retort

I have endured an erotic dream
about a person I fucked in 1985
[I think it was] –
Her skin taught
as it was & keen on my cock –
I
finger her slit as I lay alongside
& double up my then-quick fore
into her –
she wants me deeper
in my explored dream –
we walk
naked
[as you do in dreams] & I
take her hand
[@60 it is ‘nough
for me] –
I wake without her now

I should makes notes as I go
& so form a record of loss of
hours to rounds of troubles –
they come on overnight – my
ompholos – Pain now circles
my whole in dark hours – As
I hold this phone my hand is
rolled to stone [by giving-up
of connection] – it’ll loosen &
return to use with letting go –
that is the current prognosis
& keeps me brimmed in hope
enough to carry on – A Swiss
solution is more likely in time

I do not do this enough
because of stuff
[other
things unsaid] –
Stifled
by dull circumstance &
worry of fixed patterns
forcing us in place I am
silenced –
This tapping
out is random until lines
align
[& editing forever]
& sense is formed –
We
are all creatures of habit
[settled on our treadmill
we scuttle blind] –
I type

There is that unsprung breath
without belief
[constant reflex
a common feature] –
A dream
again of love’s complex arcs –
I am a poor player of such –
A
drama –
a poor reconstruction
by my internal AI –
I will adjust
what I saw in my sleep & reset
my thoughts –
Unsettled
[until
it passes] –
She gave me cold
wet kisses –
I knew she lied in
that waning play
[I dreamt on]

This pub is where we piled kids
& negotiated with frantic wasps
as dripped ice creams loosened
& beer warmed – All is quiet now
[with only birdsong & tree-blows
to offer interference] – At 10,000
feet a jet ploughs a line of theory
about control -I have none & am
enjoying a roll of time alone – As
our malicious sun sinks gods cut
out kisses of heat – September’s
confusion of weather nudges me
about layers – one less gardener

I sleep well in this town for now –
others spin in charged-for sweat
& regularly wake to self-disgust –
There is fear & loathing in nights
spent shared –
enough to quell a
desire for love –
How we parade
our ownership will define us all –
I have studied witches bitch over
fingered shiny gifts & devalue all
other things
[ugly inheritors in a
spiteful grip] –
Everything has its
value set by greed’s embrace –
I
sleep deeply in this town for now

Their slumping pub sits
with its flood defences
set as a false tooth in a
crumbling gap – It pulls
pint-eyed thrill seekers
in from Uckfield’s tatty
once-flooded streets –
A slop tray drips [stink
of off ale] as another’s
spills before suppings –
sticky underfoot – You
sit in your immaculate
refitted house immune
to such as that pub – &
around you is empty of

This does not matter – yet
others have hung their ire
off these lines – Claimants
of misrepresentation align
under lies – A coven swills
spittle into a rich stew & is
fat with hate – These days
of solo life runs my fate – I
eye into my last long arc to
a let-loose finishing tape &
raise my lips into my verse-
cloud of sweat-wet words
as [her] count-of’ll witness
my lolloping poems an end

At this age there is a haunting
of decay around all our things
gathered –
a rot sets in among
thoughts & dulled ambition –
a
cure for such corruption is our
demand
[when not on mute] –
I am yet to complete my tasks
[& putting off starting them my
main one] –
Musca domestica
swarm where death cools –
all
our remnants of life summon a
quick cluster to this final feast

My pain is a constant graze
at which I pick – a peeling &
excess of raw skin folding –
I am sore – this is no norm –
Our share of ills now less to
comfort our souls – we flow
with it all – out of ease [until
it passes] – I’m almost done

Woken to recalls –
now re-filed
as stupors –
a flurry since eight
hours ago –
that un-real place I
trawl –
A common other-world
of people no longer known –
A
hideous ex- of friends & lovers
& not all bad –
By my thoughts
they now comport in less ugly
ways –
they still fuck around &
confuse me [still] –
IRL re-sets
it all –
I should not drive by my
auld haunts –
that would solve

I struck a heavy badger out
on a haunted back road –
a
lollop & dash of grey streak
& dark underbelly
[a thump
on my bumper –
high beam
lit] –
It was before that dip &
turn down ’round that ghost
story house –
As if dashing
makes crossing roads safe
for any beast –
Hopefully a
winding & a bounce –
I did
not stop to look –
too many
slaps by that route before –
it was out from a backyard
I knew –
the owner a weird
piece of work I was related
to –
a mephitic poddy sow

I am alone at this hour
without amity every &
all evening inside time
& her soft shroud –
we
exist quiet in our souls
[fooling others of even
worth] –
My darkening
comes on
[with dusk’s
enslavement] –
Silence
is busted by my TV & a
poke of phone –
I will it
so –
loneliness my itch

They shall next gather
as a limping brood for
a short game of cheat
[& none will e’er win] –
they do not like others
without their ill blood –
they’ll sour fresh milk
as they pour coffees –
their stir – full acerb &
no sweetness [sugar’s
flight to hips a given] –
I feel sorry for those in
ear-shot of their clutch

Weave & follow [without
a clear view] – spray my
added impediment over
this route – a deer waits
to dance into my beams
& cause natural chaos –
road-kill a given then [&
I will curse nature] – We
sat opposite on a wood
table fixed by games of
small-talk [county-wide
gathered] & I feared my
journey home afterward

They are my last remnants
from two decades of life –
they will sit for my last two
next – looking down a lens
giving up set moments – A
shelf of stares captured by
myself & mainly others – A
first school montage [as if
all other time is lost] – look
this way was said – Frozen
in an act of happiness – in
guilty sweeps I dust faces
set behind glass [& they’ll
gaze on] – a failed history

Sat beer-propped by a slump
of booze-slowed folk – this a
pub from my past – a note of
not much has changed taken
& filed – whiff of urinal chunk
& piss is fierce – A patterning
underfoot hides auld stains –
A robust barmaid [cliche hip
& calves] serves slurred men
one last pint & takes their tap
of phone – otherwise they sit
out-of-reach of the missus –
Tattoos stain his skin [blur of
history inked] – his speech a
leaky seep after his fifth – An
ancient dog sniffs at crumbs
as its ale-slowed owner naps

I walked with Peter Gabriel
one night in ’99 – outside 3
Mills Studio – after a dance
of New Year lies [my stage
management of screen act
by contract before we met]
& I inquired as to what was
in that strained carrier bag
he let swing against his leg
with each step – My life – A
curt Millennium-mare reply
that many made before ’00
& that white tent shit-show

We do not need those things
that we have been told we do
in order to better ourselves
[a
modest sum] –
That extended
house is about others & not a
bigger home –
how much will
be enough?
Delirium is less a
motivation for some of us –
A
cash transaction out-does all
of love’s expensive requests
& terms –
I only invest in gold
[having found flesh crashes]

She books hotel rooms –
each day she reads one
page of a Gideon bible –
enough to see her good
& under God & over it all
for that double rate – As
plates clatter with serve
& place of a breakfast of
re-heated feeds she sits
alone – They all hate her
in that room – Insecurity
does not come cheap in
four star chained hotels

That morning I parked a car
for a failing car parker & put
a snail in a safe spot & spun
change in to a beggar’s cap
[but I’ll still go apace to hell
according to tales run in this
unhealthy town] – I side-step
kerb-sat flies as I walk on [&
a flit word in your shell-like –
I will be here to be kind to all
others] – I am still generous

We will gather for your ceremony
in our most apt outfits & timing a
line to keep to –
my next?
I aim a
trajectory in my eye to align to &
not fall before others
[I’ll trip too
easily in time] –
that uneasy heat
is set at full blast after it all –
We
sit in that shadow-weight I found
with age’s insight & needs –
I will
suffer thirty+ more –
at most –
so
shy from such impositions less &
absorb it now
[all with grace] –
A
slow flight from such observance
is my decline –
I’ll avoid my death

