Leaving Brighton: A Collection of Post Punk Poems available now on Kindle.

I am pleased to say my first collection of illustrated poems is now available to buy worldwide on Kindle for the ridiculously low price of £1.49 or whatever local currency you have spare – I kept it as low as possible so Bezos wouldn’t make millions out of me! Enjoy! Here’s the link or just search ‘Leaving Brighton’ on Amazon:

holiday’s end

the sun is low-cal this morning
watered down behind milky white clouds
it doesn’t matter anyway
as we are leaving today
heading home to rejoin our regular routines
even the seagulls seem to know it
perhaps it’s changeover day for them too
a new cast and crew given the chance
to fill their bellies at this holiday home door
their screeching echoes chasing us away
it’s all a fantasy anyway
none of this will exist once we’re gone
the narrow streets will straighten into motorways
the quaint pubs will become service stations
ugliness will eat away at the clotted cream idyll
and leave us with only our photographs and memories
fading like the low-cal sun behind milky white seagull eyes
it’s all a fantasy anyway and like life itself
we write the days in poems
the best we can

Dishwasher Blues

I’m left to empty the dishwasher
Now that you are gone . . .
Your last knife and fork
Spoon and plate and bowl . . .
And there upon your coffee cup
The outline of your lips . . .
I take it . . . and wonder . . .
Did I forget to put a tablet in
Last night?

on frail stems

See the moon?
Behind the stand of poplar trees
It’s not quite full
A deceptive slither has been hid from view
And tonight
The air is still and warm
You could hear anything you want
Like the ground talking
The stars winking
Or my heart beating
Here in the front yard
Alone and frail and very tired
Wondering what on earth I am doing here
Where I will be this time next week
And the week after that
And the week after
And thereafter
When maybe I should stay put
Give up the roaming and searching
Settle into some kind of normalcy
Accept the truths that come with life
Breathe the warm still night air
And release burning teardrops
Shaped like pulsing hearts
To slip away and soak into soil
So when I am gone they will grow
And remind you of me
Bright red pulsing hearts
On frail stems
Below the stand of poplar trees
Through which the full moon will shine
On a warm still night of memories.