Blossom

I’m a screw. In a zoo
of zigzagging children in their wonderful oblivion of playtime
I wear high viz. I blow a whistle.
There is nothing here except tarmac, two footballs and the collective energy of two hundred children.
The fences keep us safe.
The fences keep us safe.
I observed a colleague in despair
over continual bad behaviour-
buffoonery, boys acting like animals-
and I thought a thought to myself:
isn’t this what happens when we put people in cages?
In our secure area, paranoia reigns
no one wants anything bad to happen
so risk means responsibility means more recognition means more restriction means, means..
school is a castle; where we keep your kids.
so it’s divine high octane chaos is playtime
and after months of threat of rains pelt
and winds whip and cold and wet playtimes in mad as sardine classrooms..
they opened the gates to the field.
this Eden, now covered in constellations
of dandelions and daisies;
lies like bloodline love long overdue an embrace
of its offspring, prepared now
here they come
being corralled like at an unexpected theme park ride
-the field, the field is ready
the open arms of its vast earthy space
-are we going on the field?
with trees to run around
with a banking to roll down
with a football pitch that has actual goalposts
there’s enough for the entire school
to feel the energy, the ground, the grass
the children swirling all over it
like blossom.

Winter Goose

Somethings got it’s eye on you
for sure, if you were beady eyed
enough you’d see but you’re a bit stupid
with the novelty of being a wild birdy
probably an escapee from domesticity.
Opulently white, white as a spa robe
with compliments of orange
-beak and matching webbed feet-
not a swan, no swan would swan
here in neglected, mean canal territory,
but delightful in morning drudgery,
stuck between a lock and a hard place
naively opening up to ducks
too streetwise, paired off already in gangs.
Mainly, I see you alone-even in
head torch for a moon darkness,
a floating feathered craft, creature
sacred, vulnerable,
a manoeuvring meringue
surely moribund, at the mercy of foxes
and pine martens, dogs, people
but free for now and
gentle and pure and plump
a gift, with daylight still contracting, a gift adrift in this hostile haven of a place, a gift
for me to set my eye on you.

Vest Life

How on earth could he have got in this state;
it’s morning and here is horizontal flab
on afternoon pavement slab
big cat with protruding bare belly,
leopard skin printed party cowboy hat
more than askew, next to
a rainbow shaped balloon
plump with helium anchored
around his neck somewhere
minded by a ‘town centre marshall’
equivalent body shape,
at a loss for waiting for
a development, signs of awakening
or ambulance arriving
staring down at a vision of himself,
perhaps, a former self, prostrate
late on a town centre marshall posse night out maybe
or lost, a write off, in an unknown hovel:
am I a witness to a flashback apparition?..
a reflection refracted in reality
of the lesser low vis mortal
before he was living his vest life
before trust training boots backup,
here is the responding ubermench
risen, righteous phoenix
the hero from the husk
of the previous heap he was
before being a trusted high vizzed titan of the town;
the rescued to the rescue,
a fallen pawn
righted with civic purpose

Coffin

I put nails in a coffin
but it sails, it sails
it has a mast and motive
you don’t know what’s comin
the past pales, in the scales
against what is against us now;
the truth in your heart
I sing to it, every day I do
and every night I do

Key

The psy is the limit
now they’ve stolen the sea
gathered an army
to change a regime
you once called reality
mentally, martially

the psy is the limit
it’s a cornflake box
wrapped all around you,
little puzzles and locks

the psy is the limit:
don’t lose the key
don’t lose the key

Full Sun

You’ve forgotten how to find shade,
fabric that can shield,
old leaves won’t stick back on
you’ll need to find foliage
when the sun has tipped
from friend to foe, you’ll want
to be under awnings
not being beaten, overawed,
in the direct firing glare,
you’ll need to see doorways
you’ll need to lean on doors,
find in you and use
the protection that is yours

Demons

I’ll open your letters
I’ll make the overdue call
I’ll discuss terms on your behalf
Steady the cards before they fall

I can quell your demons
because they’re not my demons
I can quell your demons
they have no power over me

Why do they manifest?
with strange psychological power,
inert and lurking in the breast-
are they working for or against?
a reluctance to face the music,
a wishful state of your own choosing
a laziness of will from a lack of direction
comfort from the curve of descending
resistance, apathy and antipathy
pile up the sand around the ears
pack it down, drown my fears
with the fixing sea as it stokes
with it’s foamy fingers round me.
All it takes is clarity
all it takes is a sense of certainty
then those demons
they’re working for me

Lid

We had grainless blue, at points
not a speck to my eye,
ceiling now; knotty timber
and the dark grey nails of rain
are starting to protrude
the relentless toss, to and fro
of silver, birdy banter is blinding
left, right, heads, tails
No. No more. I pawned your yes
on a whim an a whir
I am prepared for
this sealing. See a second life
in a restless grave forever
guessing

Dead To Me

You’ll never see a good side of me again;
a spoiling mechanism will manifest
to remind you when you look,
when you come future curious
with any howlings or how you doings-
you’ll get the dark side,
when you’re longing, in the long term
you’ll be short, you’ll be shouldered
when you need to be told anything
you’ll be omitted from any benefit
of any kindness of knowing.
The pain I turned into disdain
will keep me ahead so you’ll
never get any welcoming spirit,
decorum or grace:
you’ll know the truth, be told
you’re too old, out of credit,
way too late, I’ll be a calendar
without a foreseeable date,
a coin that will never add up,
water you can never sup but
always above and ready to come down and drown, never quench
with no eventual change
or opening just a tinted window
you wont be able to see through.
If I smile again you’re barred
from witnessing its warmth;
you’ll only get bared teeth
no matter how tentatively you reach.

Procrastination

I have the means, the means
to manipulate, I have the reins
the reins of horses
in motion and stabled
ready for rotation
when the whip wants
attachment, attack-speculative ego chariot
I rotate irons, irons
in fires, idling always adjusting
the flare of the impulse,
for the come, for the go;
it’s all options spinning on sticks
on standby, up in the air
I’ve held too many things in a place,
with half truths, hollow assurances
impaled trusts guts on a promise
staking a return, seeking
so that investments become worthless,
the hope of gain, gaining
hopelessness,
ensuring I can come back..
the long game is unravelling
to oblivion
from investing too much in
time and not in intention
and it’s worthless now, stagnant
out of date, incompatible
with all accessories now
this cake speculator ate the cake
but he has the cake because he got two,
he got the worst of both worlds
because he deserted one,
destroyed the other
and then withdrew.