BLEEDING FINGERS
Come on now
it’s only six effin’ strings
five sticky fingers
too wide
how hard can it be
to decide
give up
or go on
with blisters and
bleeding fingers
THIN ICE
I cannot tell these lies
no more
no more
pretending my voice
carry clout
White seagulls
disturbs the blue sky
above
at rainbows end
an empty coffer
awaits
Madame,
S’il vous plaît
share this thin ice
with me
the water’s cold
beneath the surfaces
of old
no hellish fires
can melt them
down
no matter how many
lies
are
told
TROUBLED EYES CRY ALONE
I don’t like your fingers
they’re too long and too
skinny
like your legs without
trousers
like your promises without
laughter
the polished nails
deep within my back
who’s the weaker
who’s the catch
silence fall on
waining moon
troubled eyes
cry
alone
THEY LINED THEM UP
On the day of the reckoning
the final day of the war
the three remaining brain cells
awoke
at
dawn
One said: “Life on Mars is beautiful, authentic, Ford Capri. They should bring back National Service
f@cking imm3diat3ly”
Two said: “A Beautiful Mind. Delusional. The Loving Wife – blessed peace, He who understands the suffering – no worries need to feel”
Three said: “Sorry Doc, I like being drunk. Dot was her mother’s name, the shark that swam across the sea wearing a ring of steel”
They lined them up
three hooded cells
the wall was rough
their fear untamed
The silence broke
Their fear unbound
The wall pierced
by bullet rounds
On the final day of the war
three brain cells died
no wicked witch in sight
just a bottle of old delight
VEILED BEAUTY
Uncomfortable without your
make-up
your face-paint sprayed
brushed layered lust
hiding you
hiding your
better self denying us
skin on skin
touching
a pretty face
hiding
Easy
Easy
It was easy to die
To discard the lot
Draw the curtains and
Unplug the phone
Delete the blogs and
Unfriend the friendlies
Hide beneath a blanket
Forget about it all
No one will remember
No one at all
Resurrection sucks
Remembering the sinner
Cold without a blanket
Window cleaner please!
Locked doors keys lost
Rediscovering the poets
Following the followed
Reinstate the blogs
It was easier to die
Living is fearing
Writing not easy
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