Journey

Who can name

a town

where fiction ends;

foretell, as credits fade,

their journey home?

Time preys

like some lost angel,

deceiving the voyager;

a scripted adventure

striving nowhere:

canvas without wind

disturbs the artist’s hand,

till truth comes

with sharpened words;

or hope,

like a bedtime story,

invents a world

where travellers survive

till morning.

Dream On

They’re coming for you,

The lives you ignored:

Those little people

Passing below,

Morning and evening.

Asleep at noon,

You feel yourself adored,

A Klee or Kandinsky,

Inventing some brave new world.

Achieving glory

As an artist should,

While clutching the duvet tight.

Dream on,

Ignoring the creak

On the stairs:

The scuffle of shoes

And murmured threats,

Spurred on by

The landlady’s whispers.

Now Look

It used to be goals and girls:

Who scored in extra time.

You were always in for a laugh.

Brawls didn’t start

Till you turned up.

Together, we kicked ass,

Breaking laws even

The judge hadn’t heard of;

Not giving a fig leaf for taste,

Tradition, temperance,

What passes for truth;

Spitting in society’s face

And not missing

Once.

Now, look at us,

Chatting away in Sainsbury’s,

Like a couple of eejits.

Discussing world events

Like what’s cooking for lunch

Or which cat food is best;

Our trolleys bright

With ideas.

Not trading recipes, not yet

Just idle chat

About things we used to mock,

Aloof from the herd,

The dullness we feared,

Never dreaming the suburbs

Would one day come to us.

What a waste!

But then,

Have you seen the price

of tea bags lately?

Future Thoughts

My favourite day of the week

Is tomorrow.

And, if I should find myself there,

One day,

Stepping from a time machine,

I won't wake up,

But walk on regardless.

Albion Nights

There’s nothing so lost

As a small town at dusk,

When those who can have gone,

Leaving streets to their fate.

Kids, skateboarding by the mall,

Perfect a geometry

That says little of school.

For them, tomorrow is a long way off.

In pubs, locals hoard

The day like change,

Tending a world where

The one thing you trust

Is your average pint.

A St George’s flag

Flies from the Norman keep,

As sunset brings ruins

To life.

Night stretches

To pull down the blinds,

For tourists with time to spare

Despite every plan,

While darkness succumbs

To dreams of Full English.

Me & You

You wake up

As Anthony or Cleopatra,

But appear quite normal on the bus.

At work, truth is waiting;

You scour emails for love.

Your greatness goes unnoticed

In the canteen at lunch.

In your dreams,

As all of us,

You are the one.

At night, you keep vigil,

Imagining a time,

When magic happened.