Days of Hopes and Dreams

I remember days of hopes and dreams,

Of sandy shores and soft ice creams

With chocolate flakes you’d always steal;

You’d laugh and laugh, we’d squeal and squeal.

Card games played on worn formica,

The scent of petrol from your lighter

You’d spark a fag and crack the door,

We’d beg you, please, to play one more

Game of snap or trumps or gin,

though you never let us win,

We’d love to play them all the same,

Your cheating never brought you shame.

Remember rainfall on the van,

The whirling of a ceiling fan,

All four seasons in a day

But we didn’t care, we were away

And you were there and we were whole,

With moments that nobody stole.

This is the stuff we won’t forget,

The time we spent we don’t regret.

Empty Space

An empty space exists,

Where once I had a friend,

I like to turn my head

One minute to pretend

That in the corner of my eye,

I can see a hazy form 

That starts to coalesce -

My confidant, reborn.

But as I try to focus

To see him from afar

His light’s already fading,

Like a far away dead star.

That once bright bubble burst,

I tried to catch it gently

But fragile things don’t last

We all die eventually.

We’re left with nought but memories,

After-image on the retina,

Aftershave on a jumper,

An old voicemail that he left ya.

And maybe that’s all fine,

It’s the end to match the start,

But that empty space exists,

It’s the hole that’s in my heart.

An Ode to London

I walk around London with my eyes wide open, 

Seeing things once seemingly hidden 

behind the grey fog of indifference; 

missed opportunities freely given.

I hear different noises, different voices, 

a symphony of humanity 

that I’d drowned out with my headphones, 

the white noise of banality.

 

I see stately stone-clad buildings

adorned with gargoyles and fleur de lis,

juxtaposed with towers of glass and steel 

and the sirens of city police.

I smell hot tarmac on a summer breeze,

the scent of street food sold by vendors.

Hear the clack-clack of a jackhammer

used by men wearing ear defenders.

 

On a sunny day, the feel of rays

reflect off a mirrored window

hiding armies of keyboard warriors,

bathed in eerie monitor’s glow.

I taste the tension of work and play

conflicting for supremacy.

Cheap perfume and body spray cover

The scent of last night’s legacy.

 

I feel it deep, deep in my bones,

the vibrancy of this city.

It hums like current in my veins,

like living electricity.

Shockingly, it’s not all rosy;

some things really bug me

but I love this place, for all its flaws, 

the good, the bad and the ugly.

 

So I’ll look up and I’ll breath it in,

this city full of wonders.

Of waiters, singers, nurses, plumbers,

of pin-stripe clad hedge funders.

I’ll treat it with some due respect,

I’ll no longer take for granted,

The place that gave me all I’ve got,

And leaves me still enchanted.

Snowman’s Plight

 Is there any sadder sight,

Than a snowman’s final plight?

Having sat there for 3 days,

With that icy, stony gaze,

One squat sentinel of snow,

Doomed to shrink and not to grow,

Scarf and hat left on the floor, 

Now the snowman is no more.

A bleak poem for a bleak November

I feel like I'm in a hole.

Not whole, I’m torn in half.

There’s a missing piece, like a jigsaw in a charity shop - reused and never new again.

Dog eared at the edges, well loved but they’ve moved on to the next story.

Or maybe I’m on a shelf, an old favourite, waiting to be picked up with a smile… a fleeting moment, transported to when I was shiny with an un-cracked spine.

I feel unseen, invisible; like a picture in an album that’s never opened. 

A has been, a once was, a memory.

Once vibrant and full of colour,

Now black and white I’m duller.

In need of restoration, touch me up in photoshop I’ll be good as new. 

Renewed. Refreshed. Revived. Reborn.

Whole again.

Seen again.

Heard again.

Reborn.

Grief on a page

 Stark. Black on white.

Dark like winter’s night.

Tears; a waterfall.

Fears defeat us all.

Whole. Not when apart.

Hole. Within my heart.

Shade, upon my soul

Made black as blackest coal.

Rage; it overwhelms,

Wage wars in hellish realms

Within my fractured mind.

Begin, the quest to find

Peace. Somewhere serene.

Cease. What’s been has been.

2020

The world around us seems to be falling apart

and the vilest of us show the darkness of their heart.

One man kneels in silence; he’s cowed.

Another kneels in violence; that’s allowed.

One rule for one, another for the others,

it’s there in black and white. Where blue brothers

stick together and the rest are separated,

the rich laugh at the poor and decency is denigrated.

Statues look down on ignorance, saluting

a shameful symbol once defeated that’s again uprooting

the seeds of peace and harmony that should still flourish.

In a world where love and friendship should continuously nourish

the body, soul and mind we find ourselves divided

by fanned-flames of hatred. The tolerant are derided

and called woke by those that are sleepwalking through

an existence which is manufactured to

maintain the status quo of us and them,

the haves and have nots. It’s time to condemn

the actions of those who are supposed to represent us,

who in a heartbeat throw those who are poorer under the bus

and take no accountability for their actions.

Instead they create further factions

between the disadvantaged and disenchanted.

These feelings aren’t yours, they’re planted

to distract from incompetence and corruption,

money made from market disruption

and while they take the lions share,

everyone else is left with whatever is spare.

But while number 10s hold number 10 to account,

it feels there’s no problem we can’t collectively surmount.

So when it feels like you can no longer cope,

close your eyes. Breathe. Smile. Hope.