Monthly Archives: February 2013

Frankfurt, 3am

So here I am; sitting at a bar in Frankfurt
At 3am
Sounding far more exciting than it actually is
Wishing that someone in this foreign country
Knew how to make me a decent coffee
Like you do
Or would laugh and quote our quotes
Like you do
Loneliness is overwhelming when I’m not surrounded
By the echoes of other travellers
Because I am given time to remember you
But I know you are different now
With your family home
Twin garage
And children

You aren’t with me in this mutual mindset
Of reckless travel
And that is bittersweet
Because I could not go home with anyone
If you were sitting beside me at the bar
I would just want to go home with you

I want to go home with you now

After this drink I’ll make a call
To you
It will be morning where you are
And the sounds of your chosen life
Will push me further from you than I already am
And you will smile nice and big
All lips, teeth and cheer
You will laugh at my drunken jokes
That I’ll regret immediately
Due to the way it must make you see me
As I tell you tall tales of ales and full bellies
I’ll wish I was the one you were pouring cereal for
At 8 am
With our kids at your feet
And my car next to yours in the garage
But it’s not
Instead I am on the other side of the world to you
And because of that I probably won’t call
I will just miss you instead
From my one room living quarters
In a backpackers not unlike all the other ones before
I will act like my adventure is as fun as my postcards
But it’s still grey outside
And my heart is not here
It is in a warm memory
Long gone
Where we used to be

I’ve Got A Boy

I’ve got a boy
With clean blue eyes
And a heart disguised
As lyrics on napkins
And wayward bar menus

I’ve got a boy
With a hand rolled cigarette
Hanging from thick lips
Mouthing words and tunes
To midnights moon

I’ve got a boy
Who grows his beard
To hide youthful fears
That his baby face
Won’t fulfil life’s promises

I’ve got a boy
Who’s photos are a catchment
For modern detachment
Live wires and burnt buildings
Dusk, dawn and depth

I’ve got a boy
Who breathes the blues
Images sung by tune
Heard by word
Lived for love

I’ve got a boy
Who watches the world
With sad, sad eyes
And writes of life
Like it’s for the first time

I’ve got a boy
With a voice like Buckley
A soul like Morrison
A face like Phoenix
And a heart like a patchwork quilt

Wonders Beyond This World- (Spoken Word)

Surely as you ponder
Each small wonder
You encounter
On your way
You distinctly remember
A souls hired helper
The brain
And its function to play.
Does it have a wee button
That sits on the side
And impressively
Tells you what to see
What to hide?
Does it discover the greatest of joys
Perceived by the previous
Serotonin employed?
Or does it precisely
Have something to do
With the matter of me
And the matter of you?
Is it more intrinsic for us
To keep focusing on
The immediate, the future
The was and what’s gone
So that we may not see
Just how much of a spec
We might be
In comparison to the entirety
Of everything
Perhaps we need
A compass and key
To lock ourselves down
In case
We escape
To the universal question
Of what and what for
Why a mental repression?
Because, I’m afraid,
If we all knew the truth
Then possibly we wouldn’t
Think of ourselves
As the great super sleuths
Of religion and mind
And philosophy
And just quietly
Our sciences are proving
Our sciences further
That maybe, just maybe
Our religious fervour
Is starting to be proven
Ever so wrong
That we own the sole province
Of any souls song
That there is more of a possibility
Of greater existence
Than what our meagre minds
Perceive as consistent
But hold on
Aren’t we all thoughts
In the old woman’s mind
Of memories and lovers
She once left behind?
Aren’t we all puppets
In a giant parade
Of greater giants than us
All paper made?
Aren’t we just layers and layers
Of truth
All bound together
By the promise of youth?
Or perhaps
We are just creatures
Of each others demise
Waiting, just waiting
For death to arise?
But in essence our brains
Are functioned to make us
Distracted by small things
In some way to fake us
And keep our heads grounded
Not flying high
So that our eyes
Watch the ground
Instead of the sky
And instead of the moment
We all just expect
That the mothership arrives
And informs all us specs
That for so long
We had the nerve
To think of us all
As the only inhabitants
Of galaxies and worlds
The truth of the matter
Is that we are the joke
Of their collective humour
The punch line,
The amusement and rumour
In this vast expanse
Larger than all of our
Consciences combined
Yes we are the infants
The universe left behind

My Youth

My youth was sweetened
By the sugar lips of new loves
And anticipation of moments
I wasn’t sure would happen to me
But did

My youth, a tangle of bodies
And too much confidence
Little willpower
And disjointed images
From 90’s movies

My youth, perfectly imperfect people
Self made orphans
From broken families
Empty homes
Clustering around each other for warmth

My youth, experiments in emotions
The sharp ascending up’s
The plummeting down’s
The desperation of a decimated heart
And all of its replacement pieces

My youth, painful, numbed,
Warped, ripped, sewn
Mended, minded, wanted
Rejected, arrogant, lustful
Needy, distant

Where I Belong

I wasn’t made for heat
I was meant to feel frost
And chill and cold breeze
I wasn’t made for the beach
I was meant for harbours and
Watching sail boats upon the blue
I wasn’t made for feeling rushed and fast
I was meant to meander
Wander, take time and use it well
I wasn’t made for anger
I was meant for smiles,
Connections, moments and forgiveness
I wasn’t made for monopolies
I was made to stroll markets
Scour small, tucked in hideaways
Where little pieces
Choose you
And food tastes better from
Loving hands
I wasn’t made for reading novels
From a screen
I was meant to flick pages
Smell them, wear down spines,
Absently rub away corners
And hear the ‘swish’ sound
Of a turned page

I was meant for only using black pens,
Foggy days, good wine, great company,
Dignity, loving acceptance,
Chance, equality and the calm sounds
Of life

How She Is

Sweep those floors
Shove the anger
Under the rug
Use the sponge
To mop up
Last night’s tears
Air the house
From yesterdays
Loud voices
Clean those tiles
Scrub away residue
Of bad days
Wipe the walls
Paint them all
Perfect white
Stain the trodden
Wooden boards
A rosy pink
To match the smile
The assurances
The reasons
That everything is

Part of a Series. See How He Is