Saturday, 21 August 2010


Mostly condemned
to hide behind masks,
brainbox’s webs,
inside the cupboard,
under the bed:

forgotten language
hermetically sealed
in green plastic bottles,
unfizzing and screwed,
too knackered for battle.

Long gone, the power
of fireworks and passion,
long out of fashion,
old ways of working
cry ‘Come on then, crack on!’

but when we explode
with a roar to the eyeball;
no longer a freakshow
of anger, or fearful,
but joyful, sweet, whole.

Thursday, 19 August 2010


Impossible it is to describe
the morning waking of a Down’s boy
who waves an open palm
one centimeter from my nose,
smiles the best of the sun
and, with voice like honey, whispers

Love, it could be, yes
as If I know that word
as thing or feeling. No,
he voices out a tone
more from glory of this world:
another day of loving.

Wednesday, 18 August 2010

Cashflow cafe

Slot machine flashing its lightbulbs,
beckoning come out and play,
feed me your money, I’m hungry,
give me your eyeballs today.

Suited, a man on a mobile
shouts, looking out into space,
‘cannot go on, time is money,
contracts are sliding away.’

Both, in a fluttering perception,
grab my attention – it’s free
and focus on money, a gamble,
look at me, listen to me.

Monday, 16 August 2010


Excited by your new
blue shoes, play as long
with them as you can;
sing to them,
leave no note
held inside unsung.

Let your blue shoe-song bubble
out of nothingness divine
in humility, each shoe
will make
something out of
nothing with an energy sublime.