He picks up speed

As the yews form a tunnel of

scatter shade to broom through.

Chaws on a biltong.

Swigs a Sierra Mist.

Unnoticed,  there's half a pigeon corpse 

on his bonnet, as he taps

the wheel to Heart FM 

 
On his driveway, 

he breathes in spring.

Looks around

School kids skipping.

He can't wait for recycling day

His bin is almost full. 

 

The Driver Beside Me

Drum and bass

He just cant cope, 

a years supply of mentoes in a bottle of coke.

He’s Hoovering on a hangover,

Sharing Vegan bacon with Jeremy Clarkson

He wants a hot tub filled with castrol

and a licence for a handgun

Crashing cymbals, 

Trump in a mankini 

He’s tortured by
a fork scraping 

up the last pea

waifs and strays
YOU SHALL NOT PASS
roadkill should have learnt to run fast.
Monster energy has got the better of cars

'Look at Thatcher’s losers getting on the bus'

The blue pills don't work they just don't f**in work'

He's had a vindaloo and he’s late for work

It's a video game in real life , he love the gas more than his wife. 

He’s got selfies with tigers he’s a bad boy for life

The speed limit is woke and
the queue of traffic is full of snowflakes
global warming is a scam because some bald bloke on Joe
said he couldn’t get warm on a Summers day in benidorm

The blue pills don't work they just don't f**in work . 

He's had a vindaloo and he needs to burp

And this is it the crescendo -  a cyclist taking up the middle of his road, 

close to going Grand Theft Auto he’s ready

he’s ready to mow.

The old man or the fox

It's ten to six 

as I look down on

the court 

where the kids 

got shouted at 

for using chalk

An old mangy fox is

braving the sunrise

still skirting around

in  the whiplash of spring

My coffee sunk 

Eyes still a graveyard of crows

Legs like railway sleepers

I wonder if it was him who trampled on the crocuses 

First and foremost

 it's yours to keep

 the fate of the foil sky, 

the sunset surfaced on the sea, 

the unforgettable nights with local legends, 

the kisses that never dried. 

The corner of the country from a mile high. 

When you got away for that mountain climb.

You could store it all up, make your inner breath deep, a plaster for your mind, 

t's yours to keep.

My friend it's yours to keep, 

the bold blue you splashed on your feature wall, 

you stood tall next to a wax work of johnny depp 

potted plants in front of sash windows. 

The ivy growing on the pebble dash.

The hacks upon hacks for saving cash.

Your arse crack , your Irish whiskey measurements, 

your poetry, your small milestones in the Mcdonalds music industry 

breakfast at Tiffany's, the millionth picture of Banksy,

 the zillionth picture of Big Ben, your muffled video of a gig you only wanted to attend to hear the hit. It's all yours to keep but would it still be worth it?

I should let some water out

She is right. 

I should let some water out the bath.  

Because.

when I rest my back up against the rim

Some will shoot over the side.

Down the tongue and groove panel 

It will find the floor at a low point. 

Flow into the gap of the vinyl lino prizing

 away from the silicone seal, 

Trickle through the floorboards,

past the fibre glass that divides us and them 

through the slats to their ceiling rose centre piece 

and 

we aren't insured. 

We will have to pay for the repair. 

We can't afford to do that and we won't be able to get away. 

We'd have to take a loan out. 

Affordable getaways would be term time only and we can't do that. 

We'd have to pay a hefty fine. 

We'd have to have the radiators on sparingly and hope our lungs don't need bleeding. 

Our lives would be more confined to four walls than before. 

Theatres and gigs would just be posters to pass by. 

Meals out would be the mercy of our rumbling stomachs. 

Christmas would just be empty promises from us and a bank of shame for them

 and we'd eventually lose them.

Like a marble on a run, heading, to pull the trigger of a gun, I should let some water out. 

But the tops of my knees are cold and I can't get enough of what the boiler can give. 

Outside the clouds are white busts of warning that longer nights are setting in.

I should let some water out. But I won't

Rainy night in London

This is your metropolis
A magic carpet in smoke 
As you fetch your credit card
to hoover up the coke

And under the giant's footstep
there are folks who walk all places
Their headlights burn bright
but never get to the races

And I’ve heard you can dream big here

loosen the noose of the drag

But all I got was a concrete maze 

that wouldn't withstand my flag

And think of all the lives cost from the Capital

Big decisions made in home furnishings 

None of which are taxable 

And I keep bumping into these agents

Who will kill for such belonging

And you blow your nose and get black blood

The proof that had you longing 

And she left me for the city

a drooling dance to commute

Ronnie Wood tickled her in a lift

and she never looked so cute

She could finally rid herself of the old town

In to the city shroud 

And I write this walking through Hyde Park

Trying to stay away from the crowd

It's an Epiphone casino

I want the whisky Miles Davis poured

And the dope Bill Evans used

I want 48 hour days at Julliard

Where my bony fingers break

for land speed electric scales and arpeggios 

and I wow audiences from around the world 

I want to become hendrix lean in my playing, 

with melody as an olympic sport 

I want my beard to read artist complacent 

I want the bass hall boom of joy division

And the virtues of nina Simone 

I want the spiritual zen of George Harrison 

and to be lead by a Yoko Ono 

I want to be sponsored by Gibson 

I want my ribs removed in the name of art

I want the casino suites

And an Elvis Presley pulpit 

But this is now and this morning I just wanted a low tide

Pothole

Today I've been in my head too much ,

I found my way through the thoughts of others, which is pure guesswork.

