A Happy Family

Burrowed away in every room
Hiding from the world
and from each other,
they immolate themselves again
with their private chaos.
Trapped inside their own lives
Scorched by their close proximity
Searching for a fleeting glimpse
that might offer respite
from the shards of animosity
once again firmly in flux.
The doors are all closed
Whilst silence shrouds each room
Every ear remains alert
to any adjacent twitch
As if the smallest sound might hint
at the regret and conciliation
languishing within.
Another day buried in the
same old bitterness
Pushed out to sea
on the raft of ennui
and recrimination;
steered by expectations so misguided
and listing with heavy words
spent with such ease.
Each folds into harsh twisted sleep
Hoping to at least
play host to dreams
of happier times.

The Day Breaks

Every morning I awake with the haze of
Promise hanging above my head
The morning dew is punctuated by the
Sharp light as the day yawns and offers so much
Anything can be filtered through the parameters of possibility.
That creative spark feels revitalised, feels fresh,
I feel like I have my little portion of genius
My own allotted quota of talent,
Held hostage somewhere in my gut
Or in my heart.
It’s in there and it’s never so ripe as in the
First breaths of the day, as though it plans
To sneak up on me and run amok through
All natural sensibilities.
I switch on my computer, lock into the internet
Immerse myself in rolling news, gossip blogs,
Status updates, online auctions and opinion pieces.
And the fog it slowly seems to lift
It clears and fades away, to leave a view
Of the horizon as far as the eye can see.
Only with this salience of vision
I can feel that little burning ember, that spark
Dying inside just a little bit.
But then I think –
Maybe it was never there at all,
And all I’d been trying to do
Was cling onto the fog
And chase away the harsh clarity of the day.

Out of the Quiet

A sunny day in June
Early-summer sun kissing slow streets
Wavering on the precipice of malice and regret
A benign imbalance that simmers, subsides
On this, an ordinary day refined in routine.

Normalcy’s tender betrayal
Anonymity’s bitter riposte
Teetering on the tightrope that traverses,
Seismic waves and hidden depths.

Out of the quiet – a shout, a scream
Before silence sets like liquid wax
So many tears wrought from the singular glare
Of an unflinching steely stare
Just a regular guy, your average bloke
Setting out on this, an ordinary day
One amongst many, nothing more or less
One of us, me or you.

The Euthanasia Blues

There are stiff smiles and concealed tears
Remorse at my detachment, guilt and regret
That’s why I’m singing the blues to myself.

Now my family are familiar no longer
As they usher me through corridors and halls
Pale labyrinths full of fading sleep
And so I’m singing the blues all the time.

My senses are attuned to my periphery
Here in this coffin of flesh and fibres
The mind ticks over like a grandfather clock
Replaying and reliving my life’s footage
From this day to that through a sepia film reel.

A portrait in progress left on indefinite pause,
With the paint running dry in the easel.
Doors open and close, eyes flicker and look away
Then everything fades out once again
As though life were just an interlude
And I’m singing the blues no more.

ERASER!

ERASE it all, scrub it all out
ERASE......everything, and leave me NOTHING.
NOTHING but the residue that fades in time
.....ERASE the unknown and the predictable
ERASE – the cycle of mundanity
Spinning like some plastic top
ERASE all memories.....and the FUTURE with it
ERASE your details from some giant
LIFE-affirming database
Rub...this...out with one sweaty palm
Before disintegrating into consensual paralysis
RETRACT all personality
DISCARD.......ALL........DEFENCES
From some misguided personal armoury
FALL back into LINE, hands by sides
ERASE all existence with one flailing arm
Like knocking figurines from standing to BREAK
ERASE....IT....ALL, rub out the footprints behind you
ERASE me with it, leaving no traces in your wake.

