All Before The Storm That Wakes

OVERTURE

Here you go

A ballad, a ballroom

Something about a twenty year old becoming a forty year old

And then a forty year old becoming a twenty year old

Something about tyrants and the tiresome

And buccaneers and brigadiers

And mobsters and moonmen

And phoney captains

And Nancy and Avogadro

Beer drinkers

Over thinkers

And Igor and Miranda

For Craig and Louise

For Maya

For Jaydn

For Murph

For Cliff

And for Nancy

Or something like that

The Tangled Dream

There in amongst the dusty settlers

Who at dark, march to the brewery

Four of them wait outside

Taking off all of their jewellery

It all lands in the same bucket

And all because of the same gun

That points down at the collars

White, blue, orange or crimson

It’s the revolver of the coward

That really turns the tale

And tips the tide to zero

Preventing all who sail

If ever then at new year’s

The tally will reach its peak

And the lottery will produce tickets

Double the regular week

Because everyone knows they’re able

To win beyond the regular rate

Even though everyone thinks

There’s just one person they can date

And all in all

The wind will bring

Lovely little roads that tangle everyone 

Merely to travel and sing

Forever under the weather

Where the clouds are clogged with snow

And all the silent flinchers

Tie together the sky like bows

Only lasting for a moment

While the onlookers form a thought

They’re all just in awe, each mumbling

‘What ever have we bought?’

That’s really the sort of thing

Old men try to explain

But ultimately what they’re trying to say is

We’re all under the same rain

Toward the muddied tourniquet

Out beneath a beaten palm

The medic sneezes for a second

And is blessed by his patient in arms

Wiping away from his brows and lips

All the dust and the glue

He pulls out a soggy cigarette, which he lights

With a strike to the bottom of his shoe

The flame lasted a moment

Though it burnt really like a sun

Its warmth too fleeting to be recycled

Hardly weighing a trillion tons

written 14/6/25

That Is When

All is able to form in tired pits

Where caves speak though hardly spit

The words and aching riddled tides

That roll beneath the soil and rocks and rides

The ancient breeze, still concealed though never trapped

Where inside the foraged mind the ores can still be tapped

I try to not speak so much when moods are foul

But seeing as the foul mind speaks when tattered like the handy towel

It speaks in some ways worthy

And it speaks what it means to be worthy

I find the frozen ache of the moaning mind foul

So too the taunting, forested mind, obscured, is just foul

Whenever the breathing, talking-allowing, breathing, willing

Components of my structure ever-willing

That is when

That is now

The cables loose though still strapped

Enable to be free

The now or never-be’s

That you may never see

All beneath soil and rock

All along the flowing with the clock

Time’s template is exempt of you

Speak, now or never true

That is when

written 11/6/25

The Pillars Of Being Ruthless

Name one reason to reinstate

Christmas quiet and sandpaper traits

And corpse, carnivalistic soap-opera fates

To ensure bevelled and scratchy crates

For transit, though once stored for special dates

To alleviate the often noble-useless

Yes, he who used it, he holds it still

Holding his hammer, dropping his iron will

Staring into the tank he fills

Bleeding in the time he kills

Breathing slower in migrant thrills

He’d pay extra to be clueless

Where’s the bird who sings the song

I hear the song but where’s it from

It speaks from the sky but the voice is wrong

I wait, I wait, again is too long

So I border on what’s curved along

The pillars of being ruthless

written ?/9/25

Funny Little Locks

I met you on a freight train

The carriages kept curving ‘round the bend

I didn’t think there was a fix for that

But for you they did quickly send

An artist with a spanner

Who talks of bells and clocks

Fishing wire timing

And funny little locks

All around the train line

You stood there so real

And I never got to thank you for it 

And now I’m too tired to heal

Do you remember the picnic?

The one without the plates?