They no longer use a compact
to morning face-fix –
phones’ll
offers a high-def mirror
[Steve
would giggle] –
Device-life –
A
blogger’ll no more digs words –
auto-suggest pumps –
Routed
& led astray –
offer of easy sex
& a deal –
These in-touch days
are lonely as we screen-swipe
our time –
There is no upgrade

I still avoid
[certain] people
[because of mis-directions
they know too little] –
I will
not take easiest paths ‘cos
those dip into loud estates
[hear minacious individuals
howl ‘bout ageing’s claims]
& so I shall skirt meeting in
that bin-busied cul-de-sac
those scowls –
By low-flow
ditches they bend close to
muddied waters to look on
dark visages –
Narcissus is
there under that oily sheen
& will preen in reverse –
As
my days direct me away all
this will
[in course] change

There are three auld men
on my drive in [bus-stop-
stood in all weathers – In
suitable attire of varying
MOs] – démodé sentries
set by circumstances – A
conversation had with all
three – met over my year
of commutes [on various
days] tells you why it’s so
& why they stand alone –
a life of choice has stood
each one forlorn – waitin’
on an arrival to motor on
via fare-capped omnibus
to their next town – I too
will wait – as will you – in
all weathers for our daily
lift on to that other town

She wants to travel more
& is weirdly attracted to –
are too-familiar now with
my less time
[swiped left
to bilk another look] –
All
my past is found here –
a
carousel of expectation –
a merry-go-round & flash
of thigh
[anything goes] –
& my finger is dictated to
by my eye & suppositions
& assumptions by look –
I
know how it works as do
you –
another one not on
this for ONS or bald men
[hirsute her truth untold]

Pain is my ugly lover
with her heavy rubs
against my limbs – a
ram of fuck-weights
from above [with no
benefits] – I’ll caress
her as she crushes –
I will give her time to
get dressed before I
rise myself [& I have
skin in this game – a
history of being one
who is fucked up by
an overweight spite] –
She will squeeze my
breath out my chest
& I shall there expire

My trigger finger is stiff
& requires gun oil – that
handy tin with a narrow
funnel – it weeps sticky
onto surfaces as it runs
into barrelled grooves –
It was a regular thing in
our youth [along with a
tin of boot polish & spit
on our kitchen table] – I
need to lubricate clicks
as my fingers grip & arc
over things – I will wake
again with such pains &
get them loose by slow
pour of gun oil [recoils]

How we grow aulder
is our outline –
Deny
lusty designers of a
narrowing path & be
an architect of other
outcomes –
rage will
prise away fat-finger
lovers
[who wish on
us a profit in decline]
& we rise above their
tatty blueprint of lies
to be sure-of makers

That land I knew – twice a
day at least – thickness of
green & slipping ups [over
abrupt banks] – Instead of
such mis-adventures I will
stick to tarmac’s grip as a
route – My view from over
this road [front-top-deck]
to your city’s open spaces
[off this 29 route] speak a
summer of rain – greenery
a given – parched lawns a
last year thing – how each
season alters these days –
how nothing is rooted in a
pattern by weather charts
on forecasts – deniers will
gush about a cool summer
& then run from an English
monsoon – I’ll keep to hard
surfaces & avoid slippings

Always
[those]
hours as weights
in my coat –
pockets filled by my
choice of dry stones –
under my
step a sunk route
[laid by others
crossing fast water] –
uneven as
I go deeper –
Cross where other
people do –
herded by our ways
through hazards –
My stones sit
low
[clack again when knocked]
& weigh my coat down as if I am
shoving my fists deep –
Now my
choice to turn mid-stream & fall
into deep water
[I am rushed at
by that urge from up-river] –
As
my wet legs stiffen I may take a
one-last step from this ford –
my crossing point
[& I will fall away]

& I found another one
left dumb by a ripping
prey – floundered with
less explanation than I
could summon for him
& his past set aside by
another’s directive – Is
this how it works? This
sixtieth year flows into
my raw veins enough –
still I am a flamed welt
now on my auld wrist –
then a sore spot – we’ll
squeeze [be squeezed
& then tear] – My heart
all dysfunctions – still it
forces in thick blood as
other purposes demure
[within this place I Lord
it up] – now move away
& light on someone else

There –
that scrape of pub chair
‘cross floor –
then roar over their
games of Toad
[Sussex flat toss
of weighted coin-round toads at
that chipped target top] –
There
now –
that mumble o’ beer-thick
voices between drinkers –
sip of
ale to set straight all auld things
[immigration & Tory lies] –
There
past –
errors strewn in our book
of How It Were & Other Stories –
I am a recorder of such gaffes &
get paid by writ hours –
Sit close
for other drunk announcements
knocked back in paid-up rounds
from boozers like this –
I will scrape
tiled floors
[of pint-pickled men]

Vary is that rarer element
we fumble in –
Mercury’s
roll & un-compromise is a
rue by which we can align
our thoughts –
A souvenir
of long lost hours as vinyl
circles in unevenness –
In
ever-worn grooves words
wear down –
undulation &
loss of quality with spin &
needle-drops –
See how I
am measured by a metal’s
response
[that glass stick
snappably-thin on my lips
& cold] –
It was a close-up
time of a small hinterland
in which I ruled with slim
lines in dirt –
Scratches in
this will heal
[not on vinyl]

I’ll repeat a worn quote – in
nature nothing exists alone
[it was kind of placed] – As
this one goes with dawdled
limp so it slows – No gather
or group to drown in – none
of that other breath to suck
on – no ill sweat to endure –
no time in close company &
time will then retire with me
to find compeers in dreams
& sink – a rare treat of flesh
[albeit conjured by my mind]

And I shall sleep like a Lord
in a sweaty place where we
we are equals
[where we lie
equal in how we lie & where
things may n’t continue] –
&
continuing with too far to go
in nights
[sleep unexampled
alone] –
I shall dream in brig
spans with defrags to settle
from a day’s intolerable heft
by hours charged & art shift
to claim my short payments
back –
our sleep charges us

Your age-sedated impetus
will scupper your attempts
to change – three decades
remain [on a good day] – a
decline to be allowed for &
other such adjustments – I
feel my way in a new bed –
a lover’s unknown shape &
sleep is our uneasy truce –
stiff in those inutile places
[my other by a blue tablet
& timing] – easier to evade
my grinding complications
& rise instead to morning’s
rude arrival [count her off]

& I shall return
to my dream –
disjunctions in
this day – I will
return to sleep
& her grip [see
how this works
online] – I am a
soothsayer [by
Google’s wrist]
& deniers slice
up time’s grip –
my tired eyes’ll
rest upon her –
no searches fit
all wider scans

Dive from that height you fear
into a pool [of unknown depth
yet measured] – Fall without a
thought to pause [such an act
demands absolution] – We will
find suddenness in water – hit
of giving & cald [a sudden kiss
of auld recalls] – Smooth deep
into that pool & bubble-form –
sound is compressed – sinking
then turned upside down – we
surface to air [best not forgot]
& to jag of poolside shouts – A
kick to that tile-faced side & a
safe place – your gut is still up
above you – your whole ripped
still by a revere of dive heights

Supping on my first beer
after another day of suck
of thoughts
[I feel bereft
inside –
drain-weighed &
unable to care] –
With all
those cramping spasms I
curl in my bed –
fingers a
thing that give sleep up –
spasms in my extremities
& my body will not play –
I find no sympathy & will
give up with such hopes
now that my time is a bill
against my kindness –
I’ll
depend upon no one now

I do not want to die now
in Uckfield – it is already
a ghost town – haunting
is half-felt prick-teasing
for long brain-dead – As
each month passes they
bury ‘nother body under
rubber mortuary sheets
[dead won’t sweat] – I’ll
not be buried in my suit
under spoilt local soils –
By God – kids can talk –
I am pint-locked in a bar
[in Lewes] with a Gen-Z
mouthing off to his gang
of hear-purposed mates
[gathered for his voice] –
he is influencing – Christ
I am sick of this shite – A
death in Lewes preferred
at this moment – shut up
[you gobby Tiktok prick!]

