Boyhood

It started with substandard films

And Hollywood explosions.

Manhattan burned, we faced our doom

From comets, drones or Martians.

Guy Fawkes demands an audience

When he gives himself to flames.

And violence is a boy’s best friend

In bloody playground games.

When British Bulldogs led the chase

That scrapes the skin from knees.

When infant fists stroked supple skin

It felt like a release.

When we learnt about the birds and bees

The teacher looked so serious.

It terrified my childhood friend

Who asked if boys have periods.

When my crush whined grass was in her bra

I scrunched up summer leaves.

When she started dating my best friend

Milk teeth made chapped lips bleed.

Perhaps the joy when tissues burn

Wasn't worth the wasted dust.

And perhaps the half price shoot-‘em-ups

Were never right for us.

Still, flowers once were shattered seeds

And fractured eggs makes birds.

And silence must be broken with

Artillery of words.

What harm was there is throwing stones

At Spot, the neighbour’s cat?

And insects feel no pain when scorched

With a magnifying glass.

So you will feel no hurt when I

Visit your lips too roughly.

And when I step across that line

You’ll damn well cross it with me.

And I Was Eyes Alone—

And I was eyes alone—

A curious departure.

‘Til thoughts reflect inflections

Of the voyeuristic laughter.

To disappear completely—

This aimless body’s aim.

The selfless self alone could help

To fill the world again.

Now drifting out the window

As the daylight starts to fade.

Do you spy it through the glass beyond

Your thin translucent shade?

To look and feel will fail

To know your memory-ridden face.

Now I see without direction

With a cool diffracted gaze.

Everything and nothing fill

The shrinking streets below;

And sleepers trapped within themselves

Still drag their worlds in tow.

Above, the formless fingers stretch

To grope towards the stars

Blind in their bliss to inward depths

Expelled in cosmic fires.

The light below is failing fast,

And with no light of its own

This voiceless voice is rising still.

Invisible. Alone.

Whitby

Seven years later: I'm back here again.

Is this the same town that I cherished before?

Is this the same sand? Is this the same shore

Where I danced to the pulse of the waves?

The silver framed photos are all that I have

To bind me to this quiet beach

But the pictured sand has left the land

The grains of me lost to the sea—

Before the hoping doting groping

Chocking with hurt

Feel like filth

Feel like dirt

Dad calling me ‘sod’ and carpet burns

And yellow paper fantasies—

Clifftop graveyard,

Ruined abbey,

New-sand seashore,

Nothing stays.

Pirate golf course,

Cliff-lift eyesore,

Salt-smell, seagulls,

They remain—

The grey sea claims me

Lately, they say

Insides echo,

Hollow, let go,

Touch me, tell me

I could matter;

Break me, fell me,

Idle patter;

Feed me, lead me

Back, back—

It rained so we stayed inside the car

And swallowed chicken sandwiches

The windows steaming

Dreaming

I would

Never leave there

Breath in

Leaving—

My Whitby where did you go?

The waves beat on while I was home.

Repeated breakers

Shape us

Make us

Longshore drift

Shall dislocate us.

I tried to dance with two left feet,

But quickly stumbled out of time.

The waves beat on, the tide encroached,

My loved ones said it would be fine.

So Whitby: home of vampires

And Goths and jet-based jewellery.

All I recall is that I loved

Those gentle memories truly.

So love me, Whitby, though I may

Have known the taste of failure.

I’ll find my head, then I’ll return

If you can’t be my saviour.

The sea is always calmest in

The space between the waves.

I’ll never leave that steamed-up car

The wind won’t bite my face.

The abbey perfect once again,

The seagull in mid-flight,

And there I’ll be;

The static sea

Will not know day nor night

My Whitby and Whitby's me

Together for all time.

Find me beneath the whale bone arch

A child again: alive.

Little Victories

Come February Eden- show your face!

Come rebel summer- burn winter away!

The day is yours- shine on and make us proud!

Blow back the fog of the declining day.

Due West the bright balloon is flying low;

The avian chorus chirrups its dissent

That they should share their sky with dilettantes

Raised up, made godlike by Promethean vents.

Come five o’clock no resonance remains;

Persephone returns to her dread tomb,

With her I’ll languish in the misty gloom

And with one little lapse lose all my gains.

These little victories are all in vain

Since winter is still winter all the same.

Perhaps We Are

Perhaps we are

The ripples on

A stagnant pond

Underneath the algea;

Like veins within

Your oblique skin.

Perhaps we are.

Perhaps we are

The gaping fish

That gasping slip

And slide back in the water;

Try to taste air

Which is not theirs.

Perhaps we are.

Perhaps we are

Just amateurs

With metaphors

All a size too small;

Can’t comprehend

Our complex ends.

Perhaps we can't.

Snow

It fell so close that I was choking:

Claustrophobic,

Sodden through.

The flurry flustered. Non-committal

Orbitals

Surrounded you.

The grace on your face reminded me

Of the time we saw circumspect owls.

They all looked suspicious,

But you were oblivious,

Your eyes spoke uncensored delight.

Your alchemic joy: bright, infectious

Giddy, reckless,

Radiant.

And I was like the whitening marble

Heroic poses

Roman noses.

Though I was drunk vicariously

That impish laugh knew no reply.

That smile brings back the scarcity

Of crunching tread and dandruff sky.

Lloyd's Ballad

Lloyd syphoned off adrenaline

(Stale caffeine concoction)

And poured it into tea stained mugs

As urine coloured bourbon.

A face filled with anarchic glee:

George deftly chugging vod.

Tequila solemnly prepared

The body and the blood.

By this time Emily was pissed;

Videos were taken.

The wall propped her up grudgingly

Until it too lost patience.

A merry band (sans Emily)

Descended on the town.

They hugged and skipped and talked too loud

Feet pummelling the ground.

Inside the club the air was dense.;

The bar queue was ungodly.

The crowd was like a rolling tide

Endless waves of bodies.

Lloyd let the bass roar through his shoes.

He swayed with his eyes closed.

George leant and bellowed in his ear

Whilst treading on his toes.

Lloyd lost the others by the gents.

He peered into the throng.

And stared at strangers in the crowd

Who looked like they belonged.

The couples touched more than Lloyd did.

The lads were closer friends.

He cursed his dull and dreary life

And swore to make amends.

Outside the cold air bit his nose:

The cartilage carnivore!

He’d left his friends and sobered up.

He’d realised he’s a bore.

He dreaded the long anecdotes

They’d dwell on the next day

‘Cus none of them would feature him.

He trudged his lonely way.