You argued with a salesman

Who wouldn’t discuss his rates

And the fibred grass did wrestle

With a blanket far too old

And you got up to perform some magic

Pulling the rug from under when it got too cold

I like to remember you like that

Holding the flowing breeze

I love the way you smiled

Like magic could be performed with ease

I write to you on occasion

Still, as I think you should know

But as I’m unsure of how much time is left

Perhaps you’d better go 

written 19/6/25

Twenty

Immolate the first sacred fear

Hijack on rotted deck to implant your ached feet while ya’ steer

Frame that old brigadier in between his waters, disorders and autumn’s clear

His fiery moons and white suns

That all cling together to hum

Peering that same direction so numb

All you gotta’ do is get his attention

Second on Sunday, but third you quit

Across the parent’s fabric by the cousins who knit

Stapled is a tag that folds a bit

Where it’s printed “those who you find, those who are it

Must apologise or retire before they sit”

Is read to you tomorrow before you’ve found

A semblance in patterns, themes and sounds

Unable to prosper, too foolish to mention

Attorneys weather like a stormy debate

Fixed sanding the nozzle that reaches the plate

If only they strangled the heart, the engine’s traits

Then perhaps all that’s delayed was never too late

Instead we prolong the juror’s wage, checkmate

Ensure we lure from the stage the same old mage

Who says “frankly, I prefer people my own age”

As their knees buckle inward, ignoring a dimension

Remain unseen

I guess

Though you can still dream

Martyr once, cut plenty

You’re barely even twenty

written 3/5/25

Ode To Igor

Neighbours call

They say they care

Caution falls

My guard it stares

For weeks and rain

And oceans and tops

For stores and pain

Where he doesn’t know

Over out on over

Where about on holiday snow

Trail silver, while the loner

Sneaks with pebbled feet

Waiting for a draw

Avoiding who you meet

Presumably on her accord

While secretly damning

Silently circling

The cannons are manning

When the station is hurdling

To a stratosphere maze

Soft cue the curls

Transcendant malaise

Smile for her pearls

Making her reach for

The corner you weep

The sailor named Igor

Crouched on a steep

Eroded wooden stair

Barnacles cut deep

Lightning blares

The night is found

Here it is, finally

The shadow unbound

written 5/5/25

Winter’s Belt

Of forest capers

Turned to paper

Recycled now

Burned later

Chimney doors

That warm the halls

Exit cosmic dust

Never to return

But in the hour

Up until and before

Screams eternity

Like a private whisper

“Be now or long gone

For ice approaches and now is warm”

This message relays

And cycles between storms

Under winter’s belt

Is tucked what we once felt

Remember this moment

Else it be tucked there, too

Be free if hungry

Or sad or wrathful

Be now if anything

Yesterday or tomorrow are surely never at all

written 24/5/25

The Face of The Harbour

The frost under Naples’ clouds

Where silent now was once so loud

And the vines which were only air

Now they reach into brick and tear

Laced to the face of the harbour

Where the rods and the bait they garner

Out farther than used water insists

Yet the clouded rise persists

To the crash of barnacle stone

The wave greets but leaves you alone

But its counselling moon will so soon

Inspire it forth from its celestial room

If the wood is flesh

Then what exactly is death

If not becoming a beam or a bridge?

written 25/4/25

Love’s South

It gets into your heart and stings

The silent sort of lust

Eternal in bringing sharp rings

That corrode the mind to dust

To water the leaning flowers

Folding in the wind

Will not return the floral hours

Instead, by tending, you’ve sinned

Long must last the flame

That erupted you to now

Though the heart is not to blame

Nor your mind for repeating ‘how?’

You could say the gold is poison

As branches curl and break

But you’ll end up avoiding

All that which is now awake

Walk as an ant in battered crater

Around the shattered shells

Toward what you might applaud later

Flinching, if you must, at tolling bells

But never toward love’s south

To rescind is to disrespect

The light leading to cave’s mouth

But if still to dwell, just expect

The essence of tomorrow

Is what yesterday ever meant

written 28/5/25

May-Day

The stream descends

The dreams of when

With you I laughed and sang

Toward water’s fall

Floats just about all

The flower chimes that rang

And over is tipped

To be tumbled and chipped

The fire in our sun

And soon to be frayed

In a sudden dismay

Our heartbeat on the run

To turnover and writhe

While stone needles hide

The thoughts you had of me

Wrestled deep

Down craters steep

Is the you that set me free

Though my heart will one day show

Beached and through sea and sand will it glow

Where perhaps it rests and melts

Does it now seem dimmer

Or less likely to glimmer

Softly calling for someone else

written 28/5/25

On Spirited Away

“It’s not to say that no others smile,

But to yours, none are complete.

I won’t say others have no eyes,

But in yours I see the universe so sweet.

And who am I to need kisses and hugs

From one who heals when our hands meet?

Aren’t I just too lucky

To hear the harmony of your speak?”

