They look up above to the skies
with their young and innocent eyes.
Little children not really knowing
where their young lives are going.
Some are born of kings and queens
others just of people with dreams.
Some are born into families so poor
others destined for riches and more.

I saw a ghost today
while visiting a place
I didn't want to go back to.

But curiosity,
even the dreaded kind
makes me want
to peek around corners.

I saw a ghost
just an image
that I could never express in words,
even if I were given
every one in the world.

If I could etch it into an idol
it would still be sacrilegious,
a demon in a white dress.

Instead I shall sweep it
with the kitchen broom
into a pile
with the rest of the ashes.

Spent……….

We are but a jester’s jest
from our floppy
hat smile to our unsavoury
string vest. Given all we’ve
discovered, invented, created, why
don’t the animals used to test
our drugs or make up feel elated.
Stunted misshapen unhealthy mutes
given a home, kennel ? food to beaut’s

Some people around us
Seem not to see at all
Beyond the limit of the nose
The effects of their misdoing
Or just being apathetic
To filth and fizz

When rain falls
They rush in to bring
Their garbage bins
Empty the contents
Into running rain water
In the gutter before the house

Polythene bags
Wasted food, empty cans
Broken bottles
Shit and vomit
Swept away
To where there is obstruction

I am a freak
don't wear caps, nor hats,
nor jewelry
nor logos on my clothes
no bumper stickers
no tattoos
don't chew gum

don't like comic books
nor hollywood blockbusters
nor crowded bars, guns,
mindless profanity, macho posturing,
loud talkers,
nor any kind of pagentry

I don't drink
don't gamble
nor play video games, boardgames,
nor BINGO!
I have no appreciation for Disneyland
nor Vegas,
nor stock car races

Antiquity

time unrelenting
personal passage
minutes movements
marked

Calendars...

pretty pictures
numbers of precision
pristine white pages
visual reminders...

Clocks...

ticking away measured lifetimes
bated, dated, bar-coded
scissors move to cut the threads...

he is a poet
and I, destitute in his mercy
make small unintelligible sounds

his tongue curls around
my syllables of breast and thigh
I leap into occasion
devoured of flesh,
he hides me from myself
and dissects my sentience with mathematical precision

there is a dark angel sleeping in my bed, his poetry
oppresses me, he taunts me with his touch
and his pen pinions me

he whispers: "fly with me"

I walked the beaches' shore
Salty seas still lingers in my nose
With parted lips
The taste of salt settled
On my tonsils

I fancy the summer breeze
Welcome the humid air
That rose from the water's surface
My skin grubby with sand
Ever moist

The touch of his hand in mine
Welcoming stares in his eyes
Made the heat unnoticeable
Taste of wine on his breath
Warmth of sweetness on my face tickled

Like dandelions blown in the wind
Love and nature shares with the ocean

Killer

The poem is about a famous collector of antiquities who left his collection to the people of Glasgow. This is housed in a custom - made building in the woods in Pollock Park. There the River Cart flows and my imagination was fired. Enjoy !

THE BURRELL COLLECTION

William Burrell's Merchant Fleet
Brought wealth to buy antiques and art.
He gifted all to Glasgow City,
To be kept in Pollock Park.