I shall write again to commemorate
my extend by another day [briefest
of moments guarantee each day is
real] – I’ll drift in my given time as if
it is endless – no final breath will be
met is our denial – let cocks crow &
call out thrice – sleep our rehearsal
for not ever waking again – Type is
my only time travel [with edits easy
vetos] & words an uneven path left
where I trod – a few bricks sit sunk
& are noted hazards – With lines by
my rules I take my day from others

& suddenly it is gone –
that so-arrant liar
[now
dead to us all –
with
a rutty entourage of
callous others] –
Push
away occasional drifts
of thoughts –
they will
rot more in time & your
thoughts’ll sweeten as
recall decays –
Fall for
a kinder soul is advice
taken now –
Dream as
if it doesn’t matter & a
beauty will supersede
that ghastly aftertaste
off an ill-advised other

I shall bray out my day
afore my screen’s brig
between often places
of now & virtual times
to be billed in hours –
other work pays other
ways – This latest one
has a scaff structure –
cold & coupled upright
above me [& yet to fill]
from which I will string
up occasional banners
declaring my interests
to others [hanging not
good enough] – A day
of standing desk work
complains in my limbs
before I stand in place
for nine hours [desist]

Parts of me crack open –
they may never heal –
my
thumb
[here I rolled oars
& multicores] –
my shin is
a patch of itchy bark –
at
this age I am nature’s fall-
guy –
erosion & lichen will
reduce & add to my skin –
I am constant –
detrition a
force by time that’ll not fix
[shift from sapling to aged
oak in 50+ years] –
ever a
changer by natural ageing

This small town dawdles
towards sure extinction –
sucked off by doe-eyed
hures casting for profit &
profiles by gouging out a
shrill win on diversionary
gains – leave dignity at a
distance – leave honesty
buried in pampas grass –
leave kisses in low parts
[gain poor reputations in
others’ hooded eyes] – A
demand for crude art will
bloat each lean market –
& every return is misfiled
[to gain advantage] – Out
that ugly immaculateness
of mirror-set regards [we
see them staring in glass]

This winter-ish evening
is low & ink-run of light –
April dawdles with chill-
bone acts by God – see
how that squat brow of
hail-ish rain comes over
our surrounds – cloud &
bullying breezes hurry –
we sucked on warm air
last week – but now our
scarves are rejoined & I
am shivering by a fire’s
meagre shunts of heat
[this Spring is indolent]

It is an Israeli coffee –
steam
escapes a crust of grindings
as I wait for it to separate &
some kind of settlement –
A
spooned heap & hot water –
enough
[in early sun] to put
me on Ruti’s swept veranda
& back in Netzer Sereni
[my
flights cancelled due to hail
of holy wars] –
You sip it as
birds sing –
tide-marks ring
on my mug’s inside –
a time
kept before others rise –
I’ll
let this sunlight bright on a
while yet before work here
takes me from taste of war

My capacity to read
has been reduced –
I strain to presume
how people are –
In
vowel-round eyes I
cannot form a line –
a fair interpretation
of how thoughts sit
is not mine to espy
[or believe] –
Crawl
of light explanation
& shortform saids –
asides left unread –
my stories will form
a tacit narrative left
in verse you hook –
thieves of meaning
rove between looks

We are all cowering from
this condition –
incurable
& defeating
[this slowing
of everything except our
time contained] –
There’s
a coven I knew who’ll be
living in fear of its drag &
pull on their skin –
cracks
& sag-weightings by age
[unstoppable cruelties for
any narcissist –
I knew so
many –
men & women] –
I
will avoid all contact with
such defeated souls –
‘til
we gather
[without flesh]
& honesty is bare-tested

These paths are thick
with drained mud –
as
we walk my heel sinks
& sticks –
surfaces are
slick tricks
[a re-set of
ditches & drains has a
wasted drag on levels
as rain pools] –
This a
marked route to other
times where my kids
[I
am singular now] ran –
A dyke of sorts circles
a sham lake –
middled
with a bare island that
has a risen whale’s arc
above water –
not our
destination this time –
no clinker boat to row
as we punt over paths

Here –
now –
this sense
of exuberance is my fill
before sleep draws me
in to her warming grip –
I’ll greet a soft collapse
of a pillow
[as if her lap
opened up] –
I have my
jouissance returned by
another [lighting up] –
I
am enamoured & ready

Frost will not be as common
as it was –
We cracked thru’
leas –
ice was thick for days
at a time
[enough to glaze &
stiffen flooded fields] –
coat
of white –
close-up sparkled
spray of a cold-giving God &
no warmth for numb fingers
shoved into pockets of stuff
& how thin our clothes hung
on our small skinny shrugs –
Exhales chimney-plumed &
then combined over our line
outside a pre-fab classroom
[we blew in awe] –
Inside all
that nature was held back &
our education adjusted to a
heated hour of core thought

For L

Bird song late above us
in winter view trees & a
chorus of yobs over by
a stretch of castle land
in wood-burn air
[toxic
enough to worry] –
We
pair down to roads I’ve
not walked in decades
& find my still past is a
dull road-town of nose-
to-tail parked cars & a
few bright front rooms
[here hope invested in
rising value of bricks] –
I kiss you by that flint-
rutty wall around Pells
Pool –
too tall for you –
I look over & we are in
recall of paddled kids
& cold water thrills –
I
am floating with you –
we are swimming in it

I am feeling out cruel end-days
with my stiffening senses
[time
will hasten my demise it is said
– a long-in-t’-tooth soothsayer
mumbles his wearing advice] –
Some’ll seek refuge in sleep &
touch a lucent dream enough –
we will live youthful nights & in
our beds put off a last slumber
long enough –
enough to avoid rub of thought
& enough to avoid it all –
‘til our
stir from such distraction falls –
nine thousand sleeps & then I’ll
count no more
[stiffening done]

A quarter of a century left
for my expectation effects
to affect
[from my sixtieth
year marked this day by a
meal & small gathering]
I’ll
see time’s shined funnel &
trip to grip that sheer face
as gravity adds difficulties
to my body & Gods play in
my mind –
I should nod to
an unknown next
[placing
a bet on long-ish odds of
life-after-life to secure my
seat above] –
I’ll try to improve my gripe
on this steep-scarped life

I woke out of a false reverie
where all of us talked & our
normality was restored –
as
if it had not gone wrong –
A
conversation pained –
pang
ran through acts –
& almost
[almost] conscious enough
to wake re-newed –
but not
a truth –
typical tricks
[by a
too-quick mind –
all mine &
mine done –
it too will fade]

As auld folk we’ll deteriorate
in great heat we made in our
greedy hot houses fifty years
before –
our kids will be kind
enough to offer a dignified &
quick end via suffocation
[by
then free to all-comers] –
My
grandkids’ll resent stills kept
of cooler days –
of auld ways
snapped when water wasn’t
a threat & our saviour –
Here
is my forecast of loathly
day-&-night
ire by every juvenile

There –
that thrub-thrub
smarts as a shooting-up
of my irregular thump &
recoil in auld body parts

[a common-place art of
discomforts in my body]

& it shall pass from here
to be my quick-to-forget
moment –
ache emptied
by time & stretches out –
This is an ancient place –
gyp