Perhaps

But

To see a magic beyond your mind

As an evening walk by soft light

The applause from the fading sun and moon

Beam upon you into my sight

On flower’s cruise in and out the blades

Of grassy fixtures entwining the glades

In our arms we sit, so warmly we lay

We’d live unnoticed to any rains

To be with the very force

Which in me ignites a sun

Would stagger half-hearted

Yet it’s the world that runs

And so our days together, young or old

May burn bright before they ever fade

But in their eyes and flower soul

Great dreams and stories are forged to be made

written 22/5/25

Gated

The cable nations slide while I

Weary, dazed, unholy, mystified 

Who was angry, though I cried

Must somehow yield a false pride

That says “I hereby testify

These truths are nothing, here are lies”

Letting me walk under foreign sky

But, see, now I just feel dated

A sifted sort of sound from hell

Worries you for a minute though all ends well

As you know, from what you can tell

Play by rules and hear a bell

Wander the graveyard and notice no smell

Only flowers overlooking the dell

With your funeral shades you mistook the fell

And saw some kind of sanctuary, gated

Though elated to see no rot

Is what’s around you really what you’ve got?

It’s understated but still caught

That none will define what’s nought or fought

written 25/4/25

The Mist and Creatures

I like this position 

Where I see the courthouse sleep

And day shines through the prisons

Gentle silence grows and weeps

As the walking winds sweep and start

Playing with the gravel

And the little grass hands that stand atop

The mounds of higher turf

Where Connolly sees his home

In that mound where dirt meets surf

I’ll go as often as I know

Through valley paved in ice

Until its very bricks pack with snow

And the snap of clenching burg beneath

Where the frozen lake keeps

The mist and creatures

Who give glow-looks and creeps

Where light rests but deeper

Yes, I’ll still peek my head in

For the forest on the plains

The glades, where in the streets,

Between the green that blades

Give passage to the ones that

Search and feel, connect to the surface

To heal not reveal

Who feel with palms to flowers

Who really could do this for hours

Who need not begin

As it’s never over

written 12/6/25

Frangipani Discourse 

Frangipani discourse 

Over complimentary lanes

Frolicking against time 

And laughing at old pain

And a smile meets you 

As you look up or aside

Sealed and wrapped in grass 

Both bathing under sky

But neither dares to ask the other, 

‘Why?’

And no one will say to the other, 

‘Goodbye’

And as wind or cloud intervenes you wonder

You see in them a thoughtful ponder

Becoming a sad sort of frown

Forever condemning this street and town

Return here not, unless it’s your aim

To lie restless in the tiring game

written ?/3/25

Pendulum Mandate

Were I to meet you and it were sunny

I’d greet you proudly and you’d find that funny

But still my stomach sits

In its pit is a corpse of tangled wits

Unrelenting to never admit

The fits and tender bits

You welcomed once before when days were honey

Though I’m stuck here to anticipate

The madness to be soon, I do not wait

As the reason coils

Proving to foil

Love’s spoils

That tends to oil

And glide me outer ways, here, there, to pendulum mandate

Saying that my tumbling rescinds after mind’s rinse

Is not to test or poke, hardly even to convince

The evening shapes

Sought to escape

The beating mind that tapes

The flailing ape

Who misstepped into steel mistaking blossom providence

Hardly does what’s certain fall

When in amongst you who curtains all

But how reality twists

In spite of those who insist

That nothing’s truly missed

But isolation, true, enlists

Fog’s plain to restrain lust’s domain to an allocation so small

written 22/5/25 

A Banshee Pattern

A banshee pattern

The ragged neighbour

Rescued, curfewed 

Found in long labour

Beneath your spiritual guidelines

And the actuality you prescribe

Is a ragged neighbour

Falsely inscribed

And here he waits for the gallows

Where what’s shallow howls

And further just waits

And uses fewer vowels

Sanity’s reach can bestow

The greater loss

Of Desolation Row

Else you know

Here he is now

Did you work for that?

That’s why you did everything?

I believe you.

written unknown (i wanna say September? but i also don’t even care at all, do you?)

