Communication 66

walking 

walking alone, ghosts conjure,

I could be the only person alive

I should be the only one never 

deprived of peace

we are all deprived of relief,

there is no space for us.

Communication 65

Come Traveller 

come traveller, rest 

tell me why you hate to settle,

yours was a face I use to trust

even though you left years ago

we’ve lived a life time between us,

there’s so much I have to say, 

“I too lost all roots” 

unlike you I chose to stay 

has travel broadened the mind?

is it true you had to really seek to find?

or has all you’ve dreamt of been staring you in the face?

I’m yet to find my rightful place,

forgive me for all the questions,

to me this is a very different view, 

you see I’m no traveller 

just a passer through

it’s all so very unforgiving 

this process that leads us in life

and I’m unable to believe

how quickly it passes us by 

we live – we die in a blink of an eye, 

for now I have found the days 

reaching back to a better place,

what comes next there is no telling

twilights and woeful dwellings are shadows 

I choose to hide my most precious things in

“but we can never hide our sins”

come traveller – let me in,

I am all that has come before me 

days spent stepping stone memories

basking in the fame of past glory

my tales are true,

not to be mistaken for a travellers story,

experiences, I’ve forgotten most of them,

if you look hard the marks can be seen

in my face and hands, some have healed, 

others have become a part of who I am

tell me traveller, 

where will you go now?

were you ever really here?

maybe you’re a ghost of an idea 

helping me overcome this constant fear 

of remaining the same, 

a fear I’m yet to tame 

if I could take the chance

and grab for the highest star, I’d journey far

bridge the gap between guessing and knowing,

overthrowing the inevitable

and if I go for the grab and fall 

I can rest knowing I never really

knew myself at all. 

Communication 64

I am Trauma 

I am undeserving

I am scraps of systematic residue

on the underbelly of the afternoon,

I scratched my name in you

I have nothing to save

septic stitches entwined

through the scathing wound

she’s tormented 

she’s bruised

these hands, to mop her weeping,

I am her plaster to shield the bleeding,

in her crevices, 

retaliation’s hiding,

I encapsulate her tissue dying

she can only conjure repair in sleeping 

I am Trauma

Communication 63

These Leaves Are Boats

these leaves are boats falling 

then passing me by, 

spring’s shower, the tides, 

I brace for the ride

my chosen vessel,  the oak leaf 

stems supple

both sides hardy, 

there’s just enough room 

to fit me

the streams run past Blackheath Standard, 

I’ll set sail south for Depford,

the parting of the rivers bleed into Chelsea,

when the rain comes again 

I’ll be washed away, 

which is fine with me

because I have no real 

place to stay

Communication 62

Unearthing 

here I am, gathering dust

expectant 

of the unknown to unearth, 

I am merely a fragment, 

shrapnel in a landscape, 

silently

studying ways to disappear,

can I escape? 

maybe leave quietly, like

a stepping stone that slips free,

the sudden start of "now" 

instantaneously alerts me,

she is expectant, 

with so many reasons

to bare witness, 

maybe for now I'll have to wait, 

maybe now I must go

it’s clear

it’s not her time to show

Communication 61

Anubis Rises

Anubis rises from black sands

his structure surpasses earths lifespan,

solar systems caught in dead plate shadows

internal mappings embalmed in strung silk,

a fine display of artistry 

from which his tomb was built,

if the heart is heavier than your sin

you’ll be unchained, a witness

to his second rising, 

if your sin outweighs the heart

you’ll be bound for eternity 

then slowly torn apart,

Anubis rises from black sands

his structure surpasses

all that stands,

life’s infinite, eternal

from the cup in which he drinks

intravenously connected

to the heart of the Sphinx

Communication 60

Our Summer House

Our summer house

holds memories of my life.

It comforts autumn within her morning,

welcomes summer with its gaze,

hides the cries of my sisters sorrow,

captures the beauty of my mothers ways.

It gives front row seats

for yearly solstice,

silent sanctuary

from discoloured days,

expectancy for life’s invitations

that wilt and die at the coming of age.

It holds new fortune

in its pale design,

still original with architectural difference,

almost picturesque,

above sublime,

its four walls standing the test of time.  

Our summer house

it stands in silent song

harbouring fondest memories

of loved ones passed on.

It will continue to grace the lives

that pass its way,

comforting dreams of others that

wake it with their stay. 

