Take care

I pulled down my wall

with a caved in chest;

figured getting some fresh air

was probably best.

Hidden in a snow storm,

a snow globe of cold, cold air,

trapped in a glass bauble

while pretending not to care.

I smashed it like a wrecking ball.

I cracked it like ball to bat.

I hit a home run with my escape route,

yet returned,

returned and sat

to stop and stare at my own drowning;

to watch the hand grasp at empty air.

I stood up and held a hand out,

instinct kicks in

to fight

to care.




I want

kisses in the cold rain,

warm breath on sodden skin,

I want to start again,

an end allows one to begin.

I want

broken belts and torn down trousers,

salty smiles from sweaty skin;

to be given vibrant flowers,

to feel warmth from deep within.

I want to be driven crazy

and to delve beneath some skin,

to be left breathless with eyes hazy,

for flesh to form from tin.

I want eyes to search inside me,

to see beneath my skin,

for someone to stand right by me

to hold my hand and slowly grin.

I want to drive someone crazy,

I want to be skin on skin,

I want to start again, show bravery,

from an end a newness can begin.


Office Life.

Jokes far worse than Dilbert

make my face contort like Gilbert Grape;

squinting, blinking, mouth agape.

A tape recording on repeat

the same jokes start to grate.

Office life and office people,

officially lifeless, dull bulb people.

Computer screens and squinting eyes,

tea breaks and a slow demise.

Thirty years in the same shit job

that you pretend is important

and you pretend you love.

Thirty years in the same shit job

that you pretend has meaning,

and you pretend you love.

I could repeat it forever

like you repeat every day

what you do repeatedly

for the rest of your days.

Office people, office life,

going home to your little wife.

Words to file,

words not to be seen,

words to file

that don’t mean a thing.

Words to me are like oxygen

and black print hidden for twenty years

is a waste of air.

The green house effect

to be direct is the butterfly effect.

For every book a tree loses a limb

and the death of creativity starts to begin.

Office life and office people,

officially lifeless, dull, dull people.

Office life and office people,

lose their dreams to richer people.

Thirty years in the same shit job

that you pretend has meaning,

that you pretend you love.

Thirty years in the same shit job,

that you pretend has meaning,

that you don’t really love.

Make Tea Not War.

Houses close together,

no room for real territory,

its derogatory

in a ten storey flat

surrounded by rats.

They’re the King of your castle.

It’s a farce. All these cars

to drive short journeys to places

with smaller spaces.

You’ve got your shoes,

you’ve got your laces,

tie them and go.

Let your muscles grow,

we’re so slow,

losing control of our feet.

Of the beats within us.

Roxette said to listen to your heart,

it’s a start, our natural rhythm

is dwindling and hinders

the fire to cinders.

A fires gone out

so what’s it about?


A man walks through Waterloo

station with the patience

and honour of God’s angels.

His angle was all right.

He was healthy and slight,

he was black, all in white

and he carried a bag.

He sang.

He sang for God and Jesus

and we all thought:

Jesus he is good,

with food for thought.

He caught us in a moment

of simple joy and serenity.

Serenity and peace.

I don’t want to be a preacher

and I won’t preach to you,

beseech you

or beg of you not to pray to God

but to pray for us.

To pray for change,

for us to say “I forgive us,

let’s start again,

let’s be friends.

Let’s start with Hello’s.

We’ll take it slow.

Cold straight to hot

can be fatal.

I’m not asking for passion,

presentation and charm.

Let’s not do harm.

Nice, nice, nice,

not sugar and spice.

It’s not the 60’s any more

but darling, let’s make tea not war.