They Weren’t Good Fellas

The corner side treatment

For rats and mobsters

Who dishonestly earn and burn

For crafty cats and lobsters

Frankie 7 legs had two

Mitchell had just one

And Donnie in the wheelchair

Well, he just had none

And that’s just how it went

They weren’t good fellas

They were quite rude

And seldom carried umbrellas

Perhaps the sky was the exception

That couldn’t get special treatment

To bust a cloud’s kneecaps

That’d be an achievement

One day Donnie wheeled

Around a tight bend

Frankie nosed his mind in

To check the tyre pressure of his friend

“92 PSI, by god, Donnie, you’re hot on gas!”

Donnie just rolled away

Mitchell (still hopping in)

Said “I told you that yesterday”

“It’s too much pressure

We can’t take that”

“Yeah, Donnie, it’s too much heat”

“I believe you” Donnie said

Rolling passed sirens on the street

written 29/5/25

Bates of Beden

Sapped beneath the favourite old willow

Where the bedsheets cover over the pillow

Denying breach of snake

And the eardrum hides

From those who testified

That you are, in truth, awake

I find that harmony is under too much stress

Far better to endure the noise

Old pianos sit and rattle

Like older, slower, decaying cattle

There in the shadows of the farm

And the man in tweed

Says there is no need

To do them any harm

So I stay asleep and dream so deep

But I’m restless when I escape

Two-bit counters afford the strip

As the gamblers ride back in and dip

Their toes into a wishing well

And though on their heels

They bleed and steal

No one will let them in to hell

And thats just cus’ no one’s free

Except to have the freedom to lie

written 7/6/25 

Cliff

Ned Kelly used to hide in place called Glenrowan

Or something like that

His face is on every building and pub and store in the town

His face is on all three buildings

We walked into the pub with Ned Kelly’s face on it

We met the only other two people in the town

We met the bartender

And we met Cliff

Before he spoke to us Cliff paid for a game of pool

Cliff then asked us to play a game of pool 

Cliff didn’t care that we’d never really played before

Cliff said either “you know?” or “type a’ thing” every four words

Cliff would start and stop laughing 3 times whenever he made a joke

Cliff put a lot of chalk on his cue

Cliff asked us where we’d come from 

Cliff told us where he came from 

Cliff sunk three balls on his first turn

I told Cliff I was going to try hit that ball but I wasn’t sure if I could

Cliff said “that’s okay”

I accidentally put my beer on a coaster that had Cliff’s chewing gum on it

When I picked up the beer the coaster was stuck to the bottom

I pulled it off

He saw what happened but he didn’t say anything

Cliff told us he was a butcher

Cliff was a butcher from ages 15 to 65

Cliff ran his own butcher for 25 years, too

We asked Cliff what he thought of supermarkets 

Cliff said “egh, yeah, you know”

We said it’d be hard to compete with those prices

Cliff said it wasn’t the prices

Cliff said it was how long you took to get your meat

Cliff said he would never serve anyone without chatting with them for a few minutes

Cliff said at a supermarket you’d never even see who cut your meat

Cliff said supermarkets were factories 

Cliff said he’d never become a factory 

Cliff said he’d retire first

Cliff retired first

We asked him if was happier

Cliff said he doesn’t have to think about meat anymore but he could still do it if he needed

We said it’s good you don’t have to think about it anymore

Cliff looked sad and repeated to us that he could still do it

Cliff went and ordered two beers for himself and asked for them takeaway

Cliff told me he didn’t want a slice of my pizza

Cliff then mentioned he had only eaten wasabi peas that day

Cliff took his two cans of beer to his truck where his bed was

We walked out with Cliff and saw his surfboard on his roof

We said you should try putting it in the water

He said “I gotta fix this first” and then slapped his large belly 

Glenrowan is the place where Cliff hid out in at one point

Or something like that 

Thank you for the game, Cliff

written 19/10/25

Captain Bravery Is A Phoney!

