A Shade of Green

The big red button marked ‘blue’

2013-01-22T20:41:00.000+00:00

Push me and I close

Chill me and I shiver

Pull me and I pose

Thrill me and I quiver

Edge meets point—one immovable, the other impenetrable

They teeter, see and saw

Boo you and I frighten you

Touch you and I itch you

Fail you and I enlighten you

Leave me and I snitch on you

Seven hours to elapse—all spent sitting still

Window framed images flicker by

Fourteen stops, each more stationary than the last

Touch me and I tingle

Smell me and I burn

Bell me and I jingle

Miss me and I yearn

Twos—not numbered—free of each other

Sitting next to each other

Joined by nothing but a safety harness at the end of its tether

Poke you and I bruise you

Quench you and I hunger you

Bore you and I lose you

Top you and I empty you

Not totally heartbroken but a little bit

Like being interested but not too bothered

Or packing it in and sulking over a win

Pushed and I closed

Chilled and I froze

Pulled and I posed

Thrilled and I chose

Bicentennial Men

2012-04-09T20:39:00.000+01:00

Here we stand
wrong side of the street
fingers drumming thighs
beating themselves

Here we sit
ambassadors of youth
brought up to reciprocate

Here we lay
luggageless
liking our shoes

Here we are
hoping to teleport
any port any storm
hugging
staying warm

Here we were
hurtling
anchoring
our arms in tarmac
dogs chase cars
cars chase dogs
in the corner of our eyes

Here we always will be
jogging and jumping
hurdles
lined up like reflections of themselves
any distance between them reducing
the further away they sprawl

Here we think up schemes
plotting dreams on balancing beams
memories circle
backtrack
ground broken by footprints
pros and cons follow us
leaving us listless
diegetic music plays
we know this song
not where we heard it

Here we function as a smooth operation
heart beats
lungs inflate and deflate
quickening
climbing a flight of stairs
hair and fingernails
shave or clip
a mysterious machine
waiting millions of years
to take the initiative

Here we stay until it’s time to stop
incarcerated in an unlocked cell
a bless you
an escape tunnel
all cave in

A path well trodden

2012-02-11T23:02:00.002+00:00

Her heel is bigger than mine & its poignantly pointing pain invokes unorthodox thoughts about shoes,

especially Manolo Blahnik footsteps in puddles of pavement dew,

but comparisons can’t be drawn until dawn light strolls into night’s town,

obliterating opaque boundaries,

as equators separate hemispheres,

that we built to keep & fleece & skin & put in tins what won’t fit,

that cost the earth its electric power lines,

standing statically in countrysides of England or Norway,

as its got trolls to contend with too,

that don’t coch as bloods on bongs after singalongs,

avoiding crowded throngs & chat up elaborate cons do,

but worse,

hanging King Kong on backseat buses tossing & turning on Loudspeaker,

competing for attention,

a train of thought in a stationary mood,

that beholds the joy of division, with its implicit incisions,

circulating through men of square jaws & shoulders who can hold on,

to their grips on reality & the finality of nos from girls who tan their own hides & have leather souls,

without letting go & knotting their fingernails in bows,

that employ hard workers & are in turn employed by ball breakers,

cancelling each other out until the room starts to spin & their stomachs explode over their desks,

that stand still, two buildings eyeing each other up

from top to bottom & bottom to top,

omitting floor 13, as its spooky trappings represent a bygone era of smoking wills on a period paper & smokey smoke stains through to steel like chill does to bone,

& phone in the story as the Internet hasn’t been invented yet,

that coast through Catford on a whim & a prayer with platted hair,

comparing Christmas card messages that thank God for cornflakes,

as His Taste Buds channel Themselves through tongues,

that imbue souls of youthful innocence with experience & learning but can’t promise those yearnings will be satisfied anytime soon,

that harpoon whales for the notes of their songs,

excluding fat whales of Middlesbrough, Wakefield & Wales,

as they require train fare & their fair hair & fairer voices are starved of oxygen by the infinite chocolates they regularly consume,

that stand back, peripheral, euphorically vibrating as an atom pops a cherry, cataclysmically,

with no regard for its own safety or for the safety of others whose energy it transfers on deadline day,

no permanents whatsoever,

that copy & paste & call it sharing,

that dissuade one another from taking things further,

even distance stays the same,

& social media blocks & stops everything from flushing away.

