She writes notes on plain paper

to send to her lover


and tells me I don’t Communicate

She sends flowers by interflora

to another

an ex lover

and tells me I don’t Communicate

She leaves messages in Lipstick

to herself on the mirror

her real lover

and tells me I don’t Communicate

She screams at me

2 in the morning

a sometime lover

and tells me I don’t Communicate

I tell her to fuck off

Get the fuck out of my life

She’s a lousy lover

and I can’t Communicate?

I feel like I’m living


love is good

lust kicks in

beauty swims by

sunshine warms me

dawns grow in a corner of the sky

cover the ice in blue flame

cicadas wake me

horizons glow red at night

food happens

my shoes fit

Sam the dog barks

waves break right

or left

money gets paid

on time

in time

for my time

gin n’ tonic is cold

lemon just-so bitter

underwear don’t ride

trees sound like rain

grass sweet against my teeth

old friends call

traffic flowing

lights all on green

courtesy given


mist over the ocean

yachts reflected still

herons fishing

sweet latte & good company

beer and humour

music from the centuries

I’ve lived

dancing like a mad thing

for the glory of it

baby gurgles

soft hands

big as my finger

first words

from all the above

and YOU

Can I ask a question?

she says

and doesn’t notice

she already has

if I died

would you live with someone again?

and that’s not a question

more a minefield


I say no

loving once is enough for me

and she smiles

a crooked smile

and I know now

an answer to a question

I never knew to ask


whether I answered truthfully

may only be answered

by time

& then I spoil it

the truth of it is

the most rotten trick we have

is that we get you to love us

& then we die first

not now

when you are young

but in your late sixties

maybe seventies

& starting over



I figure it out


not to call her

writing myself notes

to hang near ‘phones


and I’m good

but then

of course she calls me

I try for polite



she notices

asks what’s up

and I can’t

don’t want to tell

feeling my resolve melt

insides wearied again


I think


few more months of this

Sartre was wrong

Hell is not others

it is being me

at the end

the doing

of this shit

don’t change

no matter the situation

you don’t change

I say

he looks blank

has nothing to say

has brought nothing

no conversation

to this party

a mute flying Dutchman

sailing through

leaving no trace

so what do you do?


he replies


& I’m wondering


just how

does a body

do nothing?

when everything is on offer

all it needs is the taking

reaching out


he doesn’t change

I don’t change

& I wonder

will we ever


Oh love

If I can still call you that

I don’t know where we parted

all that’s left is guesses

which I think you know

you want now to read with me

be with me-like you always did

but now

its a holding on to what I once gave


left behind in those moments

that cannot be captured again

as words


painted by lovers

on seashore sands

from ocean blunted sticks

pebbles blown in volcanoes

shells frothed over time.

I gave easily as I could

though moment becomes lost

in each second

direction is fought for

my madness

stays on

babble in your ears

as we lay together

wanting to find you

hold you

maybe be you for a while

while I slipped away

somewhere around daybreak


your need to understand




to be seen

Cowboy toast

about 8 or nine

coming home from school

hungry as any hollow legged boy

looking to eat quick as can be

tonight she’d say is a special

I’ve got cowboy toast

place the plate in front of me

a strawberry jam sandwich toasted

& later years I’d find out

this was the old mans leftovers

from his work lunchbox

but back then I’d wolf that down

& be wanting needing more

in better times

there was an egg & chips

with bread & butter to fill

thick broth soup as the vegetables

& in the other room

where this gets all Cinderella

she’d be eating her steak pie

with strawberries as her treat

& if I ever argued about that

or she could find a way

I’d be sent off to my room

with no supper

as soon as I stepped through the door

& the only thing to do with this

is to ensure you do better with your kids

forgive them that forced their poverty on you

if not money

in the spirit

draw the line clear & say

after this

no more

Celebration times

I remember a couple of good’uns

but the ones that really stand out

are of course the difficults

not the screaming shouting ones

that’s all just background noise

it’s the searching the bars & pubs

where she had just left gone on again

finally finding with the dwarf in jester kit

kissing sitting across her knees

snogging for the new year to come

other drunken women starting fights

over nothing that would cause scars

during day or more sober times

pissed confessions in front of strangers

tears & recriminations to their delight

free entertainment dramas on their night out

& poverty can’t be at fault here or blame

there were other great times sitting the nights

with cheap cider & good friends as company

forgetting hardships in friendship & more

& the common integer must always be me

that & my poor choices in women

all of this in events gone before