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Tag Archives: writing

The Agricultural Engineer

I have a story in an old shoe box
and I leave it to spin out
all the time

A heart ache framed in that trusty old-schooled ink and it bleeds
like a bruise
on tattooed thighs

I’m stood with a blush of pink insincerity
and i find that I cannot tell a lie

You see, like a bird
like a falcon way up high
and you breathe like a new born
swimming child

You teach
with the wisdom of an ancient rested soul
and I want to be near you all the time

There’s a key in the garden where you fall asleep at night
there’s a lock hidden there under
the chime

But the wind is howling haunted
and it leaves you feeling blind
and you can’t
remember how to tell the time

It’s written in the kitchen, right there underneath the clock
There’s a sink full of truths I can’t deny

But you walk through the hall in those dirty, old work boots
leaving marks on my floor and on my life

A sidewards smile holds a cigarette, alight

The dirty, honest dishes
left behind

Thursday’s

We’re fizzing, dizzy with it
clinking glasses
chasing tequila like its some
wild, ferocious beast

And there’s us – just kidding
There’s us and thousand more bodies
bodies all sweating
drunk on the chase of frets and
foreign animals

We’re Serengeti Sailors – what?

Mexican Fire Eaters

that’s better

laughter and streamers explode
from the eyes at the table
and the warmth is real, save the last dance

My two left feet

Forward

I’m always writing myself

Creating something

Erasing the lines made in error

Concentrating on the definition

I like grey scale 

and colour combined

And perfume – perfume all over the page

One day

One day dude, I’ll be a fucking 

masterpiece 

Indescribable

I wanted to write for you, a storm in a tea cup

Sum it up, wrap it up in a song
of three chords

but now it’s breezy and I’m thinking too deeply

I’m rarely concise

I hear you in symphony – a complex arrangement

Sending my own self deranged as I sit trying to unpick you

trying to frame you in my own style

I just can’t pin you, fathom it

How a stormy lass like me
finds calmness in the wordless sea of you

The Tonic

Posted on

I’m always missing somebody
and exercising control – muscle flexing with a burn

A steady smile, you like it?

Drunk on laughter, wine sodden
with odd socks sleeping on my skin, sweeping the floor like they’re made for it

I sit cross legged with a tambourine
but it is you that shakes like you’re convulsing

Two left feet, twirling you in circles and me in contentment

To this wonderfully strange, new beat

Dream

I had a pretty vivid dream last night and it went a lot like this…

I walked into my kitchen, pretty messy as usual but that was not the issue. The real issue was as I opened the fridge door and was greeted to nothing but a few carrots and half an onion.

I shut the door, wondering why I kept half an onion and why I still let it live there, in its current state.

Jump cut – suddenly, I’m at the Asda. Specifically, I’m just reaching the frozen food aisle. As I approach the freezers ahead, I see a man looking into the lower shelves. It’s Paul McCartney.

I was like, ‘Wow, you’re Paul McCartney.’ And he continued to look at the frozen food. ‘What you doing in the Asda, Paul?’ He explained he was checking if Linda’s range was still stocked. I nodded as if that was completely understandable.

So I sort of watched him for a few seconds, scrutinising what was for sale. All of a sudden I found myself saying , ‘Paul, I hate to do this – I’d rather ask you something else but if I do, nobody will believe it. Not without a photo.’

He smiled and put his arm around me whilst I took a photo of us, in front of a load of frozen food. ‘I wish I had my guitar with me, you could’ve signed it.’

Jump cut again – Me and Paul McCartney were sat in my dining room and I was playing my newly signed guitar whilst he ate one of the scones from the table. He was eating it like a bit of a pig and had cream around his mouth.

Then I woke up.

Bit weird…but non too unpleasant.

Words On Paper

My boy, you creep inside my skin

You look so pretty

Unsure where you and I begin

and where you leave me

I feel rain

I feel rain

I feel rain, more’s the pity

See me drown in your campaign

No chance of winning

I feel pain, I feel pain, I feel pain

I am bleeding

Cocooned in your sweater, all bloody stained

lose, never leading

writing letters to fix the blame

it’s all the same

It’s all the same. I feel rain