Wednesday, 30 September 2009

The arrival

All seems muted, bleary yet together
At once familiar but at the same time brand new,
Shapes and forms become a crutch for the senses
Of a tale from the past sliding back into view.
Tricks of time shifting the scene and sequence,
To make up a world woven by déjà vu.

Tuesday, 22 September 2009

The departure

When the clock turns
To mark the escape,
The minutes gain momentum
In a rally that's opaque
What is this speed that the hand picks up,
And why is it marked every day
By the dregs of a cup?

Monday, 21 September 2009

The coil

Throw the coil of angst
Against the wall.
See it unwind and unravel
'Til it cannot enthrall
With its tales of woe and its tired repartee
Disempower its burden with the will to be free
Keep thrashing at its core
As it makes its way back,
And as it returns
Project the fiercest attack.

Saturday, 19 September 2009

The retreat

If the urge is always
To scamper to retreat
What does that mean
For all those people to meet?
What does that say about
An experience of the world
That is consistently shaped
By an escape from the herd.
Why does solitude seem so good?
To be lost and alone
Just oneself in a wood.

Wednesday, 16 September 2009

The stones

Let this be the time
To source the seamless energy
The intuitive nature that governs without doubt.
To be free from the flickering passage of thoughts
That entertain like a trickster
A means to truly opt out.
From the current of lethargy,
From the trajectory of blues,
That densely gravelled path
That leaves stones in the shoes.

Tuesday, 15 September 2009

The projection

If the mind projects onto tomorrow
While in the today,
Does that make every experience
Just a forecast to display?

Monday, 14 September 2009

The revelation

When the revelation spewed forth
Like blood from the veins,
It was hard to see what
Had brought some give to the reigns.
Yet the sudden liberation
Gave way to a fear,
That took to the throat
To clamour for a tear.
It beckoned reminders
Of an experience far gone
But still engrained inside,
Like a legacy

Sunday, 13 September 2009

The details

When I remember the day
It won't be the stuff,
That made its way wearily
From the dawn through to dusk.
The banter within buses passing through towns,
The squirreling street chasers in search of their crowns.
It will be the details and the feelings they stirred,
Captured yet liberated like lemon in the curd.

Saturday, 12 September 2009

The charge

A punch in the sequence
Sudden colour in the room
Sometimes something comes
A window to transcend the gloom.

Friday, 11 September 2009

The slogan

The slogan on the side said 'built for the trade'
But the driver's expression said we'd all been made
A reputation concocted over moons and miles,
The work of 'outside agents'
Flashing fake smiles.
What can we know of anything at all
When we're bombarded by messages
Like scrawl on a wall.
Always back pedalling to relieve the threat of a curse,
The everyday portrayal of myths in reverse.
Maybe words should have more to say
And not just promote games to create the play.

Wednesday, 9 September 2009

The scream

Stop. Take a breath.
Then holler into a chasm,
With all that is left.
Shout for the beats
Unbridle the voices
Silenced for the part
That has to be played,
That has to be sustained,
The civil, the courteous, the forever restrained.

Tuesday, 8 September 2009

The imprint

I left an imprint in that armchair
On that street with no name,
I thought of the others who'd languished there
And played the same game,
Of wondering what the life of another was like
Spectacular and worth savouring
Or unremarkable and trite.
It's funny how these are the places we mark
Like thumbing through pages as a way to stay sharp.
But stranger still that we seldom return,
To all those seats, steps and stairwells
Leaving traces but nothing to learn.

Monday, 7 September 2009

The simplicity

When the moment has passed
There will be nothing to relay,
No statement in time
No place left to stray.
So instead let's record
The simple acts of the day
The objects on the tray.
Glances returned like change from our notes
Dancing street wrappers that steer their own floats.
If nothing is noticed,
Then time has its way
Capturing only the seconds
Of a mannequined display.

Sunday, 6 September 2009

The havens

When we have all left
The echoes will be no more,
The soles and swirling cases
Will have taken to another floor.
But what of these places, these homes full of 'things',
With their quirks and curiosities and the comfort that brings.
A carpeted staircase may be luxury for one,
A decked out camper van more sacred for some.
Where are these havens only known by so few,
By stepping inside would we see what is true?

Thursday, 3 September 2009

The mould

Your feathers bear the weight of days
Absorbing the shift and the shuffle
Of the dreams and malaise.

A third of a life captured
In the nest of a mould,
You are plumped and cried into
Cradles for the cold.

Inside your fabric are stories once uttered,
Are scents of the sacred that have all but since fluttered.
Bedtime journeys make up your domain
You steady the course as the mind takes its train.

Wednesday, 2 September 2009

The receipt

At 16:07 I was served by Sarah
But something told me those words didn't dare her,
Trapped behind a counter where not even her name
Could make her a memory
Could provide some acclaim.
What a tragedy they are
Those words that receipt
From a noone, a nameless, of whom we don't speak.

Tuesday, 1 September 2009

The day

Cometh the storm
To shake up the day
To awaken the sleepers
To forsake the delay.
To counter the continual roll and repeat
To break out and bust