The Briefest Moment in Time (poem)

It was so lovely to see you,
regardless of what could be-
to greet your eyes once more,
and for your eyes to once again greet me.

To once more lift your smile-
as effortless as yesterday,
oh, someone catch my mind-
before nostalgia steals it away.

I was once yours,
and you were once mine-
and I lived it again,
for the briefest moment in time.

This has worked before (poem)

You could align the stars with battle forged scars,
a flurry of fantasy with herds of beeping cars-
my mind squeezing the distance to where you are.

There is no antidote to for an ex-lovers curiosity,
waiting out the transition from longing to ferocity-
am I nostalgia’s plaything? Possibly.

Flowers delivered to your door, what for-
I watched the movie, this has worked before.
Flowers delivered to your door, what for-
You loved me once, this has worked before.

Farce (poem)

I can’t decide if you are the love of my life,
or the pain in my arse.
True love is not easy,
it’s an absolute farce.

You don’t want to talk about the referendum,
all you want to do it be passive aggressive on social media;
when Satan finally calls you back-
you can’t take your followers with ya.

Dear Mrs Davies (poem)

Dear Mrs Davies,

I’m not sorry to tell you that your daughter is on drugs,
she’s got smack-heads sleeping on your DFS rugs-
I know that you don’t hold me in the highest regard,
but at least I don’t ask for MDMA in exchange for ten minutes with my arse.

I know that you blame me and believe I am the devil incarnate-
but you didn’t say those things: when I paid her phonebill, paid for her food
and her lifestyle-
like she was some starving artist.

You see, I do agree, we just do not work well together-
but I still hope, that if she changes, that there will be a future for us both.
All she really needs; is a new personality, a brain transplant-
and some nose plugs to prevent her from putting shit up her nose.


How will you feel? (poem)

There will be nothing but pieces of you-
that they swore was once crystal,
and only then will it all be clear-
your enemies were all too good and near.

You will chase that terrible town with excuses to drown-
every good memory with a shot of sympathy,
and none will you have saved for-

The difference in you and I-
is that I built a house of happiness made of bricks,
yours is a shack of self-absorption,
thrown together with mud and sticks.

I hope you engulf your nose with the sweetness that you snort-
commandeering a ship destined for a black-hole on mission-
you can never abort.
Soon are the days in which I become the bittersweet morning-after afterthought.

There is no doubt that your life will discover some plastic joy-
in the same personalities, same rituals and the same boys.
However, the plastic people will soon become apparent and real,
then, when you are stuck  in your cycle, how will you feel?