Wednesday, 30 June 2010


Fantastic visions
Shower before sleeping eyes,
And then forget me.

Tuesday, 22 June 2010


I want to tattoo the word fuck
somewhere on my body.
It will scare away
all other harsh words
people throw at me.
Except maybe for cunt.
But that's ok
cos I like that word.
It feels like home.


I used to think
I was hard,
A rocky outcrop
resisting the ocean's tongue.

Then I read my writing.
And heard myself speak.

I am not the rock.
I am transparent,
soft, changeable.

I am the water.

Thursday, 17 June 2010

The first 800 or so words of a long form poem I have just started...

First splinters of bright grey skies
Fracture the ragged curtains,
We view our hero. He lies
Eyes open, mind uncertain.
Swivels in his bed sheets,
Launches torso upright,
Rises to his shaky feet
And switches on the light.
He tumbles down the corridor
And into the grungy shower,
Slaps on shampoo and conditioner
Flicks the switch for extra power.
Steam sticks to the mirror,
Bubbles cling to his tan skin
His woken hands grasp silver
Rails, as he starts to dry again.
Checking out his reflection,
He pulls on PRPS jeans,
De Vines with red’n’black sections,
XL T-shirt by Supreme.
New Era tops his head,
Screwy coils tip down the sides,
He scoops up his iPod
And makes his way outside.
The apartment sits atop
The concrete filing cabinet,
Renovations halted
Coz the council can’t afford it.
Sweeping down the stairs,
He kicks needles to the side,
Foil wraps and burn holes
Cooling right beside.
Body in the playground,
Face tilted to the sky,
He listens all around
To the sounds of the city.
Welcome moments of horns,
The low thrum of trains,
The fabric of silence torn
From wherever it remains.
He pulls a ready joint from his hip
A plastic lighter from his pocket,
Wedges the roach between his lips,
Flicks the switch and lights it.
He inhales deeply,
Still listening to the music,
Letting it run sweetly
Never getting sick of it.
Kid Cudi starts to play
‘Pursuit of Happiness’ in his hand,
He raises fist to ear and says,
‘Hey, whattya up to, man?’
‘Hey T, I’m just hangin
down the skatepark with KB,
come check it out, it’s bangin
can’t tell you, you gotta see.’
‘Sure thing Dan, I’m just goin
ta grab a bacon’n’egg sarnie.’
‘Bring some weed with ya dude.’
‘No worries, I gotcha covered.
Anyway I ain’t rude
Enough to show up empty-handed.’
‘Sweet, laters seen.’
‘Yeah, catchya in a while.’
Blank goes the screen,
T gifts himself smile.
One bacon’n’egg with ketchup
And a bunch of tube stops passed
T manages to catch up
With Dan and the boys at last.
The clash and scrape of trucks
Chewing on metal coping;
The familiar noise of skateparks.
The music of kids coping,
With the shit that days deliver,
At their feet every single day.
The sounds of escape forever,
Or at least some time to play.
Clap hands, bump shoulders,
The greeting’s the same
Whether younger or older,
T just plays the game.
‘I got that shit you want,’
He whispers with a smile,
His light, brown face gaunt,
But healthy all the while.
‘Nice one mate - damage?’
‘Tenner to a mate,’ he mumbles.
Dan hands Darwin’s image
To T. Behind a kid tumbles
From his board onto the floor,
The board goes rumbling off
Towards the park’s far corner.
Dan lights, breathes, coughs,
A goofy grin lights up his face,
T smiles right beside him
Then hops on his deck to chase
Easy pleasures from the rim
Of a halfpipe and a death box,
Pushing off and surging forward,
Hits the lip, the back truck locks,
He flicks the board then rolls backwards.
A single, fluid movement,
A ballet of wood and steel,
T times every single moment,
Every second has its appeal.

Not much makes him smile

Like a concrete playground,

He often dreams of miles

Of asphalt all around;

An endless landscape

To be skated and enjoyed

To grind, to scrape,

Every step and rail employed.

He pulls up beside the entrance,

Yanks his phone from his pocket,

Marie’s ringtone: Cheesy trance.

A booty call, fuck it.

He thinks hungrily to himself

As he puts it to his ear,

He’s been fucking her on and off

For the best part of a year.

‘Hey where you at right now, sugar?’

Her syrupy voice enquires,

‘Just skatin’, so not too far.’

His libido starts to fire.

‘You wanna come round and hang,

keep me busy for a while?’

‘Sure thing, I’m up for a bang’

He responds with an eager smile.

He flick the board off the floor

And catches it in his hand,

Hustles towards the door

That leads from the enchanted land.

‘Laters Dan,’ he calls over his shoulder.

A muffled response drifts

From between the human boulders,

He exits and his world shifts

Back to partial reality,

Market stalls and criers

Appealing to shoppers’ vanity,

Randoms thrusting out flyers.