Laying foundations is how you build bridges, like questions that can only be answered by questions,

reserving judgement, sitting on the fence despite the obvious discomfort that wastes away face,

eroding pearly white cliffs of Dover coated in a sea spray of spit,

that forgo their right to brush shoulder to shoulder with each other,

& instead,

settle for the underside of the pillow, hot & bloodied & waiting for that fairy of a motherfucker all clad in cum-clean white, & sticky from ejaculating joy,

that ends here because silence has no bearing in a sea of sound & ignorance is no longer endearing.

Hands

2012-01-15T17:22:00.002+00:00

Don’t understand

the pain at hand

when the knee was bitten wide-open.

Grazed knees and sweet pigtails

make mummy more of nothing

but a toy gun over the other one.

Teeth cordon-off

where the head was ripped off

as fists full of hair

sit in silent clumps

waiting for what happens next.

Yellow Power Rangers

—accessories not included—

right wrongs let down.

Nothing but pain

—palm thumb and fingers—

fleshy nails need trimming

once grip returns

and ice goes on the swelling.

Eye RSVP’d for a knee’s up

—doubling up, back-to-wall—

hall crowds gathering

round to watch

an eye fall out with its friend.

Bodies bend and fold

so compartmentalise

thumbtack pain

landmined
here

here

and here.

A church called Ransom

2012-01-11T22:16:00.000+00:00

Ransom
God’s church
worship here
or the puppy gets it

‘s paused entrance
muted celebration
muffled scream
and shout

Ransom
God’s church
worship here
or the puppy gets it

‘s just desserts
viewed destruction
failed backers
who blame

Ransom
God’s church
worship here
or the puppy gets it

‘s selected boxes
disposed choices
removed at

Ransom
God’s church
worship here
or the puppy gets it.

Anonymous

2011-12-30T15:50:00.003+00:00

Not here

nor over there

Here
names make sense
holding still
solidifying

‘Til marriage
or death
or theft

Or change

Occupied, please choose another

Illustrate
your place

here

or here

‘ing

dial

noise

the

above

head

Here

nor here

but here.

Roundabout ways

2011-12-30T00:33:00.003+00:00

Multiple lanes act like multiple brains

twoing and froing

the left one not knowing where the right one’s going

Wide lanes come up the rear

creating a pen, holding breath

before escape is possible all things are impossible

Bear-hugging shut an exit

inside monster raging

in a hibernate status

its ritual hiatus

Of inside mashed potatoes

mixing with beans, afraid to fart

in case it starts clenching fists

squeezing ‘til it’s difficult to breathe

they tease and please each other

on the straight and narrow

Holding straight and narrow

Forming an arrow

Blood rushing ahead, fixing a target

to the centre

of excellence it’s certain

close the curtains

A roundabout weighs down

guilty as a blood-stained pillow

It’s coming

The roundabout’s coming.

A long sleep goodnight

2011-12-30T00:32:00.004+00:00

Much to do
people to see
thoughts to proceed
wrapped warm, for the flipside
is the cold side
stop, to decide is to act

Run rabbit run rabbit don’t stay still
a pair pull themselves together
as the sun’s next show is not for another
8 and a half hours

Thoughtful mob that lot
gnawing on a semi-conscious carcass
becoming carcass number 2

Single divans as wrestling rings
rebounding off ropes
on to
cold hard floors

Hemispherical headaches split sleep
in
2
closing eyes
adjusting to the dark
or a lack of light perhaps

7am time will toll and it will turn
again

An easy morning stroll
silence is not a falling tree
in a forest of no ears
ponds and frogs and garden gates make noise
even unless they’re told

Anti-awake is not in favour of sleep
quiet is enjoyable
darkness gives you time
not to think.

Orifices

2011-12-30T00:30:00.003+00:00

Cutting cake, piece by piece
dividing subtracting equalising
but that’s not right
all things aren’t equal
crumbs

An itchy trigger finger
loading, ready to shoot out
loitering
spooked into squealing
about to be shaken like a baby

Release comes quick
an eager dick
though snot remains
stacks of chalk lines
that need to be framed
the choo choo sound
a tissue a tissue
we all stay bound

To one another
we devote and worship
the ground you walk on
will swallow me whole

So I try to swallow you whole
tongue in cheek
and everywhere else
it will fit
licking lips and squeezing tits
we can come so we can leave.