Sunday 30 March 2008

Room 9.

It was never meant to start like this a

seedy hotel – room number 9 that thread-

bare carpet – walls and shadows echoing

our guilt.


You had gripped my hand tighter as the landlady,

fag hanging from her lips, no teeth - had said

“ Mr & Mrs Jones I expect ?” and pointed to

our room.


Passion made us short of breath, yet somehow

the smell of dead dust mixed with the scent

of us added to our excitement.

You undressed hanging your clothes over the

back of that single chair the light from passing

traffic chinking lines of orange glow on

to your camisole – On/Off On/Off teasing me.


As you slipped under the cold covers our

skin seared together our first stolen moments

as you whispered “ Undress me Rog – undress

me”

Today I drive past our ‘Ritz’ and

remember that night me and Mrs Jones

made love amongst the stars and dust of

room number 9.


As today, somewhere else, you lay in the

arms of another, warm, and dust free.

Saturday 29 March 2008

My River

She’s calm this night

My River.

The Moon’s nestled

Quietly between the rocks

Settled

In these calm waters,

That slip quietly to my runnels

Or Ruin?


Silver Waters

Shimmering, softly, serenely.


Calm now, yet

A Torrent not far

Away

That tumult

Digging at My Footings

Bedrock

To slurry

My foundation to

Marl.


Other times

Accepting this

Onslaught

Facing into the

Torment

Hysterical at this obscene suffering

Enjoying

Flourishing

Smashing my face against Rocks

Ripping one’s skin to

Ribbons

Life’s lacerations

Life’s acceleration

Out of control

Did I conspire with

Fate

Goad on this

Loathing

Or is this foaming

River

My

Affliction

Sins of

Fathers

Laid upon

Their

Son’s

Is that my

Curse?

Oh how you could have saved

Me

And Tomorrow’s

River

Tomorrow?

Confetti rain

He never managed to find

Himself despite searching

In the eyes of a thousand women

Like those hand-in-hand

Paper cut-outs Dolls.


He brought them all perfume

And wild roses wrapped up

In coloured paper

But still he was lost.


He would take them dancing

Swirling them around until

Midnight exploring their every

Twist and twirl always

Searching their fair faces

For the One.


He had a child in almost every

Town with too many of these Dolls-

Too many names to remember

But he never did find him-

Self.

They’ll be no more lifting of skirts

Or moonlight walks home

In that confetti rain

His searching has to be over

And he finds himself still

Very much

Alone.

Friday 28 March 2008

Sinners




In our wake

The litany

Of our clothes:

We never even

Reached

The Bed.


Our

Sighs and Moans

Spill

Into the shadows

Like

Secrets.


And

It’s not in

Post coital

Clumsiness

Or even in

The

Ridiculousness

Of a twisted sock

In-side-out

Pants.


It’s Afterwards

Back in the

Party

When

Holding

His

Hand

You won’t

Meet

My eyes

That’s when

I

Feel

It:

SINNERS!

To catch a moment


I’ll never paint a masterpiece

In my poetry,

No Rembrandt – Renoir

No Monet – Matisse.

I might paint a nice

Water colour, posted in

Some village hall.

Someone might say

In passing “Oh that’s

Nice.... He caught a

Moment there”

And I’d be chuffed –

Chuffed to bits at that

That catching of a

Moment.

That’s enough –

Enough for

Me.

POST-IT-NOTES



She said it over her shoulder

As I dropped her off

At the Nail Bar…

“Lovvvvvvvve Yoooooooou!

She whispered it to

My

Crumpled head on

My Crumpled Pillow

The morning after the night before…

“I Love You!”

She Sighed it as we

Made Love

Sat over me

Her hair falling into my

Face…

“Oh.. I Love you…. “

She Shouted it

AT ME

During a silly

Fight…

BECAUSE I FUCKING LOVE

YOU!

But the best

The Best:

She was out with the Girls

I’m in with the Telly,

I fetch a Cold Beer from

The Fridge

And on that Beer, A

POST-IT-NOTE

“I love you!”