Communication 59

Bridges Fall

a place where nothing ever grows,
a shoreline, a moat,
seasoned oak leaf ensembles,
indecisive infancy,
there's so much more for me, waiting outside,
passed the bridge, where the rook calls,
the tiniest of lights flicker within these castle walls,
a moment of clarity, draw bridges fall,

the wars over on the north wind,
I can hear the bullets whistling,
in here I'm fighting to stay alive,
for a peace that wasn't meant to be,
a solemn ghost sleeps inside me,
a place where nothing ever grows,
a dark room, a womb,
the rootless seed that can't be sewn

Communication 56

My Earth Is A Bubble

My earth is a bubble
an impenetrable vortex,
a five digit code,
the clearest lens shows
distortion on the outside
no freeways to ride,
derelict cities, abandoned towns,
no cynicism, no sound
I've pulled down the shutters, life,
long washed away in the gutters,
I have no desire to leave,
no reason I know,
my earth is a bubble
a balloon I let go

Communication 55

where the stem bends

I saw a damsel fly sitting on the edge of noon
muttering to himself about his life span
he couldn't see the sense in his presence

when he'd be gone before his time was spent

he'd have no reason for reflection

if his days remained reflectionless

Communication 54

a heart to fit

this world will never stop turning

and those that have left us

we’ll never stop missing

it’s inevitable to say,

I will one day be missed,

maybe not by you, but someone,

somewhere, I may of caught

in a moment of bliss,

coincidentally glancing

the same time I caught their eye,

is it such a sorry tale

to of lived and died

having found no heart to fit

tighter than the one that beats

inside this beaten spirit 

Communication 53

alive

when the new morning comes

I’ll be ready,

everywhere and in between

the patchwork of a daydream,

morning colours touch

all the different kinds of us

and I open my eyes for the first time

as if I’ve never been

alive.

Communication 52

ready to feel

are you really ready to feel?

to live with the pain of knowing

nothing of love

balancing the weight through

a life time of loss 

a wind swept day lonely

of any real warmth other

than your own

are you really ready to feel?

alone,

scared and terrified of time,

the half blood stitch it leaves

in the heart

when all that was expected

fell lost among the pages of

a life’s work,

drowned in the decades

that passed you by

in a blink of an eye

the painter

the artist

the writer

who’s reluctant to admit

their inks run dry

Communication 51

Come To Pass

where everything flies

as freely as it does,

into the sky and its expanse,

to all that flies freely

and so often does,

this world away I’ve come to pass

among the stars

that hang above.

Communication 50

Brother Town

I met a man who spoke in tongues

just passed where his pride was hung,

his town it stretched barely yards

a stranger opposite shuffled his cards.

The marking on his face and hands,

told of years living off his land,

he’d preach his stories and old wives tales

about the communist and how they’d failed.

After sometime he spoke of his life

a woman who loved him, a friend and wife

he’d found a new comfort in us strangers,

a comfort that bared no hidden dangers.

“One day”, he said, “I’d like to leave,

 to replace the memories I so often grieve”,

“around here the time it rarely changes,

same people, same faces, in all the same places”

He was leaving to find a brother town,

with no more nostalgia to grind him down,

he already felt his new life had begun,

just passed where the rivers run.

Communication 49

Carry On Time

The meaning of the day stays tender,

a calling, a heartfelt song,

for those who regard time as a gift,

not something taking too long.

The silence of the night

lets dreams take flight,

it stays blind within its dark

the night lights up once in awhile,

with desire, a soul etched spark.

The coming of the morning

breaks early with no warning,

it sheds its loss through transparent tears,

the morning waits for the coming of the day,

then evaporates into years.

Communication 48

Chloe Come Home

embers burning, days of toiling

  all pardons are passed to judge

silence ponders our place of rest

  all bearers pass the grudge

widowers walk contemplating “together”

  silencing their fair faint whisper

tears taunt a morsel of a memory,

  I can tell how much you miss her

beyond the cries of those who ache

  still missing and misusing guilt

mother tried to pen her feelings

  though affections ink’s been spilt

this love frail hampered heart

  beckons beyond it’s breast bone

father’s lost amid the final wasteland,

  now I am alone, Chloe come home!

Communication 47

Collectively Dreaming

I carved my fated fortune

into an oak tree’s heart,

hoping he felt the same as me

even though we were worlds apart.

I caught the moon before its rising,

stopped it reaching greater heights

it staggered holding tight to the reigns

of a softer quieter night.

I painted the emptiness with silver tears,

tried to fill its hole with art,

hoping it felt the same as me

even though we were worlds apart.

I took the soul of a lost souls heart,

called on distant voices

to tell them there was still love         

in the places where lovers part.

Collectively dreaming,

I dreamt of something new,

placed it beyond anything we’d except,

shaped it with the contours of you,

kept it in a safe place,

freed it from religion, colour and race. 

Communication 46

coming of man

to disappear,

to me

is only apparent when growing,

I am an etching,

erased

how long did it take you to make your mark ?

are you really the face in the photograph,

I don’t think so!

what markings does your body show,

evolution and the maps of man

are you frail as you learn to expand,

I don’t think so!

it takes a life time to learn

we were never designed to withstand

the embodiment of our nature

and the coming of man