Of the cotton mind

Pulled, coiled then flattened, left behind

Dated, dainted until you find

In some other place, a different time

Perhaps what was worse is over

Remind yourself to walk and breathe

Rest the shoulder whose bag you heave

Take it and retreat until you weave

But really you let the poison seethe

A drink or two would make you sober

Restless power, broken fits

A seared heart and yet you exist

Still commanding shrinking wrists

Keeping away from fits and lists

Yet you insist you wish you’d never known her

Bravery is so cruel

When your cowardice has its rule

It’d be nice if a harmless dispute

Didn’t feel like dying

Rolling in a new brown suit

Short trimmed, branded a new recruit

Forces new answers, some in mute

Beg to find a new commute

So the walls are greyer while you find her

When skies pollute, gratitude quits first

Then goes your smell, your tell but not your thirst

Isolate on your own accord but what’s worse

Is now you’ve lost your supply and your nurse

The ‘stache that fit the misfit but couldn’t kiss her

Save on your wage by eating less

Save on your friends by an oath to never confess

Work on day, in morning undressed

Waiting, frantically, still without patience, for somethin’ to suggest

Something, something, something to figure

Oh, I doubt

You’ll see this drought

Drown in this time or out

Kneel in the shower to feel like you’re crying

written 5/5/25

The Silent Prosper

I’ve thought a lot this week

About those that sought or seek

The cabinets that knock or creak

The door knobs that trick or treat

And the fixin’ they do and the mixin’

Couldn’t it be so construed

That their business is so rude

That them standing upsets my sitting mood

And violates the chairs to which I’m glued

Over again remarking instead of parking

I’m extending this to inventiveness

Attending the prolonging mess

Honestly proving by noble confess

Resuming on through without digress

It’s not soothing it’s glooming

To stop and sit doesn’t mean to quit

To step aside isn’t to be overcome by it

Romping and riding won’t itself keep you fit

Though slowly decays your nerves and wit

Caution those who’ve lost the silent prosper

written unknown

The Ballad Of Nancy and Avogadro (of Wayward Shire)

Across the witch’s divide

Out tearing the valley of old,

Far before the ticks of frost

Burned to ensnare peace with cold.

And though eyes of the night

Would wake from silent sleep,

They rested between rocks and seared wood

Down ‘neath the bridge, ‘till deep.

Nancy of The Wayward Shire

Journeyed now alone.

For once without Avogadro, who was by her side

Constantly, as it’s well known.

They were the bestest of best friends

And for very many days,

But for whatever reason,

Between them grew a haze.

See, Avogadro met Nancy long ago 

by Rosemary’s Saloon.

They were doin’ some drinking

And popping full balloons.

She liked the way he flinched

Before each time they were pricked.

Right there and then his sincerity,

With her, it just clicked.

Even though between them

You’d be hard pressed to count an inch,

Rarely were they earnest

And honest only in a pinch.

They’ve been everywhere, you know,

And battled plenty nasty folk,

But suddenly, there in amongst them,

A strange fire burned when they spoke.

Simply enough, they stopped talking

And that was all that was wrote.

Word of the ragged witch, Ragashee,

Had Nancy up and on her boat.

But all through the flippant seas,

Nancy would be glancing behind,

Until she reached Saurel Harbour,

Where it all seemed to slip her mind.

Passing the dock’ards and lagoonists

Who smelled and rinsed in odour,

Nancy made haste for Ragashee’s trail

So that winter would soon be over.

Though something back behind her,

Perhaps in some part of her mind,

Told her she’d brought her own winter

And not of the Ragashee kind.

Anyhow, Nancy of Wayward Shire

Approached a rickety bridge.

Back and forth it swayed

And it creaked just a smidge.

Carefully she stepped and tread

Though with no sense of danger,

When, without her stepping,

She heard the howl of a familiar stranger.

A shrieking snap of wood 

Followed the howling sound

Of frantic breathing and slapping,

While Nancy turned around.

Under the bridge dangled Avogadro,

Late, but just in time,

Nancy footworked across to her friend

Whose frightened face began to mime.

Avogadro stared to behind Nancy,

With a great big, gasping frown

As there stood mighty Ragashee

Donning her charred crown.

‘AHHHHHHH!’ ripped Avogadro

While Nancy pulled him to safety.

Without paying Ragashee mind,

She said, “Where’ve you been lately?”

“Well, away from you” said Avogadro

“But since then on my way

Just to say sorry, but also,

All the other things I wanna say.”

“Like what?” Gasped Nancy,

Ragashee stepping onward.

“Like I love you or whatever

But I know It’s just so awkward.”

“Well at what time do you call this?”

“I don’t know, you asked.”

“I guess I did, but 

I think that time has passed.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure. Let me think.”

There was a silence for a while.

Even Ragashee stopped

At the end of that sentence.

She stood dark against the mountains

As if there merely to witness

The friends flicking between each other’s eyes.

Could it be seconds passing or many a week?

Well, right when Avogadro began to fold,

Nancy of Wayward Shire started to speak.

