No One is Coming

Straight and straight in the narrowing current
The dreamer hears the fisher of men;
Things hold together; the edges are sure;
Pure reason is freed from emptiness,
The wine-spoiled water is caught, and elsewhere
The pomposity of guilt floats free;
The worst have no acquittal, while the best
Are empty of calm relief.

Scattered hints of flight are far;
Surely no one is coming for us.
No one is coming! Long after that thought comes
A tiny fleck out of desiring dread
Touches my hand; hidden in the deepest waters
An idea without mind and the end of intention,
A glance as pitiful as the moon,
Has stilled its rapid eyes, while inside it
Sit shapes of the oldest ocean life.
The light brightens again, and soon I will forget
That brief shards of smooth awakening
Will be soothed to dream by a still casket,
And what anointed angel, its time passed long ago,
Strides away from Gethsemane to die.

Escapee Escapade

It began as an experiment.

Someone had said:
Thoughts can be used
To protect against thoughts.

By a mind full
Of her visage,
I said block.

A wall appeared.
Her face behind

Made bold
By her invisible countenance,
I watched my mind
For more.

One day
On a cold night in June
I saw my face in the mirror.

It was an angry face.

I was angry.

I desired to move away
From the me that was anger.

I wished myself dead.
But strongly.

A voice said,
As if in reply,
Which Myself?
Which Death?

I had no answer.

Life’s not the spring you think it is.
Hope’s not eternal.
But I’m slow.
Almost at a halt.

I didn’t die.
I hadn’t wanted to die.
I had just wanted to wish for more.

More Peace.
More Emptiness.
More evidence
Of Silence.

On the horizon:
A green spaceship.

Cut this short.

Take me flying
With you.


Photo by Andre Moura on

The Bottle Tops

I knew that was going to happen
but then,
it didn’t.

There are random atoms in the air,
spilling over and filling the sea
with something like love
but also a tinge of regret
that is never expressed
like a crossword
compiled and printed
but never filled in.

The end of the world
is just Ned
working overtime
in his garage
on a motorway of sandwiches.

We open the bottle
and it empties from the top
but only when we turn it upside down.

What about happiness?
Does it slip backward
when we rock forwards?

Do the daffodils
find peace underground?

Will we ever learn
the secrets
of the unopened box of cereal
that fell down the back of the fridge?

Ants may have found it
but will they get inside
through the double-strength plastic?
I think they could if they wanted to.

Winter food.
Jelly rolls.
Traffic on the moon.
Seven impossible passes
through the mountains
but none of them lead to land.

Nothing leads nowhere
apart from the thing I absolutely knew would happen.
But unexpectedly didn’t.


SOmetimes, you have to back off and let them win.

SOmetimes it’s enough that you don’t engage.

SOmetimes they can rage and you can let them do that.

SOmetimes they just want to let off steam and it’s nothing to do with you (even if they say (scream) that it is).

SOmetimes the world turns and life goes on despite you feeling that it has ended.

SOmetimes you can bring it all together with a smile.

SOmetimes that’s not possible.

SOmetimes it’s just not up (or down) to you to make the change.

SOmetimes you can just be quiet, in a corner, where you can sit and type something meaningless in the grand scheme of things, post it to your blog whilst imagining that you have drawn poison from your veins, and then just watch a movie or something.

SOmetimes, that’s all you can do.

SOmetimes that’s all you want to do.

is now.