[root in gee-up]

is a
sure thing we’ll all wear
in later days & embrace

We are scurrilous men
in our last decades –
in
bars we deny auld fuck
ups
[we beat ourselves
up & bruise bright] –
I’ll
gift raw advice that you
do not need & in return
you feed me lines
[from
your spun off reels] –
As
ales sink we‘ll scuttle
[&
drown in moments] –
in
quick time this’ll pass &
we’ll forget our counsel

Kiss of light mid-March
at this hour is a boon &
sucked on by my bone-
pile – now at sixty years
of age [a whispering of
rising ardour strips out
my laid-up fat – even at
this mark in time] & all
those plans will ruin in
this later decade – I am
tired [but awake] – See
how my greying hair is
my breadcrumb’d path
behind me – but I’ll not
return by it – I flake as I
age – love may save me

I hated those notes atop
that wardrobe –
paid-for
salacity – a gig that’d not
be let go of –
with those
terms a contract dulls &
a re-write valid –
I revisit
pasts only because I am
asked how this is –
Truth
is a glass of sour poison
sipped over years –
With
each repeat of twistings
of chapters every player
spins under tongue-lick
of old wives’ tales –
Thin
lips open up too much –
I hear fools misdirected
to uncoiled mis-truths –
her notes had no worth
[dust down all surfaces]

No rain over a few days
[& I miss its persistence
& inconvenience] –
Pain
is also forgotten in that
same way –
It is said by
those still intact after a
life of hard knocks that
our bodies forget every
agony
[I am not of that
school of thought] –
As
dry day follows dry day
we will lose those lakes
& risen threats & forget
how rain drowns fields
& trails long enough to
claim new wetlands –
A
drought will persist as I
take to longer walks on
a soon-to-be hard path
from A to B & back
[my
boots no more sucked]
& for now rain’ll run off

My neck cricked as we kissed
in my car – I was still in drive &
did not allow for such stuff as
I pulled up to drop you at your
house – my foot hard (against
my brake pedal) – although I’d
hoped for something on those
lines – a longed-for long kiss &
embrace (but without a crick) –
& then goodbyes – still in drive

You know one of these cold
mornings will be one of our
last – that almost-changing
of season we are reconciled
to is now [all heel-dragging
of shifts between phases of
weather patterns] – it’s now
we notice no stop-starts on
hedgerows – fooling shoots
of green enquiry feel for air
that may not now be crisp –
I expect a sharp frost to hit
before May – perhaps a last
ever on this fancy latitude?

Tea in a mug – propped up
in my bed – a scent left off
you [two hair grips tipped
on their sides other clues]
& your head turned to me
to put your lips to mine – I
sip my hot brew as rubs &
touches replay enough to
shift my centre up from its
lolled state [this is waking
as it should be] – risings to
a night’s recalls re-sipped

Travelling backwards towards
Milan –
there will be no routes
re-run here is in my thoughts –
not in away matches –
more a
trip to gaze at buff statues on
a card marked ‘to do before I
die’
[not on a guided tour] –
A
thousand other tasks will ask
more of me before that time –
perhaps I will fall in love with
someone kind
[perhaps I will
& find that love can be so] –
A
hundred+ other ticks to place
on my litany of ornery chores
[know love high on my ‘to do’]

A jilted [un-buttoned] rose
with lip-ish pouts of petals
was there – gutter-nestling
[tossed?] & settled – tip off
of another Lewes wedding
that may go Pete Tong in a
decade – misdemeanour’ll
flower – Here a hundredish
fag butts – heft confetti on
step-worn flagstone where
time has sucked for others –
Their nuptial breakfast left
to cool this morning too? A
plaque of splattered blood
[records of pissed fisticuffs
in night-afore shenanigans
between men in ill-fit suits
weighted by a deposit] – In
a flowerbed a broken tooth
& a fat swab-wad of loo roll
[crimson-heavy] a wet vow

I have learned how to
luxuriate in nothings –
no doings [no making
or building-ofs ] this it
seems is fine – Place a
kiss on my cheek & I’ll
move my mouth quick
& take that lip-contact
as somethin’ of us – all
fleet construct – Touch
will be next – expected
of course – for that is a
circuit towards love – I
will drag through mud
& endure it [enough] &
then hold you close – A
grip un-encountered &
[then] we’ll make it up
[as if awestuck virgins]
enough to rip giggling

Every atonement –
is that a
truth of our Universe
[fixed
by other sizes over us?] –
In
your flotation chamber is a
lapping-up of gravity
[there
I nudged those edges of] –
I
am a spaceman set adrift &
then lost in your enormous
love –
Bump-bump on brim
of performed never-ending
stuff –
brine-sore in an hour
& then louder whale-songs
call in pre-formed wholes –
You’re a keeper of it all –
In
my meted time I drifted off
to shallow reaches
[stuck &
un-shoveable] –
all enough

How these come about
is a mind game for me –
my clueless crosswords
set every day [I compel
playing of them &’ll fail
a few mornings] – Fill –
air-words – writ long on
my phone & mirroring –
found synchronised on
my other devices – This
is my sandpit of vowels
& grains of truth [I shall
place my spade & dig &
re-fill that blue bucket]
& weep as my memory
scrapes at honest days
in my role as a father &
builder of sand-castles

Every morning I am amazed
by my settle of dreams from
my night before – that other-
world place lives – spewings
of grotesque & grandeur [as
sex & liars entwine] – shame
worn without superfluity of
flush-face [I’ve never seen a
mirror in my sleep] – Recital
will always fail & those slips
from scene-to-scene fade in
my grab of consciousness &
be left as brief clips – Weigh
of flesh [& misfit of clothes]
are lifted from my morning
of re-sets [but sweet grains
stay – sense will taste them]

My fingers need to grip
twenty-five years more
& then give out –
a haul
on mouse & keyboards
my labour
[plotterings
to be done until then] –
to keep me fed & warm
into ageing’s tight coils
of shortening time –
We
will live with difference
in weather’s attitude &
climate’s gripe –
I see it
re-set each day in spite
of claims of otherwise –
I’ll grow old in unsettle
days of strewn seasons
& shall entreat a shelter
[as my final indulgence]

This – a [fresh] instant
in months that I have
stood on grass [albeit
a triangular planting]
& I leaped my reroute
back to a harder-path
measure – stress-slips
sprung? Gone – fallin’
fears flown [as I leapt
that isle of landscape
design in a car park] –
then on an unnatural
route towards a store
removed from nature
[vast vegetable aisles –
this is how we plough
& harvest – 24-hourly]

546 words for drunkenness
will pass like piss –
drunk –
I
can summon tight –
albeit a
hard one to pass ‘less stuck
up –
sunken in a mullerin’ a
more apt label I’ll employ –
I do not get blotto so much
as then I’m awful company
for myself –
Don’t get ratted
alone my tip for my kids –
A
man arsehold is spent –
As I
drink I will sink into booze’s
depths of cock-eyed looks &
proclamations about Tories
& their filthy lies –
gin-merry
fools –
soused souls best left
to their dirty back-handers –
& 546 words are not enough
to sober us up –
Cheers for that

There should be an ancient word
for such – but that hard surface is
too modern [& that effect offered
not seen ‘til tarmac’s sheen] – We
will be chalk replacements if sent
whole into resting holes – dusting
a box as loose excavations spill a
scattering of calcium carbonates
across that sweep of tar & stones
through cemetery gates down to
uneven roads [they dig with your
height in mind – not that you will
ever stand again] – Almost a drag
of now-wet confetti – or blossom
trodden in – I shall name it scuffs

Centre yourself in this
[this now] –
there is no
other time –
word-falls
will follow ricochets of
recall
[our future is set
without control in this
now] –
Damage by liar-
spun pasts are not our
scars to peel off –
Your
ugly auld lovers are as
mine –
not now
[& not
again] –
Count in & out
your breaths & loosen
with each momentary
death of air –
our pasts
aren’t now or our ever