“But here, right now

on this bridge so broken,

Somehow we still stand together.

You found me and no words were spoken.”

“Yes, but I should have been here all along.”

“But I didn’t ask for you to be.

No words were spoken.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, I believe you.”

“Believe what?”

“That you love me.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, no words were spoken.”

“I think I understand.”

“Me too, but just a second.

Why have you stopped?”

Asked Nancy to Ragashee,

Who floated in the black mist

Far too quiet and patiently.

Ragashee looked to Nancy but

Her eyes weren’t as horrible as you’d think,

Then the witch gave a warm smile

Followed by a soft blink.

That’s when Ragashee just faded away

Or so the stories have said.

Cus’ the only ones that could recount it

Went back to looking in each others’ eyes instead.

written on 31/5/25

All Before The Storm That Wakes

All before the storm that wakes

Where once too brave for shifting plates

The outer shore now raises stakes

And it’s offered onto until it relates

The story of the fighter saints

That marched long beneath us

And for every lonely night

Twisted dream of solo fright

Rests a way, a tempered might

Willing to turn against in spite

The haunting that acts to slight

Not that which wants but must

So in the gust of sorry fables 

Rests the now and then that’s able

To risk and fear and bring to the table

All that keeps from storm that’s stable

All that glows in warmth and maple

Never without but sometimes lost between you 

Meadow’s whisper brings to health

We know of the sun and its nightly stealth

Other stars, too, of the outer self

That collect the hazy, forgotten wealth

So keep in your heart and no where else

All that you wish to see through

written 1/6/25

Pink and The Peach

Of certain spots I know and cherish

Uncertain rots until they perish

As for seemly treats of tired rest

I keep within it like some form of test

I know that neatness is given

And it makes sense to give what is given

I only wish for this now to be

To be and be, to always be

Because, yes because, I know well now

Just how well the future howls

I hear it, yes, distant but heard

And no, I cannot hear its saying, not a word

Though there it cries and makes it known

I now see where time’s winds have blown

And for all the distant days out of direction

All the misery too painful to mention

It pits me pink and the peach

To have sight on tomorrow though out of reach

And shavings old will hardly do

The windings, pencil shavings cutting through

Tomorrow’s fabric and even casting

Warmth on yesterday’s gloom, everlasting

I know and feel the flare

And though weary, one must no longer beware

Here it is

Now

written 22/6/25

Do You?

Could the solo sunner see

The vision plain to be

Where idle fire met

And the ladies stayed inside and slept

While configurations of the machine

Cast the stench of a fishy scheme

Wherein the trainer finds his stuff

And any extras are his because what’s his isn’t enough

Though when is it

And does anyone remember to visit

Those they really love and miss

They think forever they glow in abyss

But that’s alright, I call on their birthdays

And anyway we’ll soon run out of things to say

And I have

missions to inform

And Lunches to keep

Vowels to speak

Vows to keep

Plans to sleep

When under the table

Is all you are able

And when the tower’s frown

Casts the shadow far down

Well, do you?

written 14/6/25

Sleeper

Don’t you wonder where the streets go?

I find comfort in pretending

Before I let the heat throw

Focus on mending

Myself

Bed time

Good night

Tired

So tired

What a week

Damn

Is this still a poem?

Fuck you

I reckon so

Tomorrow, where the streets go

written at midnight on 24/5/25

On Goodbyes

Is there such a thing as ‘goodbye’

If you’re devout to your old lies?

When lovers kiss but also sigh

Or after a storm’s raze, you ask ‘why

Must the sky cower and be so shy?’

What can something be after terrific?

Do the shades of canvas blur if too specific?

Might tales lustful burn horrific

Or could boatmen cleverly mimic

Swimming pool lanes so systemic over raging Pacific?

