mirror age
awakening
the tap roaring
fan motor purring

drone dreams
capacity rush
wake through layers
the strata flood
emotions feeling
while sunshine
basks beyond
the thick comfort
of sheets tacked
the disarray of sheets
empty and alone

coffee in a dirty cup
and the gathering
of all discarded at
the end day

before

exhaustion drew me
down through its
sharp depths

Hey diddle diddle,
a government fiddle.
The Tory’s were over the moon.
And Cameron laughed
To see such fun
when Clegg was left holding the spoon.

Hey diddle diddle
a government fiddle
When Grant hides her budgeted stats.
The ministers hoot,
highly amused,
when taxpayers pay for their flats.

Hey diddle diddle
A government fiddle
Increasing the front bencher’s pay.
And Osborne chuckles,
seeing the plebs
on seven pounds fifty a day.

From space to void
from womb to bed
from thought to soft
mewling cry.

I wait in queues
nuzzling long teats
of soft warm fleshy
motherboard.

site searches
reveal myself to
myself, growing
changing.
Reaching with eyes,
shitting voracious
words into napkin
white pages.

I spoke first words
monosyllables like
Manna and Amma.
Then fell reinvented
cyber-born from the
electronic womb,
cerebral plasticity
remolded.

I am the priest
who glides saintly
to the altar,
round and round
the censer goes
spewing foul fumes
known to hell alone,

while embers fly like those
that fell
before the world was made,
scattering in the congregation's midst;
gathered ghosts, visions
of all I once have been
come to watch the spectacle
with dull, grey eyes,
and tongues
too thin to sing:

Neighbourly Are We…..N.A.W.

Do we really care if Mandela is dead,
just another news item we’ve had a lot.
That a soldier shot his prisoner in the head,
they get our ooh’s an ahs but soon forgot.

Have we become saturated in raw death,
seeing it daily on telly, computer or phone.
No second look or sharp intake of breath,
acknowledging that in death, we are alone.

Do well
be good
good deeds are rarely forgotten

though many do
but
postmortem speaks of the whole truth
good as well as bad,

If one had AIDS
tis sad
and
if someone did pierce
tis worse.

I walked in the quiet,
where the mist swirled,
stretching the mind.
The mist retreated.

There in my view,
a placid pond.
My mind Jumped,
becoming aware.

I thought of you,
yet could not see.
In my glowing hand,
a pebble round and true.

I tossed it into the water.
There from the centre,
wave on wave grew.
My thoughts followed

Then I remembered you.

Good deeds like salt grains
Unseen, thankless, forgotten
pre or postmortem

The hell and heaven aren't the same,
one's cool, the other burns in shame,
the heaven's faces grin with smiles,
while hell's lost souls are strewn in piles.

The choice is ours which end to choose;
we either win or else we lose,
the roads we took have always led
which eternal lives we loved to tread.

I’m like a shadow,
the demon, hated,
hiding in the city, stooped.
A hunchback ill-fated.

If I go outside
I hide in the cracks.
Colourless and camouflaged
within the crevice blacks.

If I am exposed
by a light cascade
I shrink back in horror
and step back in the shade.

Hence I stay indoors
shut myself away,
so all I'll ever be
is different shades of grey.