A Design for Children's Literature

Mr Happy; found God on a rainy day
Little Miss Lucky; born the Aryan way
Mr Greedy; heart disease piled on a fork
Little Miss Piggy; Gucci-wrapped pork
Mr Rush; sees everyone as an obstacle
Little Miss Fickle; it’s in vogue or it’s disposable
Mr Quiet; did the deed but will never admit
Little Miss Cute; because she’s totally worth it
Mr Cool; fool yourself that you’re his friend
Little Miss Foolish; stands by her man until the end
Mr Clever; managing director via stealth
Little Miss Shallow; through sickness and in wealth
Mr Crazy; thinks he’s back in the Hacienda
Little Miss Late; drunken fuck proof aborted forever
Mr Fidget; a quitter for years, still craves the hit
Little Miss Fake; hair, suntan, morals and tits
Mr Viagra; not quite the man he used to be
Little Miss Babe; on your arm but not for free
Mr Politik; full of ideals and clichéd rhetoric
Little Miss Skinny; target achieved, model anorexic
Mr Wager; prays his losing streak will finally end
Little Miss Bitch; a different face for all her friends
Mr Deprived; wife’s legs frozen closed out of spite
Little Miss Whore; anything you want for the right price

Neo-Nazis Draped Across The Daily Mail

Under a sky full of media storm,
A mob did gather as clouds
Ripe to protest, disgust and indignation,
Coursing through their blood.
With placards and banners held up high,
And battle cries oscillating with tensile fever
They await a man - a wolf in their eyes
Who is approaching fast despite their siege.
He will venomously spew his vitriolic pleas,
All over the viewing masses who swallow not spit
His twisted history, his minority of demons
The liberal-at-heart wilt and reel into despair.
As the day drags on and the heat does rise,
The mob, hundreds-strong, froth with fury
Burn effigies and bay for bloody crucifixion
They straddle their high horses of morality.

As the wind whips up and the rain comes down,
The sound of an engine burns all ears
The gathered mass grow silent in seconds
The jackal’s motorcade slinks up to the front
From silence to madness, the rabid mob descend
Force the car to halt, drag out the loathsome,
Servile dog, the epicentre of their rage.

His feeble cries go unheeded as they pierce his side,
Entrails hauled around like a wedding dress train
They tear him limb from limb with their bare,
Hands like wings from an insect
They bluntly slice head from neck with their placards
All the while howling and drooling
With a savage and unyielding bloodlust
They gauge out his eyes so that he who,
Could not see, now was blind
And oh how they danced and made merry
In the beast’s guts and rained phlegm
Down upon his dismembered corpse
And when the climax had subsided
The crowd did sit exhausted upon the road
No one said a word, no one shared a glance
They had spent a foe to keep democracy safe
But what now to do?, many of them thought
Onto other injustices, many more protestations await
And so the assembled mass dissipated slowly under the steady rain
Leaving the blood-strewn remnants of their outrage behind them.

Art Galleries of Life & Death

Slaughter the child that vile pest
That does cause such confusion and strife
String up the bloody carcass as meat posing on a hook
For flaccid intellectuals to perversely ponder
Through the art galleries of life and death.
Watch as ghastly bores of bohemian pretension
Bend and cower around a lonely penis standing
Erect upon a plinth, a monument of pleasure
Sharpened to an orgasmic halt.
Listen to them spew soliloquies of dribble
As if Shakespeare were sat upon their shoulder
Passing words and imagery through the eye
Of a needle into a vein standing proud.
See them seething with a most delightful deviance
Of such that lures a boy to a misty moor
To sit for eternity in a museum, a waxwork dummy,
An effigy of ecstatic evil that provokes howls of protest
- “This is so steeped in depravity, I love it!”
- “You heinous fiend, you will hang upon my wall!”
And oh how they laugh and applaud
This great cabaret of deceit
As I wonder how I am supposed to feel
And kill myself on pure impulse
A moment of glorious inspiration like a
Snow blind flash before the eyes
Or whispering into my own bloodied ear.
Oh God have mercy, I meant no true measure of harm
Merely contributing
To culture in my own baneful way
Lacerations of vast brushstrokes
As I beat the vile pest upon the canvas
I’m afraid you simply didn’t get the joke.