Goodbyes are fiction because you’re still here

Still I see and greet you though you’re not near

Even turning away you still steer

Hanging course, hovering over the deck at the rear

I listen to the poltergeist sneer

Glowing over the decaying veneer

Of this old buccaneer

Now incapable of fear

I could say farewell like I have a thousand times

But there’s too many words and less rhymes

Only a fool climbs ladders of spines

Sprouting goodbyes while his heart is too aligned

With you whose eyes

Make shallow seem the skies

written 28/4/25

Two-Pond Double Palm

Through pondered-on palms

Off again sharp leaves

Where the shoreline harms

And the sandcastles bleed

That’s where I find the free

Over bomb city

On the nine o’clock number

That’s where it ain’t pretty

You’re watching rehearsed slumber

So that the ladies let you be

Fruit snacks in your bed

Open a packet of flies

Change your sheets instead

And by being one who tries

You then can see

The painted beach sigil

That causes bored climbers to mime

Makes your skin wriggle

To the thrashing of time

Shouting over me

And the lousy lover’s lagoon

That I can’t believe

Cause it’s over so soon

Whose story could ever weave

Into another’s with such ease?

written 22/6/25

Rest In Lieu (Miranda Edition)

Off and on the Sunday paper

Spiralling like some new dawn

And all in all the cards are kept

Where the barrels on the guns are sawn

Miranda keeps another mattress

Underneath her bed

It’s smaller than her other one

She naps on it instead

How did she know to do that

Tapping on the trees?

How did she poke nature

Instead of bringing it to its knees?

All along the foundry

Melted metal in soup

All the tyrants play cards

While they sit and recoup

Neighbours are equal

But still… we still know

Just how much smaller their house is

And how much more their lilies are to grow

Oh yes I’m really tired now

Before it was only a joke

But now I try stay up doing whatever I can

And being all different kinds of folk

written 24/6/25

Bacon of Hope

I want some beacon of hope

To save me from the day

That my bacon tastes like dish soap

And my soft tyres forget to sway

I’m hanging on

Oh, but for so long

Really, too long now

You made me jam on toast

Brought it to my bed

And though I didn’t crave it most

I drove home to fry eggs

I’m hanging on

Oh, for far too long

It’s been way too long

I met you a year ago

But you introduced yourself last night

I thought you were just focused

But you tremble full of fright

You’re hanging on

With so long to go

How was I supposed to know?

written unknown (but i reckon it was around June based on a meaningless intuition)

Beer or Something

The tempered tide of interstellar clouds

That drain the side of cellar crowds

Where uninvited the townsfolk howl

Sorting in shapes at tables with growls

Holding, chanting, bubbling in storm

Together through brown and leather and whiskey and rum

The men with sandpaper faces, bar none

Though with cups kept with always some

Tempest colours ignite multiple suns

Neuron storms where quasars run

And any talker who missteps

Never for a moment will regret

The listening ears in conversation’s quartet

Hold any attempt at speech important

They’ll always nod, at least

Despite the weekly earning’s rust

And they’re now spending next week’s crust

Life needs and need’s must

Alcoholic fusion on confusion’s cusp

All creatures cold and warm must feast

written 18/7/25

Third Time (Around)