T ignores every single bleat,

The real is without his mind,

As he treads the grubby, cobbled street

Leaving the tattered morning behind.

He enters the bowels of Notting Hill Gate,

Giving his soul to the underground,

Praying to the hollow, metal potentate,

And its familiar rumbling sound.

His world becomes clad in black,

The Ramones scream into his ears,

He shuts his eyes and leans back,

Letting the city steal his years.

Wednesday, 16 June 2010


If no one does it,
Let's do it.

Poverty Line

“Stark! Stark! Stark!”

Scratched the crow’s immutable shriek.
“Crack! Crack! Crack!”
Its white-lipped child was heard to speak.

Friday, 11 June 2010

Vancouver (written 11-07-06)

At last,

There is finally something to fight for.
Never used to be that way.
Everything used to be rusted, decayed, and rotting from
Tin-can bones.
Splashing in muddy London puddles and gutters.

That’s not the way things are now.

They are clean and sterile and
Even the crackheads exhibit a warped decorum.
God bless the dust in their veins,
Cos they stay sweet and succulent,
Mashing their marshmallow gums together
As death wanders past.

But I digress.

I am back and surrounded by the fresh woodland,
The crystalline mountain peaks,
The nickel-plated ocean
That gallops between rocky islets.

And thrusting out from its soft scales -
A city of glass.



I hope.

Midnight Girl

Her soul performs with perpetual grace,
Scattering sweet dew throughout the warm night,
Yet when the sun glows, she leaves not a trace.

Among nameless legends, she takes her place.
Nestling in shadows, safe from the hard light,
Her soul performs with perpetual grace.

The evening’s blue shell is her carapace,
Wrapped tightly around her figure so slight,
Yet when the sun glows, she leaves not a trace.

When Polaris stares down through silent space,
And the cities bubble, smoke and ignite,
Her soul performs with perpetual grace.

She bathes beneath neon ribbons and lace,
Mingles with the syrup of soft twilight,
Yet when the sun glows, she leaves not a trace.

The witching hour revives her doll-like face,
Fuelling her heart and her mind with delight,
Her soul performs with perpetual grace,
Yet when the sun glows, she leaves not a trace.

Thursday, 10 June 2010

Ode to Being Fucked Over

It would be false to claim I don’t recall
The first time I beheld your startling grace,
And more false still to claim I did not fall
Abruptly in lust with your flawless face.
But beyond the flesh and its warm promise,
Beyond the tight crush of a hopeful heart,
The purest of desires commands my sense.
When we first dared speak, no words were amiss,
Laughter and comfort sprang loose from the start,
Yet still remains a shard of dark suspense.

Increased moments spent melding our shadows,
Crossing each other’s dry, crumbling footprints,
We have made our time and space keen fellows,
Though I still reign in my wilder instincts.
When my voice stuttered the lines I long craved
To whisper to you, I made manifest,
The fiery music my mind madly played.
The soft shake of your head beckoned a grave
And laid me down into eternal rest,
Though still I desperately breathed, sobbed and prayed.

As weeks have passed. I have glimpsed your slim form,
Delicately laughing, dancing and such,
Whilst I wander in a desolate storm,
Grieving the stranger I loved so much.
If only you could say ‘yes’ and draw close,
Let your silken breath run over my skin,
I would sleep peacefully forever more.
But dreams ignite in a world no one knows
Reality does not trespass within,
No new salvation breaks open its door.

Monday, 7 June 2010

Save Me

When does raw fear preside
Over all else you hold inside?
And how do you rebuild the ruins
Left as you commit those sins?
Is there a way to truly heal
Without feeling the need to steal
The energy from such close
People; those who love you most?
If I could disentangle myself,
From this poisoned web of ill health,
Then I would do all I could do
To show, touch, feel and repay you.

Sunday, 6 June 2010

Like a Bolt

Desolation follows
The sudden storm.
As if the earth borrows
Death’s silent form.

The rattle of sabres,
Scabbards emptied.
Unwelcome behaviour.
I softly bleed.

And the pain strikes deeply,
Lancing beneath
Surface flesh so freely,
Igniting grief.

And then the quiet comes,
Though I shake still,
Trapped in my broken home.
Pale, cold and ill.

Friday, 4 June 2010

12th September 2010, West Hollywood

Sun and
Heat and
Drink and
Sex and
Fun till the day closes.


Night and
Heat and
Real Rock'n'Fuckin'Roll.
Drink and
Sex and
Fun till our hearts are whole.

Chin Up

I was told today,
That I am headed
For Oblivion.

On this perfect day,
Every smile is dead,
Oh, Endymion!

The shards of sun play,
The Winter has fled,
Though still leads me on.

Leave me be, foul grey!
Warmth, cradle my head,
Love, be my Scion!