This is a concern –
that warming up –
that shifting from
auld narratives of
seasons [we were
masters of slides –
ice skid kids] – As
these greyer days
pile up into damp
blocks – rainfall a
threatening burst
of yellow alerts &
treacherous road
conditions – each
wet record claims
a first – we will be
hunkered by it all
& wonder why – a
query ‘bout place
[& living on flood
plains] – Greed is
our master [& got
us here] – Discuss

When I wake alone again &
have debriefed my dreams
[& reset what is real] then I
can start [once more] with
all this daily stuff of reality
[that’ll compound & hurry
each experience in whirls –
heartaches spin] – One day
I will recover – I tell myself
this as if it is true – This my
seventh decade’s calling &
my happiness isn’t coming
back [not truly] – I’ll not lie
like others still do & not be
guile-less about it all [& as
tides rise there is less land
to walk on – less will bide]
& I’ll bear truth in my days
after difficult dreams fade

I shall steer as instructed
by my father –
wider on a
corner –
read that unseen
by looking up at trees & a
festoon of power cables –
see how this road curves
before warning signs –
he
knew that others weren’t
to be trusted –
watch how
their wheel is worked
[no
trust in bright signals] –
A
stationary car is not still –
there are others around it
who may move out –
here
we see a child leap after a
loose ball
[think swerving
in case] & envisage worse
things to avoid collisions –
slow through gear-shifts &
come to a halt –
stop now

How should we regard
our futures with every
variable ready to shift –
with only time fixed in
our plans [how should
we cope?] – I take each
day with salty pinches
to inspirit luck’s grips –
Hours with less surety
in hand only make my
time-keeping worse – I
will rise late after fools
with jobs have rinsed –
sins in sink whirlpools
as spun rules – My day
is slow to play – I’ll not
be governed – no more
sent to a desk by time-
short hour-sat whores
with desires for daddy
[or other sugary treats
to rot their teeth] – See
other entries to uncoil
& take offence at truth

A man at that poetry reading
turned to me & asked if I too
had written any – 2,700+ was
my response [published in a
random national collection –
& to be found in America – in
some pamphlet] – so ‘yes’ – A
reply sent – numbered [& left
to float between us] – anyone
can do this stuff – write verse
by coupling bright words – us
vowel-sellers turn tricks for a
filthy-minded audience sat &
ready for dirt – Some do it for
greater rewards & some do it
for an assurance of likes only
[it’ll depend on which drug] –
My irregular fix is sweet ‘nuff
& best left unsaid – no shows

What we have does not matter
[what we are missing’ll matter
more] –
Our brick-built egos on
streets set out to establish our
wealth will be ravaged by time –
I’ll take my revenge by ageing’s
failure of skin –
every facade is
set to ebb
[arses pitted without
a defence] & finitude will fulfil
that last desire –
no kisses left
for dry lips
[my retort unheard
but said] –
Let me outlive it all
& laugh above last-lied places
beside long-beloved relatives
[where skin & bones’ll loosen
& what was hid wormed-true]

A re-filling of such tiredness
as if I had consumed far too
much again & slept badly –
I
put up with too-rich dreams
about sex & damage –
those
ugly grockles in my sleep –
A
re-set with daylight’s itch & I
work out
[I attempt to] what
it meant each time –
not that
I ever know for sure –
Quality
has fled this empty house of
mine
[transcendence is now
a mis-remember of reveries]
& my poems show value falls
away from piles of thoughts

& I shall tell ‘em all that truth
one day –
it will counter every
misdirection –
it’ll upset others
[for sure] but
not as intended
[even with an
archive of mis-representation
by those same] –
Let me speak
without other voices over-laid
[& any sans-serif sub-titles put
under my words] –
Allow me a
scene uncut by ugly editors of
unattractive stuff
[& let me say
how it was]

See ‘em –
visor-bound arses
on ski slopes seeking thrills
on fake snow –
flying in to a
villa filled with other cunts –
heading downhill fast –
wish
‘em broken bones next –
Far
on another run
[engorged &
hard] as late snow melts off
schedule –
it will all be gone
& then ski cunts will fuck off

A small hollowing of every
moment when not in love –
one of those tin globes-as-
a-bell for yuletide dressing
or a rolling toy – ball within
ball – it is now contained in
space – my distance is held
as time tumbles [existence
a count of nothings] – Fool-
kisses amount to less – our
wide-cast bids to espy love
find us empty nets – pull in
& throw again – hope’s line
will rub between fingering
[& I will sink into that void]

Your Nativity is not there in
any Bible [& all three kings
a confluence of star-gazers
seeking out God’s account
after a brief life of a Jewish
Christ] – Scripts recalled for
proud parents sung loud &
spat out before wobbly set
& stage directions are met –
a line for every child – drug-
of-God this Christmas crap
we sniff at – tea-towelled &
dressed for their part – Our
lies at this Yuletide double
with merry fucking Santa’s
trip ‘round a hateful world

Crawl along these lines
looking for women [sat
with their legs spread] –
mansplain will work as
well here as elsewhere
& is put down among a
dozen other remarks – I
sleep well alone – night
work is not a disturbing
return – a sour breath &
other colognes gone – a
feeble excuse unseen in
waking morning’s close
contact – Enough said –
I don’t trade in raw lies
or sham jewels – Butter
a sempiternal knob on
that night-worn tongue
& waking is mine alone
without dream’s curdle
on our truth-dried kiss
[with less disturbance]

See those two men stumbling under – I
am one [pool-deep boozing possible &
considered] – a brief evening sat across
from wizened wine-kissed women – we
will trade cultural references as if coins
on a shuffle board – yours pile higher &
sway – My youth? Less booth-peerings –
my labour was in distances [not in reel-
weights met in running times] – you set
a rebuild [to keep tills rung] as I swung
without a full harness – my freedoms a
gift – your flicks a pit? – but from it such
[so much] more seen from behind light
& conjour of frames – Yours? This world
enough to know now their full names –
a retold universe – you’ve travelled well

Now – that time of year of
fireside hatred in wrap of
wider family discomfort –
set off by kerb-side fights
about numbers of rooms
[& derisible extensions] –
I’ll avoid such distrust by
not getting sucked off by
cock-hungry families [all
those mouths to feed] – I
will not gift diamonds as
love’s locum tenens – my
holiday time will be a lull
[without presents of lies]

In this pub I’m disconnected
by wifi & other shortcomings
& so am alone [my foam-rich
pint my upright friend] – chat
rattles on a full table – kids at
lunch with their mothers – all
others have given distance to
them – a rage of log-heat tips
my eyes to that heavier side –
I don’t do afternoon boozing
well any longer – a small dog
gazes fondly at me [& I could
weep with loss] – a pub spew
of unpublishable beer words

P&A Leach –
Local fish caught
by our own family –
high lines
writ
[flaking paint] –
below it a
hip
[too-quiet] clothes shop –
I
sit in a four-quid coffee house –
a dull establishment –
wearing-
offs do not complete their run
against time’s rule –
lead layer
of memories & fishing families
[perhaps not] –
a bitterness
[as
sipped] is as expensive as fish –
we don’t shop as well as once

How slow these trains’ll roll
towards low coastal towns –
Under night-sparkling cowls
of hefty star-cloth drapes we
slump in hard carriage seats
& try not to sleep [tippings’ll
wake us until we give in – our
chins drop & drool’ll fall] – A
mutter further down forms a
subtle word-pattern – a chat
of companions coded in air –
we will not know what’s said
between strangers five rows
away – Lights play a theatre’s
game of on & offs – Coughs’ll
be contained post-Covid in a
cup of hands – A rolling rocks
us all off to our lost cradlings
in kinder arms – rails hold us
to that less kept to timetable