Yes, third time through

Again and it’s new

Again it’s with you

I fall to your call

Your eyelids and all

When the talk is so small

But you favoured a moon man

With seventy scars

While I, I’m just a rover

Still heading for Mars

The scene outside is so old

It’s magma that’s cold

It yawns when it’s told

The sea raging in me

Builds catacombs and three

Islands of steel trees

Keeping the supermarket fire

Trapped behind a neon closed sign

And I’d open her up for all sorts

Of supplies if I could find time

I’m looking to the phone

You may as well own

It’s your little throne

You, you’re just somewhere else

Collecting shells

Or carrying bells

You’re on the other side of

The moon, whose man you’d love

And I, I’ve had enough, I’ve had it tough

Seeing now the sky from above

written 3/8/25

He Who Pokes His Own Bruise

It’s blue and blinding

and binded in yellow bolts with purple black 

And her whisper that said

Darling come home

Darling I’m looking for you

Darling would you call me

It’s the candle brushed face

Her looking up from staring down

Her changing focus to me

The time it takes for her to realise

I’m already looking at her, silent and stunned

And she’ll say what and smile on one side of her face 

And I’m looking at what but it’s still a silly question

Nothing

She looks back down and does what she does

The part of the song that she was humming in the car earlier comes on again 

She hums it without noticing

It makes her happy 

She’s done now so she looks up 

Me, silent, stunned

What? She laughs 

I can’t tell you

Oh

She won’t even ask why I can’t tell her

She stops laughing

I try to remember I’m tired and have a bed to go sleep in somewhere

Oh, she says again

But I can stay up I have nothing on

She smiles and hums the opening riff to the next song

It’s a rock song and she sounds nothing like it 

I don’t like the song

Do you like this song? She asks finally 

Yeah it’s nice

I really like the song

She puts down her hairbrush or sketchbook or phone

She looks to my eyes again 

Stopping for a moment, no what

But eventually she asks what’s wrong 

She tilts her head in a way that makes me tell her

You remember right? I say

Well yes

I wasn’t sure if you did, I say

I do

Well why did you do that? I say quickly 

I don’t know I just do that with all my friends

Was it different? I beg

She says what again

Than holding the hand of a friend? I labour

I mean I guess, sort of

In a good way? I’m done for

I mean we hadn’t before 

Would you again? Silent and stunned

If you get cold hands, sure 

written 17/10/25

For Nancy

And on a table

There in the corner

Right under the tulips

Leaking over its border

Where sun furnishes

And borrows water

I think that’s where you hide

I’m not sure but that’s my guess

Under that little point of sunbeam

And wood beam, that happy mess

Of modern clatter and morning noise

That’s where I’ll look for you

Around the seam where melancholy ends

On that gate between the rest and you

That tulip tunnel where time mends

If it’s over, then that’s where it’ll begin

written in some other universe

For Maya

Cosy sorts of magic

Last you until the end

The freedom of the lovely

And the beauty of being her friend

In many ways simple

How else could it be?

In the largest forests

Easy grow the trees

But in their triumph

Mighty do they last

Friendships where since the beginning

Is the mission weaving another pass

I’m so glad I started

To her I owe it to all

You’re gonna love it!

Maya, you enthral

written 30/3/25

Talkin’ Telemachus Blues

Well I was gettin’ real bored lost at sea

Hopin’ for somethin to happen to me

When then came a tidal wave so excitin’

I guess I must have angered Poseidon

Thank goodness

Not sure what I did though

Musta’ been the car battery I threw into the Aegean

I awoke on some island early in the day

Met a funny lady who was hidin’ away

She asked if she could sing me a song

I asked if it’d take very long

She said it’d only take an eternity

I filled my ears with sand

Then she handed me an axe and some tools

It’s like she read my mind

I left her alone to sing and dance

Soon saw a forest and thought here’s my chance

To fashion a boat for to end this caper

But I realised the trees were mostly paper

“98% recycled”

I guess you can only do that so many times 

2% adds up

I should give Theseus a call

Right then, as if to signify the dawn

There came blarin’ the loudest horn

Here’s thinkin’ this hill can’t get any steeper

When I run into a lighthouse keeper

It was Robert Pattinson

He was a lot older than me

He can taste his own medicine

About time things were reversed 

Well he was nice enough to tug my paper boat

All the way to a brand new coast

Now I had never seen so much sand

I said to Rob “you call this land?

I think they call this the desert”

Poseidon’d have no pull around here, though

Paul might

Or David Lean

I saw an old lady playing a Game Boy game

I asked her name and if I could do the same

She said “sorry, it’s singleplayer

And you can call me Nausicaa”

Or was it Nausi-cah

Didn’t hear her real well

Still had sand in my ears 

Well she took Rob and I to her Phaecian Castle

It was nice of her but a bit of a hassle

We met her entire family there

But none of them said nothin’, they didn’t care

They were all on their phones

On Instagram stories

Snapchat reels

TikTok marketplace

Good grief

So much for xenia 

From that moment, I was through 

I said “I ain’t got no stories to tell any of you!

I’ve met no Cyclopes or anything with 6 heads

I’ve spent half my life in bed!”

Although, I think most people do that

Yeah, you got me there

Well every few months I know what nothin’ means

I wake up on an island and snap outta’ my dreams

It’d sure be nice to stay somewhere a while

Not sure driftin’s really my style

Should find a home or somethin’

What can I say

Guess I’m just like my old man

Yippee!

written 24/11/25

EPILOGUE

Did somebody caution the phantom darer,

Who spoke too soon and too often to his carer,

Who tumbled and played tunes to all but the fairer,

And left being unable to recognise his new area?

Might the sea birds think

That folk who whistle and wink

And smile and blur and sink

That fuss over this shade of purple and that pink,

That maybe people now are human autumn

And focal points of chatter now are tomorrow’s boredom

That singing in rain is showering post-mortem

Or should they fly first from those that caught them?

The bird might say many things

Though it doesn’t

Perhaps it could but it hasn’t

We can’t know it won’t, else

We speak to the final bird

Who might say

You’re welcome.