Tag: suicide

Shyness

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In ’84 it was dire to live with
my so-unendurable shyness
I thrived when unheard – hid
behind a re-bolted fire door
& my off-the-hook landlines –

it wasn’t as if I’d veer – spin &
hit head-on  /  James B. Dean
did it first & last  /  No return
from a crash of startling light
No more – no one still insists

on their self-destruction – not
without writing an awful note
Back then I used leaked pens
& pads & ripped clear sheets
or a self-addressed envelope

A singer poured his lyrics out
to us – a crush of hot punters
We fingered each sleeve note
until we seeped & transferred
in whorls – inked fingerprints –

& I hid from provinces of cold
looks – regards – until fearless
pretence found me still extant
but with no shy ways  /  A lost
modesty in my last songbook

Outside Uckfield’s Picture House

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Outside Uckfield’s Picture House –
it was offered up in black and white
as a step off the narrowed path
to then fall under a slab-grey car –

They’re always exceeding
the speed signs through the lights –
or –
They set the limit too low
in this bloody town centre –

My body thumps – it is then whipped –
accelerated sideways on that ride
which comes to Luxford Fields
with a shout of fairground tunes –

For once in a lifetime thrills –

My stick is sent high in the air –
It is offered up as a simple device
to my cinema audience – roadside –
a cut-away shot in super slow-mo –

But my actual step finds me still
on the kerb to see the slab-grey tail
of that car pass downhill into town –
I haven’t hurt anyone – not today

Seventy-Six Percent

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To take this decision to take my life
Off discharged thoughts but it is my choice

I wake disturbed – a scratched record
Will this be the day when I’m feed for the birds?

We frightened males – poor in acuity –
will swing from your beams far too easily

This tear-stained rope now held in my hands
I am throwing it up into no man’s land

Above the Ouse

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Here are the random spillages
of sorrel-glazed sweet chestnuts –
an overnight downed bounty
which has settled on the layers
of leaves and paths underneath

The splayed-open spiky cupules
offer – like unclipped purses –
their copper-only change –
I finger out those fattened nuts
which were once so desired
to fill the bowls of soldiers –

As I gather – not easy work for me –
the loosened crop on my route –
they mass to make my pockets
weigh as if full of dreadful stones –
but these will not pull me under

The Sign on Southern Railway

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There’s a Samaritan’s helpline advertised on the platform
hanging from a lamp post on the sturdiest of wires

I think about the last hours of that American comedian
I picture him considering the place he will meet death

and try to uncoil his quick mind
as if such powers are really mine

It has to be such a certain thing because doubt won’t kill you

only the best of preparations
such as a strong hanging point
will see you through

Did he then worry about being found
or is that selfishness not allowed?

Is there a real risk of commuters throwing themselves under trains?

I step back from the edge as the train to London Bridge
slices through the taught cord which now gives