Walking with you
I hadn’t noticed the stones in my shoes
That the weather was abysmally rude
Throwing down all it had left
And so it was only then
That I noticed
I was soaked right through
And in some pain
Only then
When we went our separate ways
Shutting my front door
My hand remained poised
Until a heavy sigh
Sent me out into the rain once again
For a while, we were individuals, instrumental even, only for something to send us into an unforgettable crescendo; then our heat-beats fused and we flew, we actually flew over ourselves, circling, voyeurs looking down upon our uncontrollable laughter, not one of us wanting to land … ever again.
Human Clock
Whenever I think of you
I never choose to bleed time
I just do
Moon Collapse
The moon collapsed
And the sea never saw that coming
So the Sun took its place
And the sea dried up from bad plumbing
The Race to the Lake
They ran
They swam
They ran back
To the van
Sometimes, I can see daily life within the capacity of a retro 48k
computer; the colour clash — together with the sunniest days Sun
can be quite mesmerising. No loading error…
You chose a beautiful stone; held its smoothness, smothering it entirely for
safe keeping, your lucky stone.
Then one day you skimmed it across an ocean. Never did it stop, that little
stone, not for one second, for it was unable to sink for fear of never being
found again.
Alone, it skimmed, alongside container ships and fishermen, over dancing
shoals, around islands, deemed lost.
It played with sea monsters, memorised the coordinates to shipwrecks and
lost aircraft.
The little stone also survived the greatest storms and skipped through
waters as flat as a mirror.
Only then did it pause for reflection. Then on it went, to find a perfect beach to
settle on.
On the beach, it rested, hopeful for another hand, your hand,
the Holiday Stone.
I could just make out the rotating horses, hear them; braying in the fire, leaping above an abusive smoke.
It seemed that despite the ever loosening grip on their painted reigns, the deafening funfair did not cease to roar upon it, with hellish flames.
Accompanied then by sounds of yesterday’s children, I witnessed the horses escape to the fields of evergreen.
I and them, together, they then turned and shared my shock of a fairground fire; hungry for what remained of their vintage carousel.
Sky rays
The familiarity
Turquoise Sun
Welcoming sound
to everyone
Faceless ghosts
Repeat
Faceless hosts
Repeat
Personalized movie
Scenes to fit
One front row seat
To stand or sit
Fires are cooler
Multicoloured flames
Rose tinted
Memory fooler
Unacquainted to
remembered names
With a slower me
and a slower you
Me and me
Washed out
Beach garden house
Together
and another you
Visualize and memorize
Repeat.
I’m sitting in my form classroom, at a table nearest the aisle. There seems to be nothing outside the window, nothing except fog. I sense the classroom is full; figures mimic the blackened wood, the heads of smoking match’s; I am a match in a box of fire.
My name is called. The room is emptying, the fog knocking clumsily against the large never-ending windows. My form tutor walks to my desk in complete silence. As I recall, she was cold and unapproachable. As she hovers, ever closer, her icy atmosphere envelopes my personal space; hanging around me like poisoned oxygen.
‘What was her name again?’ ‘Bulchin, yes that right, Mrs Bulchin.’ Only a teacher would be called Mrs Bulchin! A name such as Bulchin could be appropriately used for the act of vomiting.
She speaks calmly with her Lancashire accent. Her voice grates my skin, decays my eardrums as so they rattle; slightly destroyed from their comfortable function.
“Nice to have your company again… Kevin. We wondered if we would ever see you again. There seems to be no account for your poor… recent… attendance.” Her last three words, so heavy, they fall and scatter; the consonants have grabbed my feet while the vowels have chained them to my school desk.
But I feel so disconnected to everything.
I’m barely able to reply, “I didn’t realise, now being thirty-five, that I needed an explanation!” My voice has played slow. The low decibels fail to carry happily through the fake, stagnant air.
Without blinking, without recognising that what she is saying to me is absurd, she stoops to my eye level and says, “You do realise you will be charged? The total you owe, currently stands at, ten thousand pounds!” She says monotonously, empty to the core.
“That’s not right, I shouldn’t be here now.” I’m passive, each word as equal as the next that follows it.
“You didn’t finish your exams Kevin…you will be charged.” Her words nail me to my alleged crime like I’m the newest brand of criminal. I’m desperate to escape, leave the flimsy set with a sharp retaliation of words than can cut me out the shape of an exit as hastily as a wrecking ball.
Then, I hear a voice barely audible from a gender unknown, within the room.
I can sense that I have stood up. But I’m not sure. Maybe I’m just looking down. There is some comfort injected into my heart before my visuals collapse about me like blurred shards from a metallic imagery montage.
Good Morning!
Take pills and see ghosts or shoot up and take flight.
Pull here to run away or tap there to stand up and fight.
And then, found sweating I’m in a room all of a sudden,
With umpteen joysticks and numerous coloured buttons.
In the high scores top ten, a repeated name called ace.
I’m not in the top-ten, walk away and save face.
Wait! As I feel the burning, red and sore.
Game on! Goad’s the machine showing my new score.
I Eat Let.ers 