Shall we admit now that
this doesn’t work & shall
we retire from being? All
my cerebrations need to
be rewired for new regs –
new rules apply – I’ll tire
quickly under cumbrous
edicts off bureaucrats [a
man who lives by others
ruling will likely to retire
irate] – Boomer status’ll
wear away for us aulden
men – those younger will
also rot badly – we’ll see
them again on dark tidal
heights – It doesn’t work
in life – call me after this
ends where Hades hides
& I’ll regurgitate my own

Cursed hours of brain scans
in wards [again all lies] – I’m
that tested body [my cost &
weight on our NHS – pounds
of flesh & more or less exact
or not] – I ain’t good ‘nough
to offer a solid base – failure
to keep it up for auld loves a
loose problem [reflecting as
their own lust goes wrong] –
I’ll deny my told disabilities
& sort love’s short-comings –
I never get to see my scans –
inside shots of grey matters
beyond my education grade
[& I will conjure a diagnosis]

These engagements’ll reduce
for all of us [& less chances to
finally rub up hard – as well] –
My time is measured in dates
Next Friday any good? – We’ll
play a game to on-line rules –
red flag – green flag [others’ll
be used if required] & subtler
flags not flown – ‘less we find
love in steam-fat coffee cups
in unintended matching-ups
without misread dating apps
[& other coded conjunctions]
& we’ll find love’s endurance
through gifts of eye contacts

Seeing Alan Kurdi’s body
[as it was] marked ends –
& my beginnings –
we all
had to show something –
in spite relatives raised a
fist against his family & a
right to flee
[they denied
routes north] –
I wrote in
devices
[not on] with my
pecking finger –
Love ran
out as Med surf rolled on
with tide-swollen bodies
marking highest points –
I avoided politics
[in taut
family gatherings] –
now
too much hate sat still at
dining tables –
they were
quick to sour all courses
with their easy racism –
a
crude Daily Mail as sweet

There – that thought rises up
with my morning – unspoken
as ever – a glimpse allowed &
then ushered off [to a place I
avoid] – It’ll settle with feline
repose [not stirring for now]

All my day will be rubbing at
that first moment’s staining –
application of light scourers
on fragile surfaces – I sleep &
never expect to wake with it
on me – there that thought &
that is how my day will start

Bags for life from M&S
for squat beige men &
ragging women –
their
destiny in out-of-town
trips up to Maresfield
& drive-throu’ coffees
set –
A next-door thrill
in a grey Premier Inn
[as auld local lasses lie
on their backs for a fill
of strangers] –
not their
cup-of-tea –
so onward
for pickings –
trolleyed
folk seek their gains in
piles of Xmas delights –
& they accrue points
[&
a future of pleasure] as
those tired girls fumble
with fat men’s treasure
in a shabby hotel room
by M&S & Costa Coffee

& it is commented upon –
is ‘e still knockin’ out his
wordshit?
He pokes at it –
typing to forget so much
heard from others –
cons –
our lives should be full o’
cash & TV & suckin’ off fat
builders & spouting truth
in loud voices
[or sneer &
gossip from middle-class
fortresses on four floors] –
He bumped into a shrew
at his docs –
a weasel-ish
Tory-ish voter
[for Brexit]
who sees shortages of all
he desired
[in small-town
eyes he’s that fallen man]
& retire in Italy?
Aborted for
ageing in his ugly Britain –
f*cked by upper class fists
[letting ‘em baste his face]

As age weighs we are less
trustworthy –
we are wary
of given things –
a present
of fact first unwrapped
[in
bright light] –
Honesty is a
half-worn garment –
wrap
of knit-wear –
stitches lost
so rent holes appear –
See
how others play our game
with their seventh-decade
poker face set-to-ready?
In
this screen-held world our
beliefs are at arms length –
a scroll to ascertain if –
my
device is full of moments –
of what I have seen as real
& I won’t delete –
others’ll
carry theirs as quick relief
from looking up & being a
viewer –
in sooth nescient

& she has been reading
my poetry online –
a bit
late –
because love was
drowned
[by her word-
weights in my coat] –
in
my memory no beauty
remains to grace recall
[& some say she is now
foul] –
whiff o’ mistruth
is heavy as if turned up
by that sewage works –
churn of our shite
[into
potable gulps] & we all
hold our noses so tight
to avoid any stench off
aside averments –
that
word will be looked up

They accompany their wives
in soft shadows – shufflers &
mumblers in tow – men of an
age struck silent by a mellow
position [yes to his wife in all
circumstances] – they’ll smile
in agreement [& concur] – As
shopping bags tug at arms &
commands are hissed at him
he will not question dignity’s
missing person [his own loss
on high street shopping trips
never regained – his is ceded
by his demeanour] – she will
keep him three steps behind
by English ryosai kenbo rule

She walked past & looked
across in an opposite way
as if I sat unseen
[her auld
man an equal bigot & foul
speaker] –
no need to be a
kindly acquaintance –
Run
off recalls of their bodies –
we met through ex-desire
to review an unspeakable
enquiry –
never a pleasure
in truest sense for me –
As
sticky routines resurfaced
so did my distrust of such
& so did distaste’s tongue
of thrusts in loathly voids
[annoying my auld recall
with picking-backs of dry
ugly scabs] –
A poor town
of dogging opportunities

You will inhabit a sturdy box
[if wealthy] –
a long slumber
of less human disturbances –
a quiet crumbling into dried
stiffness of joints
[decay our
only option in that place] –
A
choice – a still bed or burnin’
is made for you by what you
have left in your cold rooms
& accounts –
your phone will
die too & your kept stuff will
be cast
[majority of it thrust
into charity’s sale] –
we’ll be
lost to other lives –
wisps on
a chimney’s rough lips
[last
lick of an incinerator’s kiss] –
regret shared by a mourner
with common friends is our
final presence
[nothing felt
from then on in emptiness]

I have become a shopkeeper
by accident [less need to sell
& more to engage] – courses
I’ve followed [to date] aren’t
set out in some route march
to an end – no end is desired
[with that is your quietus] – I
look at auld married men as
they shuffle between told-to
moments [those alone seem
to bloom in freedoms – we’ll
do well to observe] – I sell all
I want to at fair prices I print
& restock at my own pace – a
singular thing is a swell life –
honour your advertised rate

He had seen how she’d been
with her previous leman
[his
place maintained by her vow
to be just like Her before her –
but never out-do in regard to
men] –
humiliation that sport
played out again
[& again] &
he’d no urge to be contained
[curbed by fast rules] –
a fool
cast to play parts for cash –
a
later appointment on offer &
he’ll not pay for nights again

Suited men peel a tailoring layer
of authority to roll up sleeves – A
photo-opp to show how they are
[in times of need] – Don’t believe
their ill-fit of words [vowels from
empire-day-rounds of claims] – A
short history of obfuscation now
fills Hansard’s record – They suck
upon Musk’s cock-sure offerings –
misdirection could win elections
by X bots [bow to an industrialist
& his bounty] – They’ll never vote
you in or begin to reform ways to
broaden power’s perquisites – by
each term’s end they’ll win again
& celebrate in sharp-suited gains

This is a seasonal thing
upset by our greed – all
those childhood marks
are being rubbed off – I
knew for sure at 12yrs –
seasons aligned on our
calendar [we ne’er had
a monsoon in Britain &
floods rare] – We made
our ice slides to school
all through December –
Spring that next thing –
along with April’s rain –
glimpses of heat – then
autumn’s rape – a loop
without a disturbance –
I feel that sunlit kiss in
November – cowp by it
all – scuttle of seasons

