You see the ages (poem)

It was my party but I didn’t cry – I never thought to,
the ambitions as a teen well they never came through,
just always believed that moment would contain you.

The ages they shift us both,
but there’s still belief in our wooden float-
yeah, the ages they shift us both,
but you’re the one who’s carving holes.

I’m not afraid of death or of the dark-
I worry about the hand that holds me when the lights go off,
will it clutch me at the dying of the light
or cast me off without the desire of a fight.

You see the ages, they shift us both-
we knew we had the time but not how we’d grow,
yeah the ages, they shift us both-
you can never truly know.

Our differences, they tear at binds-
softened by the counties and train lines,
our differences, the you’s and i’s
it’s been ages since I’ve had your time.

You see the ages, they shift us both-
perhaps it’s me – let me know,
yeah the ages, they shift us both-
will you go down with the wooden float?

Are you worth the effort my love? (poem)

You keep asking me to change,
I know I am not as perfect as you in many ways,
but with the menu booklet in your hand,
you love me just the way I am.

I am certified dickhead in saying things I don’t mean,
I’m winding you up I am,
Most of the time it’s just for the reaction,
but all of the time I need a renewal of attraction.

You know how I feel by the way I pretend I don’t,
you want to be the only one to love me, but you won’t,
we work well together, fighting the whole world,
but I’m not fighting with you for it my girl.

So forgive me if I don’t intend on hanging around,
can’t get my head up above the water if you put your foot down.
I don’t enjoy hanging on to your thread,
much rather that it gets itself comfortable around my neck.

There is no effort in love,
there is no effort in love,
but are you worth the effort my love?

Who are the ones living? (poem)

So young. So much left to do. So much and yet so little.
Years unspent, memories that will never be kept.
He died, there is a coffin now and he died.
He died, there is a hearse now and he died.
He died, there is a six foot hole and he died.
And that is all they will say today.

But he lived, my god he lived beyond us all.
Us who breathe, us who gain weight and drink whiskey-
he lived and sparked ferocious laughter that shook sound waves.
He lived beyond a 100 years and died before 30 years.
But he was not counting, we are the ones counting.
So, who are the ones living?

Funerals are late arrivals to celebrations of life,
reminds the dead that we (thankfully) have life for today.
We do not bury a dead son, brother, friend and lover today.
For he was never dead, we are never dead.
In reality, we begin to die soon as we start living.
Honestly, we die each day we are not fully living.

We speak of death more than we speak of the name,
we talk of loss more than we talk of what we gained,
we shed pain more than we cherish the light,
but remember, there must be stars before there is night.

One of my poems is getting published!

Received a letter this morning from ForwardPoetry, they would like to publish one of my poems! After a rough few weeks it has upped my spirits and strengthened my confidence. I owe some of that confidence to my readers and frequent commentators who do nothing but encourage me and deepen my passion for poetry. Thank you.


It is much better to drift from people you thought you knew than to drift further away from your journey just to please those who no longer have time for you

Consider me there (poem)

I’d risk another attack for the last of your cigarette,
I don’t want to miss, I’d rather your bitter regret,
descend into any darkness for the sake of your glow,
I cannot tell you but darling you have to to know.

Swinging from telephone wires in the piss poor rain,
there is no lesson to learn in something you would do again,
whatever you desire is whatever I’ll be,
I cannot show you but baby you have to see.

I’ve practiced to perfection juggling these grenades,
in awe of something that is never quite contained,
What if I am too late and I disappear?
It cannot leave my mouth but you have to hear.

Kisses by altars or by hospital beds,
in New York apartments or rooms under the stairs,
if it’s a new dress or the falling of your hair,
whatever the day, consider me there.

In selfish, coiled hours before the sunset-
thoughts becoming tsunamis,
you know how I get when I’m upset,
you know I get when I am left-

I can see what you think in your eyes,
where your respond for silence,
my love, my friend, my dearest of dears-
what of the person whom you hear?

Sometimes my nightmares become ropes,
often my anxiety transforms into chairs,
always my mind roars with dark wires,
what of. this. despair.