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.

Fairground Father (poem)

In all his tatty leather, inhaling his dreams,
what about your uniform? tearing at the seams-
your days now, he will never know what they mean.

Picking up his guitar, picking up the chicks,
picking up a bag of green but not picking up his kids,
but remember kid, you’ll only have one daddy now-
and rest assured he’s there when the fair is in town.

Your daddy is a Rockstar don’t you know?
He ain’t got the fans and the money to blow,
never waiting for you at the school gates,
oh but he’s at the bar waiting for his mates.

The fairgound father,
only bothers when there’s none,
but he’s a Rockstar don’t you know?
he only cares about having his fun.

Poem – I Know

I was going to start this piece by saying things you already know.
You’re beautiful. You’re charming. You’re…….more than nice.
I do not know what would disappoint me more;
you knowing these things because you have an inflated ego
or you know because you have a reflection in your bed who mirrors-
everything you whisper to them.

I avoid conversation with you in the sheer hope that you
are interested in me and will ask me directly about my day.
Ask me what I had for lunch,
ask me what song I am listening to,
ask me what I think about at night,
ask me something, anything and all that matters is that-
you are curious about me.

When I see your phone screen light up your face-
like the moon lighting up the nightclub ocean, I
struggle with my decisions.
Do I admire how beautiful you are despite the lack of light
or do I curdle at the fact that someone else has your attention this very night.

I ignore your presence on purpose sometimes,
I pretend not to hear your questions,
I divert my gaze so you don’t catch it,
I give you as little of myself as I possibly can in the day-
because I am saving my energy to give you as much as myself-
will allow in the hush of my dreams.

Deep down, I know that all I am is a face and a name who
appears in a time and a place to you.
Deep down, I know that you are already dialling the number of
a taxi cab to give yourself more time to look pretty for someone else.
Deep down, I know that you ask me questions just so I reciprocate them
and pay your interesting life a favour.
Deep down, I know that I would dial the number of a taxi cab to see you
look pretty, even if it was for the eyes of someone else.
Deep down, I know that your interesting life does not really care for mine.

I know that this space and period we find ourselves in is temporary-
and I know that romanticizing you will only put fuel in a car with no tyres.
I know that when I see your presence, you have already accounted for mine.
I know when you hear my questions, you don’t care if they are answered.
I know that if I catch your gaze, it’s because I was blocking your view.