Those most over-qualified
gossips are usually men in
pubs over slow pints – they
pick at soft-edged scabs of
others’ intrigues – I’ll name
a few if that interests you &
then their shame’ll bloom –
red faces tipped to sups of
their draining beers – As all
those raw snippets of truth
stack in their exchanges so
they draw on now-emptied
pulls & tap [& a glass’ll shift
into rounded your turn] – A
story about cuckolds [& all
that sex stuff they adore as
porn] – now they scour at a
couple’s misfortune – Easy
to be a sanctimonious fool

There are two auld men
who would rather fish in
fast rivers than flounder
in front of a screen [slap
on rocks by quick slips &
constant current flow as
an interference] – Ahead
finitude’ll swirl in a pool
& offer a quiet drowning
for both – They cast out –
fly & float to tease glints
to feed – nibble & then a
pull to hook – they don’t
mention fish pain – Rod
& landing net’ll connect
by lifted line to win that
round – No extraction is
shown – They’ll creak as
they bend to cast it off –
And away is their call to
each release [it will be a
wiser fish] – Age will eye
each river turn – erosion
is felt [depositions less]

Could we [now] agree that we
are tired of dating sites & app-
shenanigans [& yarn flaunting]
as I don’t believe photographs
are honest companions in this
lie explosion – I am tired of it –
eyes shaded by glasses – shots
of distant bodies – resurrected
Polaroids – you fib – you post a
snip from 2010 & have not any
shame [again I ask be honest –
do not stretch auld skin] – Am
I alone in such complaints? As
we sit [faced] your truth fades
by time’s untouch of level – I’ll
appraise your wrinkle in years
set in [we shouldn’t lie again]

Compression of carriage-
set people – our shiftings
between stations a short
shuffle or clamber – trip-
hazards a-bound – this is
intimacy & exchanges of
elbowed contact – We sit
travel-facing or backs to
destination without eye
contact intended – Hints
of stuff eaten [& stinking
afters] mix with perfume
& deodorants – We burst
from slid doors as puss –
to mis-step our strides &
be re-funnelled as herds
through stubborn gates
[eyed by a high-vis man]
& down to those tunnels

We tap – easily-liking
photographs of auld
friends via Facebook
until we die [without
meeting up those all
untouched – ones we
regard] – Such is life –
cheap addiction met
online – My overseas
family shelters from
unwanted images [a
bloody swift stream
of cuts & shots] – We
should avert eyes as
if blind – my nephew
is a new father & sits
in Israel in tears – he
bears parenthood’s
weakness for others
[life he’s never met]

Sat once more – after
twenty years – in that
pub [just off Western
Terrace] – Sea View is
its USP with addition
of fifty wind turbines
[my eyesight fails me
at distance] – I was at
ease in my company
then – this loneliness
an unexpected – pub
excursions never in a
one-chair past – [over
decades I have failed
to keep amity’s hand
in mine] – A Guinness
is sipped sat in peace
before my turning up
to an appointment in
another NHS block – I
will go [ten minutes &
I’ll be touched] – later

They are now gathering
outside Crowborough’s
post office – droppers &
pickers – bundle-heavy –
9:04 & that glass door is
still locked – watch-look
to confirm tardy at time-
keeping – huffs will pass
once inside – A mist lugs
over rooftops as us age-
bound go shop to shop –
then coffees in Waitrose
& one of their fine cakes
afore loneliness returns
at our open front doors

She was her mother’s scolds
& vitiated carrier into a cruel
future of discontent –
it runs
in many families –
I saw her –
half of auld folk out walking
a hijacked dog –
Ageing’ll do
this to all
[our town is a foul
drain of poorly recalled arcs
of redirected gobs] –
Time is
time’s worst reference point
when looking back –
never a
right choice –
That sour pair
strolled bent in their way by
ageing’s sudden ferity –
I am
keeping an eye on a column
that lists births etc
[& live in
hope of news] –
They’ll read
& try to unwind cast lines –
I
spike a maggot upon a hook
[they tap at dictionary apps]

& I saw Christ spread across
that begrimed rear window
of a tourist bus –
& he stared
up
[in his way] at God & was
not interested in us mortals
who stood in a loose queue
for a next
[late] time-tabled
lift from that sweaty village
down to cool coast-lines
[&
escape from altitude’s suck
of good air] –
We had seen a
lost civilisation’s remains &
climbed with modern men
up boot-worn steps to insta
heights –
wifi there for all &
sundry with smart phones –
we wanted down & out of it
now –
sweat ran into beads
on your back –
salt-kiss skin

Last time I was in a French port
rats scattered before me –
I had
hitched past Lyon
[with my bag
cutting into my shoulder] & got
close ‘nough to walk & not feel
that empty stretch by thumbs –
do folks hitch all alone?
& then
an end of all roads
[a giving up
cul de sac fell into that chop of
cold harbour waters] –
No hard
guidance by lines & kerbsides –
now low tides my map
[this all
before ‘phones & all that] –
Lift
your head & follow this coast –
snub fat foreign rats –
re-route
my choice
[guesswork’s voice]
& I headed west by foot & eye

This crawl between calls
& instant feelings is such
a game [no rules set by a
governing body] & liking
a rathe act for most of us
[left-right swiped fast] – I
reckon on love [like you]
by flit glances at photos
posted by us advertisers
of selves – laid line items
to seduce next lovers [or
not] & I remember when
we met in blessed times
IRL – courtship was easy
to enjoin – face-to-face a
chance to breathe you in
[& understand you more]

This is my hollowing
into auld age – feel it
having no core – less
is my out-come – not
a Fitzcarraldo-esque
haul over a hilltop in
hope [no cigar or red
upholstered chair] – I
have no audience [or
wave-home-whores] –
less mud-drag shore
of failed re-launches
& known opera score
as a settled-on scene
[with time now mine
to profit from] – A far
bend turns sharp on
a map – I am warned

Surrender less to blind hope
of an easier life –
We creep in
cold echo palaces –
our pasts
follow us
[as if loosened tags
bearing reduced prices] –
my
hinterland of recall is broad –
I’ve lived in a hundred towns
in five countries –
Now a time
to move from my whore-land
of re-bounding thoughts –
Off
to a last-lived place of dignity
& less disgraces –
We will look
in blown mirrors & see shapes
posed to tempt
[nothing’s left
that tastes sweet] –
pray for me

I’m so aware of this frailty
that curls round my heart
within arcs of loneliness –
I fear auld age’s curtailing
of opportunity to live new
moments on other shores
& in others’ arms [I will be
found without] – Days tick
by & I only talk to Alexa – I
have my one-sided time &
miss no one [my fool-trick
brag to survive] – I will not
reap a happiness from my
muted days – surely not ‘til
every echo chamber refills
with a new song [yet sung]
will this time be bearable –
I hear less from auld choirs
[& know that choristers fail
more] – I will perform solo

How little we are [a-lone
with ourselves] – naught
is each last act – nothing
to hold to if not held to –
some will do [with some
half-way house] & some
will never embrace ‘gain
because being held was
another’s gain – minutes
in silence are a luxury of
sorts – a quiet court with
less quarrels & intrigues
to bruise time’s face – As
those houses are traded
in tailing of self-worth &
esteem – to fatten how it
seems to others & us – in
buying & selling it is lost
[even as deeds fold] – At
that lone moment you’ll
be held – but only if love
was less for investments

Cliff Richard drove a filthy
white Jag – parked up by a
back door – a teacher from
my first school stood close
& flirted – I can recall times
in nineteen seventy some-
thing – scraps of unreliable
scripts in me – I can sweep
through glossy corridors &
settle to view five decades
lost moments – a rewrite &
edit room fool – St Paul’s a
no-more-school – He sung
to us in assembly & talked
too much about his God &
we knew only who he was
& then he was off – so how
come I see his car & recall
that scene as a far viewer?