The route I know so well, every shortcut, junction and pothole.

Tomorrow I hope to get out and walk.

When did the wheels come off?

When did the wheels of the world come off? 

When a picturesque valley wasn't enough. 

Was it 7 down cider heartbroken teen 

Stumbling on from childhood green

Or failed collective action against a war, 

No amount of death to settle any score 

Shareholder dividends melting ice caps 

while the masses continue to feed off scraps 

When did the wheels come off? 

Or have they been since day dot. 

Messy divorce

And they parted but sent receipts, painful threads in which they'd compete - made photos public of duty free, air miles, blonde beaches, olive skin, teeth white laser grins, the kids cosy with the new partner to really stick the knife in.

And on the beaches with the palm trees and the factor 50 sun they still weren't as far apart as they'd become. 

Additives

I've had my additives and cursed the day, I've wandered again to my wantaway - Summer, another town , anonymity,  unemployment,  none are far fetched but miles away

A series of goodbyes

I'm up to my eyeballs with the hard stuff

losing folks, losing trust

asking what got the better of us?

Settling in to a series of goodbyes

like a western on a wet afternoon. 

and now and then I buckle at the knees, 

I long for the old guard, trip in a heartbeat. 

I see my youthful pedestal from the ground, which  lies next to yours

The social norms, the politeness, the ettiquette, leaving us in the past,

 playground.

The night bus

The night bus 

under tangerine halogens

every face tired and stressed

the bus has us compressed

spiralised in the eyes

until it's home time.

And I can tell everyone here 

has a level of debt 

to ensure

they'll do it all again

tomorrow.

Your last rights

So, are you ready to let go, to retire

to anonymity...?

To stop being a child of the past 

 To raise deafness to old times 

When you do this...

you will feel cerebral and numb

And there'll no longer be a place

on a pedestal for anyone

But you can start to enjoy today. 

Fix eyed dance

I mourned her exit

I learnt  I'd hear nothing 

but radio silence. 

I knew the lights were up 

on the fixed eyed dance.

I'd have to learn a different stance. 

Life is boom or bust

for who is quickest to adjust, 

at saying goodbye. 

Spectacular views?

These paved streets,

a galaxy of bird shit and gum
through the broken swing up on red lake park
it's all there for you son...
Spectacular views of rising rentals, airbnbs
a smoke filled sky from parked up cars
making tracks for SUVs
and a shimmering sea full of leftovers from the modern man… pumped sewage,
known otherwise as capitalism

It's all there for you son…

But wait, look closer..
There are wildlife corridors
and sunset murmurations 
Night shift saints, hospice hands
with love pumping through their veins
Dinner table laughter, first kiss teens
Demonstrators losing their voices
so others can live in peace
kids on balance bikes and
oaps living a simple life
 

It's all there for you son…

mona lisa

There's a portrait the daily hate paint so well 

Might as well be the Mona Lisa. 

She's floating on her reeboks 

Glued to her iPhone 

Got the kids an xbox

Bloody sloth in her home 

Slicked back hairstyle

Jet black lash curl 

Mahoosive fan of Jeremy Kyle

Got a foodbank tin taj mahal 

Got her benefits on time 

but never paid her mobility scooter speeding fine

not done a days work in her bloody life

And it's all coming from your taxes!

I've yet to see her myself yet,  but the daily hate is convinced she's alive and well. 

And he stood for hours

by the bus stop in June time Coalpool.

On tiptoes, checked his watch, clocked the decks of every bus that stopped

waiting for his Dad's wirey frame to appear from the automatic doors. 

It was pocket money day. 

He rehearsed being greeted by a warm smile and a brandy blushed face 

but

his Dad never came.

(deputy head)

*CLAP* YOU COME HERE !

Volts in his veins shot up through

his laser tinted glasses

Spit clutching his rusty beard

The rest worn on the boat of my blazer 

Tonsils raw like those of

Daniel Day Lewis in Gangs of New York. 

He took me to see the head

she looked at me pathetically 

no knee nor breast

or place to rest 

and recover in her royal blue suit

to sit at peace with her perfume. 

At home, 

dizzy with regret, 

I threw up my dinner

My head pounded. 

Mum came in the next day

he became a charmer, 

worked his side parting

Got a glint in his eye.

Said I could sit at the front

of the class with him, 

I looked down at the boat on my blazer

knew it wouldn't keep dry.

It wasn't long before another CLAP.

My work in the bin

 
Marched to the hall 

and sat with my hands on my head

for 20 minutes with him. 

The next day, a new School

I was happy to let that boat drown in his spit.

After shift chat.

Packed on the bus,

We froze,  heads on springs

Listening in.

After shift chat 

'Universal credit this, can't afford that..'

The windows covered in sludge 

Rainfall sinking us further 

pot holes knocking us from side to side.

It took Morrissey to get on, reaffirm and break the ice

'Bloody awful out there'