when i am grumpy

... this is what i do; i huff and i puff, you do it too.

i'm not sure if anyone notices or cares that i'm quoting cbeebies' tikkabilla, or that it's all i can do not to stomp around the room doing all the actions, but there is method in my child-related tv madness; i can only write when i'm a bit pissed off...

as previously mentioned, i have kids, and i'm one of those dads who loves being a dad and i'm not ashamed to say that my 3 (three) girls mean everything to me. however, i find it impossible to write a poem about them (either individually or collectively) because, well, if you're going to write about your kids then you should really write something very nice.

kids, on a beach, new zealand

however the only time i ever get the pen and paper (laptop) out is when i'm feeling a bit down, or have some strange imagery bouncing about my head due to excessive alcohol or dream-filled restless nights. it might also have something to do with my loving of sci-fi books/comics/films and the post-apocalypic dystopian nightmarish future that they invariably focus on...

anyway, it doesn't really matter. i've tried before to write nice stuff - and some of it works ok i think - but it's the dark dirty stuff that appeals to me and, with the perfect excuse in hand, here's one of my favourites.

So Much Meat

Instrumental in dripping tortuous echoes of my mind
I feel the wax begin to melt beneath my feet
And all in all the purest darkest vision I could find
Was viewing there the world as so much meat

An abattoir of friends and faces arching with desire
Towards the very blackened heart they'd ever know
But who am I to turn away those souls destined for fire?
And who are they to think they'd never go?

To be called by a stranger's name is something never heard
When all who come to reckoning are guilty there
I feel your loins are aching then with punishments deserved
Still pleading upon ears that never care

I tear your soul into the parts that make the human clay
And mould your inner feelings into deadened lead
Create the purest flour from the goodness tossed away
And make you wish that you were never dead

February 1995

the sun is bright...

newby hall 2004

well it's winter and it's not warm, but today (in York at least) the sun has been pursuing me with it's ultra-glare burning my retinas (not thinking, of course, to have my sunglasses on me, being january and all that)

anyway, that short dismal paragraph means i can segue deftly into a poem all about the sun and show a lovely picture

The Sun is Bright

The sun is bright
And hurts your eyes
If you should look into it,
Yet brings you warmth
And kills the cold,
That is, if you should choose it.

Spirits should rise -
A warmth inside.
A shame should you misuse it,
Leaves you alone
Devoid of truth,
You knew I'd see right throught it.

The sun is bright
And hurts your eyes
If you should look into it.
You're dark inside -
A hell to hide -
We always knew you'd lose it.


May 1997

the real new year (part two)

last week i attempted to ease myself back into work while still leaving myself enough time to spend helping with the new baby - unfortunately (although not for the bank balance) it didn't quite work out that way and 'going back to work' has happened sooner rather than later... this is the real new year (again) now everything is back to normal. this means no more getting drinking at midday and constantly eating sweets. bah.

cubes

This also means that i need to fully get my head into work-mode, clear my workstation (apart from my favourite present above) and fill up my order-book. i've been promised that there's 'tons of work' (which will be confirmed at a meeting on thursday in london), and have also been offered some space at a company that a graphic-designer friend works at. the word is that the new accomodation is 'fantastic', and i admit to feeling very excited about having my own real office for the first time, an office where i can come and go as i please, and have all the facilities i need without actually working anyone but myself.

it really does feel like i'm entering a new phase of my life - both business and personal-wise - and having a meeting with my prospective new landlord tomorrow means another new dawn i can firmly pin my resolution hopes to... oh, and the baby is officially 1 month old tomorrow.

The Equal Inside

the equal inside of me
stains like a rash
when it tries to break free.

when wondering how
all became such as this
the equal inside of me
stands to the side of me
watching and waiting
intending on being me

the equal inside of me
often surrounding me
pulling and tugging and trying
to conquer me

deep deep deep breaths
enforcing harsh clarity
the equal inside is not me

a misnomer for sure
unequal in parity
(temporarily) silent once more

the equal inside of me
the wolf at the door

November 1998