Ain’t, no more


Sucking the sea's

Deep blue

With a straw

Ain't no communication

Baby, no more.


And ain't no more room 

For portable feelings

And lukewarm quotes

And potable motions

And hidden emotions 

Or posts.


And ain't no more honey

And ain't no more bees

And ain't no more sky

And ain't no more trees


And ain't nothing funny 



Carpe diem


Seize the day

By the throat

And choke it away.


You are wrong to assume

That I know what they say


And though the sea is indeed littered

With plenty more fish of dismay


In recognition of your act of speech

I love to admit, to every single one and each


That I do 

Have nothing to say.

The smiles


The smiles 

The frowns

The ups and downs

The women smoking

In the street.

The awkwardness when

Our eyes meet.

The miles not walked

The road not taken


The government's computer


The Scottish winter sky

The you invading my

The what have been might

The pen's might

The lonely night.


Bukowski and the constant 

Beauty of the fight...

My more-than-average height

The rage, the rage against the

Dying of the light!

Good boy/bye

 To Pasha



Sit boy! Now run! 

Go home and fetch the sun!


I'll tie you to a rusty pole

I'll go outside and dig a hole

And bury you whole.


Howl at the moon

And never stop.

I say play dead

And then you drop

You're drooling 

And my heart's a mop 


Good boy! We're rolling 

In the grass!

Good boy! How quickly

Life can pass.


Good boy, I'm sad

And miss you so.

I'm on a leash

And watch you go.

And know that you

Will not return

And bark and howl

And scratch my pen.


Good boy! We made it

To the end.

Good boy, good dog

And dearest friend!

Intentionally left



Me Oh



Flowers and sun

Me So



Whiskey 'n' ice


Fanta Skies


UFO sightings

Light things

Fanta Sighs


Dog bite




So Re:



Me Oh!



Painless fun

Me so




Birthday Letters 


I see a candle and I blow

The vulgar nostrils of before

I see a candle and I sigh


Into the night

A hand made veil of smoke

And snow and

I have seen and I have tasted


Tomorrow never comes unwasted

I hurt. As everyday. Today some less

A junkie for your eyes unless

Like all morphine endorphin falsehoods

Your sword dear queen

Can grant no knighthoods



Can't smell - the nostrils of before

I unseal the mouth of days to come


And beggar me can speak

And seek and find and drown

The things that were, the things to be

Into the spat out sea


That echoes through eternity.

The Wizard of Portobello


Picture this.

We're at Portobello beach on a 

Mild wintry day

The sun is trying to keep us


I hold your hand 

And lean in to whisper something 

In your dear ear!


The sky darkens.

I'm back in the madhouse.

People are friendlier to me

Than we've been to each other

For years.

It's 6 pills today.

Yesterday it was 5.


My parents haven't visited for days.

And you

You are nowhere to be found

On the outside of me.


Inside of me,

The sea of Portobello


As it's already overheard

Me drop the L-word

In your dearest ear

And watches me slowly lean in

For that ever-first, ever-last

Ever-never happening


Spanish Train


A bad day.

Devil is pizzas, devil is cakes

Devil is coffee spills, traffic.

Right wing policies

Empty lighters

Emptier hearts.


A good day.

God is iced coffee. God is a pat on the back.

God is sunshine, a good song

God is healthy cigarettes

Smiling to strangers

Loving without reservations.


A bad day.

Devil is another one

And another after that.

God is the prospect of 



Another bad day.

Devil laughs in our faces.

A good day.

God smiles contentedly.


Devil is the ratio 

Of bad to good days.

God is the promise of

A happy end.


I  keep the count

Grit my teeth

And worship

No one.

A model of the Universe


There must be a way out

Through all this white

And black

There must be a way back.


It will require

A clear mind

And soul 

If you believe in this

Sort of crap anyways


Boy will you need soul


And teeth to bite your 

Fingers off

And silky scarves

And raw guitars

And smoke.


But there is a way out

Through myriad particles

Of snow

Through countless electrons 

Of black

There is a way out 

And up

And forward and beneath 

But know:

There is no way 


An Optimistic One


It's the little things

It's the little things

The big things

Are too big for us


I have so little happiness


But I wanna share it with you


If I could give you half

Of it I would


But I can't. So I'm pointing

This out.

It's the little things


It's in the little things

The ones we sip in the morning

The ones we skip over on the pavement

The green and blue and yellow ones


The petals, the metals, the et al.s


The receding hairlines, the low cost airlines


The ones you already have loads of

The ones you can have all the time


My love cry is this:


The little things. It's in there.

Please try and find it

"The system will regulate itself"


The crazy lady is yelling again.
I yelled back the first time
Then realised she was really crazy
Not like all the other ones.
I now feel bad for yelling back.
There's pain in her screams. 
What drove her there?
Is it really a chemical
Well this poem is turning out shit
And I can't fathom why.
The feeling is present.
The crazy lady was screaming.
And I'm trying to write in clear, concise
Sentences and convey my feelings
As rationally as I can.
The crazy lady was screaming.
I yelled back because I thought she wasn't that crazy. 
Just a normal human that had no respect for others.
But she wasn't one of those people.

And thank the dear lord for that!

The crazy lady was screaming.
And I yelled back.
And shouldn't have.

The Inconstant Gardener


Rose bud

Bad rose 

Rose bad

I'm wondering if anyone

Knows that


Love flows from the nose

Of my hoe's cat

And her faux tears are where

The real show's at


 Still I worship, adore her,

 Kneel, beg and implore her

And all that.


While she's secretly working for Mossad.

This one’s pure madness


Give me your soul.

I'm teething and I 

Need something to bite on.


Around midnight

On a mad night

Wheels spinning on

My head's rainy racetrack


Alice's malice

It's not a cup-

It's a chalice!


I got a bullet 

With your name on

Shame on…

-It's noon, you loon!


How fake is the moon

In Australia...

Prosac Intermission 2


"You heard about the latest shit?
They put a man on the moon.
Why didn't they send a woman this time?
Why didn't they send a kid with a red baloon in one hand, an Ice cream in the other?" 

In Poetland, Oregon, it was still morning. 
A balloon salesman was pumping helium in a big red one. 
A woman was getting ready for her nine to five. 
A kid was brushing his teeth, dreaming of a promised afternoon ice cream. 

In Poetland, Oregon, a man was just about to get off the moon for the third time this week. He was Eager to meet his sugarbabylove

But the moon's gravity had other plans, tonight. 
He was bouncing about. Bouncing about. Trying to get the last few shots done. 

In the last bounce before reaching the shiny silver stairs of lunar module "Marx Plank" 
He jumped a bit harder than usual. 
Then, suddenly, gravity came, 
Like Game Over Autumn , 
And he crashed hard, like a judge's gavel 
On the moon's surface. 
The injuries he suffered were unfathomable. 

He had a date that night with sugarbabylove. He never made it. 
He never even called her. 
Maybe out of shame, or even sheer toxic masculinity. 
How could he? It's not easy
Even for the second man on the moon 
To go on a date with his, up till then, 

With a gravity-realisation-induced
Broken heart.