We do not do well with illness
[men] – underlying constants –
long-term decline of neurality
& pleasure soften our mind [&
put us among those decrepit –
those poor house men] – We’ll
take set drugs & succumb to a
path of expectation – it’ll keep
consultants quiet [doing dose-
paths] – I watch my friends arc
& loop to cruel side-effects – a
long-term dis-benefit – I’ll not
give in to drug’s corruption by
easy embrace – avoid ugliness
fixing under my furrowed skin

We were late
[getting in to
Mancs.] – but
quick ‘nough
to our places
to see a goal
[again] v. Old
Trafford’s net
at one end [&
in another – 2
more times] –
a win [‘gain] –
every game a
play – theatre
won’t disport
quite so well –
happy travels
to dour towns
[ups & downs
in table form]

There will be disturbances
in Marseille – I hitched thru
as a twenty-two year auld –
port town – Southampton’s
French twin [both I’ve seen
from shores] – Do not loiter
in a football shirt or sing in
too loud drunken voices – I
saw men get a kicking [‘cos
of voice] – Seagulls speak a
weird kind of French – caws
accent-spent – a police rule
of law [indecent acts under
their baton whips] – I saw a
dead girl float face down in
rippled rise – tide-wet dead

I am curious about this
creep of pain –
my feet-
first cramping & then a
catch up in my hands –
they are gloved in finer
discomfort –
lock-up &
stiffness grips –
work is
an unavoidable game –
I play under deadline’s
rule of time –
clients do
not know of my grip by
hidden-ish difficulties –
& sleep is less easy too
[an inconvenience] –
in
this hour before I work
at others’ calls I review
woken-to disturbances

From: Onna ga kaidan wo agaru toki

She had re-set sex into
a low commercial trick
by garish underwear &
hour rates [unmet – her
desire to be adored] – a
bed-sore reward in laid
flat places [submission
for an hour’s call – then
back to usual lies] – Her
dishonest work a call &
blamed on her be-gone
past – easy games [paid
in slip of cash wads] – &
one day [in time’s rubs]
she’ll quit her ill-inform
about all that need [her
greed will fall from her]

I’ll travel over her face
without her knowing –
seated there –
such an
array of clean straight
teeth
[my hands’ll run
over her in my dream –
a nudge into slumber
& smoothness unfelt] –
Tippings of beer spark
my mind around –
this
last bus home thumps
over pot holes & whips
bent branches back by
double-decker height –
reckless deer’ll wait to
jump into headlamp’s
thwack –
roadkill is an
awaited thrill for quick
bucks at held wheels –
they haven’t seen how
much of a disfeature a
leaping roe’ll do –
we’ll
wake at our terminus –
disembark having slept
momentarily & dreamt
of shabby stuff & death

Under that hollow North Stand
of echoing concrete we sunk in
our post-match extra half pints
after pints & spat out laughter –
a fair trade of phone-read taps
at those pumps – men in hats &
numbered-up shirts sang ‘loud
‘nough to rouse undead hopes
of being invincible – at least ‘til
next day hang-overs kicked in –
& then our risen place will be a
reset by others’ wins – all good
in love & war & some don’t get
this art – our open-air theatrics

An amass of un-packed stuff
to make easy money is what
I am now [I am be-sieged by
buyings of papers & printing
& biodegradable packagings
as a later life re-set to relieve
my efforts some-how] – that
continued crawl towards my
calling of less selling time by
a shout of shorter dead-lines
[this will evanish is my hope]
& I’ve had enough of being a
whipping boy for virtual arts
of cash at this one man desk
[where my life fades – alone]

This counting down thing
of poems-until is my sand
timer [ten thousand’ll fall
at least] – Finitude’ll come
close to being so – a 3rd of
a way through too soon &
numbered hunches’ll kick
in their curious way – will I
die alone? I’ll avoid taunts
& poke [about my demise]
for one month [then two’ll
come ‘long at once] – Read
these lines with me [after I
have let them loose in this
public park] – Screen-time
will roll us slowly from our
life we scroll away – Clocks
do not tick on-line – Let me
out of y’ nebby mind – I am
fine – I will still count down
to 10-thou’ poems for now

In memory of a friend from ago

No longer there to answer
as herself [although she is
still visible in place] – days
now altered by absences –
I have walked with death’s
removals – shunt o’ flesh &
other body parts into a pit
that we never truly know –
back-fill’s weight less ours
to bear for now [I dream &
wander without cares in a
parallel closer clime] – my
nightly Heavens’ll iterate –
A choir of passed-bys sing
a song unbearable for my
waking self – they’ll not be
a loud chorus after dawn –
No sleep – Summon peace
my auld friend beyond all
this upset – dreams will be
your future place of being

Love for her was a one way
pull –
no giving
[it was said
‘loud after all] –
here in this
different place a difference
of thought forever exists –
I
will dig at my rot-rich plot –
Time’s composting of time
under passing of time –
See
this root?
It will lead me to
a starting point
[it thickens
with pulls] –
I will not plant
so selfishly ‘gain –
no more
short-lived blooms –
& I will
replace those brief flowers
[with unending devotions]

An incontrovertible truth
nests in my chest –
there a cold weight of fat
[of un-forgiven flesh] sits
in that mess –
[Olid] gulls
drag long-buried veins &
chuck them into tossing-
up throats
[feather-glugs
of pumped worms] –
see
how others swoop to dig
with hard beaks –
all flap
of cawk-cawk resolution
by a screeched-flock –
all
plump [& easy sat hens] –
feasting on bared breast –
flown soul-feeders –
Still
we lie as they swoop on
our easy entrails –
feasts
offered to any who want
to gorge
[a bird table set
to seat a dozen or more]
& we will not soar until a
score has tugged enough

A blank-let word column
[yet to be think-dressed –
yet to be eye-confirmed]
not addressed – I mislaid
an epistle [cloud failure]
& gave up all re-writings
with easy resignation – A
habit lost if interruption
is repeated – turn over in
bed & repay sleep’s lusts
of easy submission & no
assay at a tall crossword
[demit word-piling stuff]

Beer-thick post-match
conjunctions of mates
& half-known faces off
that Brighton run up &
away from other pitch
battles on shingle – All
our sharing of thought
& an equality in routes
up to Wolves for a sun-
kissed won afternoon –
Gods anointed by ales
& sweet cider pumped
& sunk [we are atop of
accursed piles of cash
& so afford brief glory]

There are too many poetry competitions
[my submissions undone] – word-played
entrants with five quid to spare [for their
verse to submit & be judged by whom?] –

This’ll not enter [it is my pin – my stabs &
slice of thought to place my existence on
that busy notice board – I’m here among
lost cats & Pilate classes – mower repairs

offered – Marvell’s Garden Service] – Will
you ever buy a collection of poems? Lies
in dreadful Anglo-Saxon a complaint [by
a regarded poet] – we are all pulled up &

put in our place by greater writ voices – I
was admonished once by another one –
you cannot write ‘in’ first person singular
having not suffered enough – O’ fuck off!

This – my fraught analysis
of how days pass – shrink-
fit hours unqualified by a
daily pick of words to set
verse piles higher here – I
am a maker of maps & an
uneasy show designer – A
sixth decade almost up &
life is weighted by a sling
& pulled back to aim one
last pebble up [it will rise
or drop – my wild shot] – I
sit park-benched with my
sag of grocery bag [up on
Luxford’s slopes] – A kid’s
game played & I am back
in my fourth-ish decade &
being all family man for a
shorter breath out – I bear
my losses in public places
as an aulder gent eyes my
settle on his bench [his lie
of thanks for my shiftings
& I am off – I will move too
from this dishonest town]