For a friend

My darling
You are but an idea
A collection of cells that some do not deem life
You have barely the workings of a heart
The bonds that make bones
The membrane that forms skin
You are but a peanut
A raisin, or a pebble
That makes barely a ring when struck
Upon the waters of the universe
But you my darling
Are my world now
And I think on you daily
I think of you when I sleep, when I wake, when I eat
I think of you when I dream, when I laugh and when I cry
I think of you when I jump, when I stress and when I imagine
I think of your future
And I, my child, I am sorry
I am sorry for this world I am bringing you into
When a man sits on a throne
And holds a country to hostage
Costing lives and the wellbeing of eight hundred thousand workers
When guns blaze wild,
killing children who walk to school only to educate themselves to do better
When economists and capitalists sit and turn deaf ears to the words of sciencists
Who declare the few years we have left to save our planet
When my country is tearing itself apart with indecision over a mistake it refuses to admit it made
When trees are felled merely for the reason to grow food for animals which destroys other animals
When the millions of plastic we steal from the earth we feed back to the seas
Killing, destroying the destiny
When the one voice calling out reason
Is a young Swedish girl who's right is to this earth that we destroyed for her
That we still destroy for her
That we kill terrorise
For her future
My darling
I am sorry to bring you into this life despite the fact you will be loved
Despite the fact you are wanted
Despite the fact you will always be in my heart
And I will hold onto you
I am sorry

01/01/2019 New year

The new year
A new dawn
A new chance to
Grasp the future
We see ourselves
In fleeting glances
At the mirror
In the glass
And we forget how
Fragile we are
Yet how
Limitless we can be
A year year
A new dawn
A new time to
Expand horizons

Christmas

Driving home from Christmas
Cars are few on the road
People limited, kept into houses
And the only drivers those who
Travel from their families
People wave happily,
Smiles upon faces that
Will last some.seconds before fading
But they are truly sincere
As they say goodbye for another year
No snow lies on the ground
Yet the fog is thick and greying
Like an old man with hot mulled wine
Mist caught about his beard
Lights stop us briefly
But no one crosses before the cards
Save those dedicated to their dogs
No shops at open
Save that take away 'Barbecue Kings'
With saddened hearts eating within
Some have no company for Christmas
And when they drive they are alone
They are not leaving homes
Instead they instill the façade and pretend
They go for food or other means
And say that today was another day
Another time, just the same

Poetry

The power of this individual word
Can change a life if you allow it
Allowing the verbs and tenses to
Freely flow from the tip of your pen
Or finger as you trace these letters
Upon lined paper or on a screen
Tapping out the phonemes
Breaching the realms of ordinary pace
Punctuation becomes but a memory
Marks of pause, sometimes never used
Deliberate. Focused. Sometimes ...
Meaningless.
Often ... Forgetful. Rarely ... Stupid.
And thus together this poem comes
Together, a thousand strings
That create a symphonic orchestra
Notes empowered by filled lungs
That later will repeat these words
In the terms of a requiem, or moral
Commenting on what was written
And what has been said, out-loud
To the beat of an imaginary drum
Every phrase deliberate,
Pleasing to the ear, fine and sweet
The audience, every member
Takes from the poem what they will
What they desire, what is wanted
By them, they can consider the poem
Written just for them entirely
As it speaks a meaning that has never
Been thought or uttered before
Because
*Dramatic pause*
Fuck what the writer thought
Fuck what his intentions were
The death of the author comes
It reigns where and when you want it
You are the reader, you have power
A critic and a genius are you
Let the purity of every nuance,
Every sound, rhyme and heart
Full you with confidence and be
A reason for living

Happiness

It's that feeling of elation when you are finally able to claim the fact that you have a masters' degree
It's that feeling of satisfaction when you finally close the last page on a quintology that had your heart racing throughout its thousand pages
It's that feeling of peace as that heavenly expensive dice set you bought rolls from your hand and gains you a critical success
It's that feeling of marvel as you watch the children finally understand what the difference between a noun and a verb is
It's that feeling of wonder as you watch a tree's leaf begin to turn brown and tight, wrinkling as the season's sun is stolen away
It's that feeling of joy as you watch a child smile at you after you have shown them a world they never knew existed
It's that feeling of love that you feel between the story of two people who have been searching all their lives for someone, and only just found each other in their sixties
It's that feeling of devotion as you cling to your husband's hand through the night, knowing that for any nightmare you have he will be there
It's that feeling of pride as your close friend gets that job she deserves despite all the other mistakes, trials and errors
It's that feeling of amazement as you find that missing chapter of the bool you are writing that essentially was the core of all the action
It's that feeling of acceptance as you understand that though life is not perfect, you have gotten far with what you were given
It's that feeling of hope that you feel when you are told that it was not your fault, that you could not have done anything more to make the job last longer
It's that feeling of goodness as you realise God was watching you all along, and he's been there since the beginning
It's that feeling, that, as you read of their death, and though you knew them so little and so long ago, that you were part of their lives
It's that feeling
And that feeling only
That is needed to make life worth it all

Man in the throne

There's a man and he sits
In a leather bound throne
Behind an ancient desk
Made of wood from a ship
He sits in a temple-like house
With a cast iron fence
And a neatly trimmed lawn
And the colour of the house - white
White like the skin beneath his fake tan
White like many of his nation
But his heart is as black as cold, hard coal
And his hair is bleached, like his truth
He imagines he is a king
And he imagines he has a queen
A family and a country who love him
But he's mistake through his own
Messed up dream
He's a man stuck in his own delusion
With narcissism, obsession, tantrums
Staring at women in so many wrong ways
And though the media speaks of it
Nothing is done
"You voted for him," they cry
"He got in, so deal with what you have."
But they shake their heads and regret
That this orange man
With windswept hair
Has power tremendous in his childlike palm

Wing

Caked in dirt and dust
Weathered by the last two days of brilliant sun
Part of you lays there
Sprawling, outstretched
As if reaching out for pity
Sixteen long finger-like feathers,
Crying out for help as it lies
Detarched from your body
And you are gone, far gone
Alive or dead, I cannot tell
But by the evidence given here
I must confess I have little hope
That breath still leaves your lungs
Once you would have flown high
Perching in the concrete rafters of the bridge I am under
You were one of those demons
Who spoilt the green grasses with white pellets
Going where ever and whenever you pleased
But then
You were part of nature itself
And now nature has reclaimed you back
As your wing lies there
Lined with bootprints
Squashed into the land
Individual fibres standing to attention in haphazard rows
Like soldiers on a field day
And the muscle
Those twists and turns of flesh
That adjoined this wing to your form
Before it was so cruelly ripped away
It curls before a dandelion
And in that moment I drop a tear
But then continue on my way
Because you are not the first dead bird
I've seen today