#Poem Ain’t it just the way it goes, hun

Another life
and all this that’ll never be
all this elsewhere that gets the day done
the same old lines go round
and nothing happens
not in the hard world

I want to write it all off
wish I’d gone straight to market
no matter what I take
it breaks me down
like I was locked shut
and the window breaks
rips the dream from under
how many times I watch you roll away
let me curl on my side
get stuck into sleep

#Poem in the souk

You’re in the souk and this boy says
his uncle is the best weaver in Marrakesh
and he leads you off down narrow alleyways
until you’re lost and have to pay him to get back
which is why I had a ball of thread with me
when you showed me your garden

#Poem Rolling a cigarette in the rain is always tricky

Rolling a cigarette in the rain is always tricky
but I find a dry spot under a tree next to the church
and I remember the last time I walked past here, late night,
when there were two guys humping away on the lawn
and I never did figure out if they enjoyed it more
because it was public
or because it was ecclesiastical
and now this vicar approaches me
and says he’d prefer me not to smoke outside his church
and I just laugh

everything that passes between us

everything that passes between us

did you ever catch the birth of morning

you play a pastime of the rich

what did I want, what did I care

the way I paint a house
    your face in the window

neatly framed, through half the carriage door
    you, with black coat, red rucksack
    early for the train
did I ever belong anywhere
    with anyone, anywhere
reach through the gap to touch your hair
first time              you, with your reserved
you & me wait for dawn, in deckchairs
back garden          elastic numbness        grey
to make it special                  remember
rough shirt and Levis, like it was war
pick a line from a song
    to sing over and over
log it all, find a pattern
don’t tell the dreamers
    we all dream

6 of them hold long poles
with spikes
stand around
and lift me
by armpits, upper back, chest
a couple feet
into the air
it’s OK

it’s normal
anyone anywhere
we’d smoke together in backrooms
like we were friends
or old sleeper coaches
huddled through night rides
storms & wind
but it splits, missed connections
    cheap wood
you find a seat
    keep it
don’t know
    where I am

when I see you
I rest my feet on the floor
it’s OK

#Poem Sunstroke in March is Weird

Sunstroke in March is Weird
I drank a litre of water over the park
Maybe I should have sat in the shade

Reminds me of walking the coast, Pembrokeshire
Raw sun, no clouds, no air pollution, no shade
nor any drop of water to drink
After 3 hours, I guess I was a little frazzled
but that was years ago

So difficult to learn all over again
recognise which mistakes are the ones
that take a long time to recover from

#Poem Porth Mawr

We walk the water-line at sunrise
A guy with a steady-cam back-steps ahead
He captures our romantic

– everything’s returning to normal

I’ll be here next year, as usual
You’ll be dead -
as good as

I pack up my notebooks and papers
wrap them in the sarong you gave me
as a keepsake

I stand on the headland
listening to the skup
of the waves

A simple dedication
I give my words
back to the ocean

#Poem A New Chapter

She hurries between tables
in the recently-converted
Chapterhouse Diner
Not an eye in view
she turns like a sprite
light-weight kiss in the air

This is for you, she says
only you, she says
A promise
a blender-mixed, four-course feast
a purple-coupled mealtime
she says

Hung in hunger
crucifiction rips my past lives
flicks pages of a comic
paints me
as a stripped character
drawn into my own drama

I am chewing
over the plot
– a new script