another song of mourning

another song of mourning comes
another set of ashes to scatter in the wind
another heart to weld back to beating
and another part of me meets it's end

there's a photo of us that I put away
locked our smiles in a cupboard to haunt me when it's opened by accident
and in front of the new beginning I've carved for myself
I'll pointlessly pretend my insides have not collapsed in beautiful mourning

and another song of mourning comes

I sweep away what remains of you and what remains of us
And turn it hard and hide in that, to make myself believe something can start again
And for a while I'll think it works just like it did before
But suddenly I'll realise that I'm not breathing and crumble into nothingness

and another set of ashes to scatter in the wind

you fade quicker than I expected and sooner than I was ready for
and that hurts more than the memory I'm trying so hard to keep alive
and she will forget your face, and smell, and voice when you laughed
and I'll want to scream when I hear them talk of you in past tense
another heart to weld back to beating


and the clock will start to tick again
waiting for me to once more be happy
when time can slowly unravel my despair and pour it out all over again
I'm so sick of new beginnings

Another part of me meets it's end.

Dead Good Poets Society calls again

There's another Dead good Poetry Society meet tonight and this time the topic is Causes. So drawing on my experience of homelessness and my work at Blackpool Shelter, I have chosen this as my topic. The following are tonights poems, although the latter is the freewriting of ten minutes ago

tomorrow i might die
i am a street rat
eating what i can pillage

tomorrow my stomach might give up hope
and i might faint in the street
trodden trash- wasted in the gutter

tomorrow they might clean the streets
my all consuming fear
my wasted food cleared away by fat men

the hunger is palpable
and freezes my insides,
i’d cry if i had energy

and when i piss myself for warmth
i might die, and that will be how i am found
preserved- a dirty street rat
deserted starved


Pleasantly Palatable

I walk by because I’m scared not better
Though I do not know this yet.
A lovely life has sweetly showered me so easily
Though I do not know this yet.
And the bubble in which I currently dwell is frail and prone to fail
Though, I do not know this yet.

Now my mask is fallen
The bones laid bare on the pavement
Revealing a puddle of disgusting person
The train is not derailed, the rails are not there
And I’m rejected to the concrete.

I sit there the lowest of the low defeated
Though I did not know this then.
I wake at 3.26 each morning crippled with agonising cold
Though I did not know this then.
Suddenly I’m a charity, eating what they permit
Though I did not know this then.

Now I’m in disguise
The blue print of my life
Concealed in body but not in mind.
The script now edited for public consumption
Accepted now that I am pleasantly palatable.

2nd song

The first lyrics I wrote

now you're up to date.

Just to get you up to date with where we’re up to. For the Fringe Friday events The DGPS were focusing on the classics. I managed to mismanage my time that day and instead booked myself in for a tattoo and a children’s birthday party, so ended up missing the reading. This is what I prepared for the event, it has not been previously shared so any comment will be appreciated, as I’ve never attempted humour before. :S

* written as freewriting after reading Shakespeare’s ‘Shall I compare thee…?’ and Andrew Marvell’s ‘To His Coy Mistress’.

I’d love to celebrate your beauty

I’d love to hold your beauty in epic verse
With words that would chime for all of eternity,
So when people would read of it, they may understand true admiration and love.

I’d love to hold your beauty in epic song
With a melody that would melt their hearts for years to come
So when people hear of it, they may know the depth of respect and commitment.

I’d love to hold your beauty in epic verse
But unfortunately, these beer goggles wont last so long
So instead of harping on my dear, let’s get it on before your beauty is gone.

* I then attempted to write a sonnet. Having struggled considerably on previous writing course, I recall a tutor pulling me aside and giving me this advice “write from the heart, nothing else will do. Look deep into your heart, and what it is that truly gives you purpose”, a little daunted by this I began to write. And this is what I wrote:

Shall I Compare thee…?

Shall I compare thee to a chocolate cake?
Thou art more lovely and more chocolate laced
Fudge chucks do shake the darling buds of taste
And a single slice is all too small a plate.

Sometime with cream the taste of chocolate chimes
And often is its brown perfection ate
And every layer from layer is claimed as mine
By chance or greed or my deciding fate

But thy eternal hunger shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fudgy cake
And ne’er will Slim Fast brag of pounds mislaid
When buried in bowls lay the slimmer’s face

So long as chubby hands may grasp
So long lives this, my chocolate love will last.

The Dead Good Poets Society

*a friend of mine set up a local poetry group 'The Dead Good Poets Society', and once a month we meet and perform our poems, it's quite informal but lots of fun. The following are the previous poems performed.

What if you're wrong?
And I'm not ill at all
But still, you fill me so I rattle
From all these pretty pills you feed me like bird seed.

What if you're wrong?
And I'm not ill at all
And still you watch me from behind your protective glass
As though I'm some crazed animal who might pounce and mame without warning.

What if you're wrong?
And I'm not ill at all
And still you slash the layers of my sanity with jagged jaws for information I don't have
So sure the answers are concealed beneath the surface.

What if you're wrong?
And I'm not ill at all
And all your care and understanding do nothing more -than drive me mad
So that answers and pills and protective glass spout from my nose and bite you on the ass
With a print that spits "YOU'RE WRONG!"

(this was written shortly after a shock diagnosis of Bipolar disorder)

I forgot to miss you

It’s been ten months, and three days,
and four half hours since you left
And I forgot to miss you.

I forgot clear away your things
And still find a shoe beneath your bed
Where you left it,
never knowing the scent would ever intoxicate me
And now I’ve forgotten why I cannot move it.

I’m still sure I hear your calls when the air is still
And imagine the conversations we’d be having in the morning
as I try to start the car.
Shopping, so mundane that when a stranger brushes by
A smell, I turn, I see. I crumble.
Some unknown soul stole your scent is staring back at me
But still I’m clinging to his arm, so sure that this imposture must be you.

At night I wrap your jumpers around me
Still safe inside your invisible arms

And every year I still buy you a card,
Drop it into the sea
And wait endlessly for your reply.

It’s been ten months, and three days
And four hours thirty eight minutes
And I forgot to miss you.

(written in response to my father passing away)