your man

A lone silhouette reached for the sky
in the first light of a cold winter’s day
and Tuesday crept up silently to my bed.

I woke up in a pool of my thoughts,
my dreams had been spilt on the floor and
I lie here not knowing which way to turn

And all that I wanted to be was your man
Don’t know how I let this get so out of hand
Think I might go back to bed until the phone rings

The lone silhouette left with the sun
and clouds they rolled in on my day.
And the silence between every step that I take lingers on.

Today was my birthday, my friends they have called.
I’ve got cake coming out of my ears.
But it would have been good to hear your voice as well

‘Cos all that I wanted to be was your man
Don’t know how I let this get so out of hand
Think I might go back to bed until the phone rings

the last time i saw david

The last time I saw David was a cold autumn night,
and he was looking older than his years.
Told me I should visit come and see his home and wife
I don’t think we have spoken since that day.

When I was much younger he was standing by my side.
A crucifix hung round his neck and fire in his eyes.
Told me about Jesus Christ and ways to live my life
so that I’d be freed from my sin.

I don’t care for ministry, no I’m not taking sides.
I don’t recite the good book, I read between the lines.
I don’t long for heaven cos I don’t believe in hell
and I don’t think that I need to be saved.

I sat down with the bible and I read it line by line
I couldn’t find anything to help me ease my mind.
Then the local vicar ran off with my neighbours wife
leaving both his kids back at home.

Well it keeps some happy and it helps some others sleep
if they think that Jesus watches over when they dream
but I don’t ever plan to get down on my bended knee
and bow my head before his altar.


And in some quiet moments I remember being fourteen.
Late nights with the vicar drinking beer instead of tea…
I’m not sure that god had much to do with him or me.
I wonder how he’s doing nowadays.


The last time I saw David was a cold autumn night
and he still wanted to tell me about his Jesus Christ.
But nowadays I’m not so plagued by my sin and strife
so I just smiled then I walked away.

these days

This morning I woke, restless and heady,
with blood pulsing fierce in the vein.
There’s light on a line, this morning and maybe forever,
I move with regard for the signs.

You know I search my heart to prove
there’s better ways to push and pull,
but hey whatever gets you through these days.

And somewhere to the east the sun is stirring,
starting to light up the sky,
and I’m lying here reliving the last few days
cos I missed most of them the first time.


Did I disappoint you? Leave a bad taste in your mouth?
I thought that we could. I thought that we would.
I was mistaken.

Chorus (quiet)

Chorus (full)

Outro climax then fall apart

a poem for lucy

Running on adrenalin, many miles from home.
Alone in her room with a fledgling young poem.
Craving to capture the stillness and calm,
felt as I lay by her side.

The morning arrived without saying too much,
in the silence we talk, bodies warm to the touch.
Delivered to here from the eye of the storm.
Contentedly hid from the rain.

A week now is past, many things to express
and I lie in the sun, now rewarded with rest.
I press on my pen and the paper receives.
We both hope that she feels the same.


The sky wept freely
As gravity ushered watery needles back to their source.

Two naked eyes looked on at nameless faces
Playing fleeting cameos amongst the cold concrete set.

I savour the sights, the sounds, the smells,
And the silences between my steps;
Each one, a step closer to my evening’s dream-soaked conclusion.

And down those stairs,
Behind those curtains,
And through that door
A hundred unimagined scenes unfold
With a nod, a stare, a shiver, and a glance;
Each moment a tapestry of gestures
For which my tired bones are grateful.

various positions

The Monday train offered a rare palette
to my listless locomotive eyes.

Despite a glorious sun
the hills issued a stubborn monochrome
to the blue expanse above
as Nature dutifully hid her innocence
beneath the weekend’s virgin snow.

God’s people bond
by electronic ritual;
we overtake clouds,
perched in an urgent corporate cradle
nested between the skin and the sky.

The train speeds me south,
dizzy from an ever-changing aesthetic
which I struggle to comprehend.

I leave my father’s mother alone
with her sea view,
Carol Vorderman,
her stubborn old age,
and a failing body,
which no amount of Soya milk will solve.


The traffic below collides with Mendelssohn,
offering a soundtrack for our waking.

Out of the arms of sleep,
entwined in the arms of another,
I watch the morning peer through the blinds,
hinting at the day ahead.

The sudden electronic protest
cannot halt the march of time
and our moment is over
nearly as soon as it has begun.
I fear the stolen hours are bound to find me out
before the day is past.

The lift casually tosses me out into the street
where the icy grip
of Tuesday’s picture postcard scene
soon shakes me from my slumbers.

I walk home through the duck-littered park;
hands firmly entrenched in my winter coat,
with the snow,
and some second-hand thoughts.


Wednesday, in a room full of bum bags,
challenged by lively combinations of colour and flesh

I sit,
waiting to be reunited
with the flighty gross machine
that will carry me
from this unpronounceable place.

Devoid of the urge to join the masses
in their motional quest to queue,
I muse on the lines of a face and frame
to which I will never have a name;

I wait,
ashamed by the naivety of my tongue
and the sudden shameful silence
of my sullen alien blood.

The twenty third transient hour
offers a few minutes of respite
for my frail jet-lagged ego.

My camera would love it here,
an infinity of rectangles
to find amongst the foreign.
But the brief snapshot barely develops,
before I close my eyes
and embrace a fleeting sleep.