under a Brighton moon

in our palatial bedsits
punk posters on the walls
we stared into the smoke screen
can’t tell what we saw
can’t tell what we saw

and down the street
at the end of the street
between the sky and dirty gutters
is where we used to drink
is where we used to drink

we drank to get drunk
we got drunk to forget
we forgot why we’d even started
until the time was spent
until the time was spent

and down below the pier
on the dead and pebbled beach
the tramps all licked their wounds
just like they were dogs
just like they were dogs

yet still we wanted more
a line from a song or more
any something more we could score
to take our breath away
to take our breath away

under a Brighton moon
the glow of cigarette butts
stars safety pinned to the night
it’s all so long ago
it’s all so long ago

it’s all so very long ago
much longer than a lifetime ago
now it’s pulled out from under your feet
oh such a cruel fate
oh such a cruel fate

this world

this world has become
a shabby chic shit shack
with wooden words
on plastic mantle pieces
telling us this is our home
and it’s filled with our love
so you best buy into it
distressed and going cheap
this world’s not my world
I want nothing from it
no fake words of wisdom
cut and pasted consumerism
give me four bare walls
with wooden floorboards
and a shelf of worn books
shared food on the table
and in the woodland garden
birds singing their sweet songs
as we swing on the porch seat
holding hands in the warm sun
your lips on my neck
telling me you love me
that we’ll always be together
forever and for eternity
this world is our world
it’s what we make of it
but I’ll never know it
for my time is too late
the wood casket’s calling me
calling me to my fate
calling me away from
this world I wanted

s-l300

with sincere apologies to Woody Guthrie . . .

it’s fate that takes us in the end

i’ve locked the door
afraid the wind will find me
push autumn litter through the letter box
howling like a fox on heat at midnight
when the streetlamps highlight her red hair
and scent fills the town with trepidation

i’m afraid of stalkers
ghosts from the past who whistle down the decades
finding cracks in the plaster of my flaking memories
shaking fists and hurling furies at my windows
that i whitewash over and hide behind
like shops that have gone belly-up and bankrupt

i discourage the postman
allow the garden to overgrow
the nettles and brambles build a barricade
the rooks stand guard in their watchtowers
they warn me when the rusty gate talks to them
wrens gather in chimes

i am but a shadow
a smudge of wood ash fingerprinted on the paintwork
a rent in a moth-eaten tapestry on which
faded stags rear in the face of sudden death
the hunters’ arrows drawing blood from their necks
it’s fate that takes us in the end

 

once upon a riverbank

once upon a riverbank

we lit matches

watched the water ebb

and wake

the smoke dissolved in effervescence

the crescent moon took its place

the stories we told of distant stars

times of laughter

times of hate

like embers in a sizzling cauldron

skewed remembrance from afar

no return

no sense of purpose

left to wander

to our fate

once upon

a riverbank