Thursday 27 March 2008

Silence



I always loved the silence,

That emptiness - a calm

Moment lost down some lonely

Summer’s winding path.


Where the sky quietly slips

Over the slow pointless

Revolving earth - gently

Embracing land and sea.


I always enjoyed the silence

The pause where the Rabbit’s

Ears come up his - eyes

Alert ready for flight

I always marvelled at

The silent Swifts

Hurtling through those

Skies

Dancing together all

Summer long.


I always love the silence of your face

When that look say’s

Everything and nothing

When I can see the rhythm

Of your heartbeat gently

Pulsing in your neck

I love the silence

Of us together

Lying alone in crisp

Cotton sheets

Soft skin just touching

Time standing so still

The silence of life’s

Afternoon.

Tuesday 25 March 2008

Think of me.


Get ya’self some

Morrison’s classic Walnut

Ice cream

And think of me!

Think of me when you spoon it

Slowly in your mouth

Your lips closing

Around the spoon

Feeling that cold

Velvety sensation

Think of me!

When you get that

Brandy ‘hit’ slowly

Pull out the spoon giving

It that sensual

Lick

Your lips so full and moist

Your eyes doing a

“Yes – Yes – Yes”

Like in that

Film

Think of me!

Luxuriate in that

Creamy sensation

Lay your legs out

On that Couch lick out

The bowl

Stretch your toes and…

Think of me!

Sunday 23 March 2008

Eyes can’t lie.



She awakes – he awakes

into another lonely

day –

where

the minute hand of every

clock

torments in its

sad turning.


He had entered her -

they shared her warm

velvet intimacy

she gives – he takes

yet afterwards

their both

defeated.


Cold rain beats

down

empty, stale -

heart chambers

echo to a deep

hungering.


Outside you can hear

the loneliness

blowing through

the trees

whistling its barren

strain.


She can’t live this

life in the melody

of some old love

song.

Look at her

beautiful eyes –

they never

lie.


She’s not looking

for

absolution –


just love.

For you...



Home again....

The warm shadows

Soften your nakedness,

Undulating curves of sensuality,

Sculptured - a Rodin - for me.

I try and keep my breathing quiet

As I sit on the very edge of our bed,

Marvelling in your beauty - drinking

You in - I kiss the back of your calves;

“I love you”


I kiss you softly behind the knee;

“Oh I love you”

I softly glide my hand across the

Whiteness of your thigh

Across your sweet bottom.


You roll over – smiling

- Eyes still closed –

Your hair - all over.

I kiss your sex and you open up

Like poetry.


I mentally grin as I think of

‘Cummings’

“....Your eyes have their silence: in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me...”

As I devour you...

“...or if you wish to close me, I and my life will shut.... ”

You hold my head like a baby

Caressing and guiding me...

“I do not know what it is about you that closes and opens;

Only something in me understands the voice of your eyes

Is deeper then all roses...”

And I love the taste of you -

Autumn leafs...

“....Nobody, not even the rain, has such

small hands....”

It’s for you.

.X.

Secret poetry



If I were ever to leave

a book of poetry

planted – hidden

in some wood

I would not inscribe

it or dedicate it to you.


Each poem may touch

you, be special just -

for you - written only

for you- held only in

your hand - in your

mind.


Inspired only by your

beauty, your sultry

delicious mischievous

smile -

my paramour.


Read secretly yet - aloud

your voice re-capturing

every phrase –word

an oral embrace

remembering – remembering

our acts of love.


Place it back in its

place for other days

other breathless trysts

where fast heart beats

lead to elevated passion

stolen moments to

savour.


I will not inscribe it nor

dedicate it to you my

love-

For your in every line

every heartbeat

every movement

every thought-

my poetry is

you.

Doors.


She meant nothing to me

Nothing

At all

I

Loved

Her

Writing

Her prose

Her

Poems

Yet all her

Metaphors were

Doors

And all her

Doors

Were

Metaphors

Her writing

Though

Had a

Vitality

A

Life

Passion

Yet she kept

So much

Back

“It’s ok to

Think things”

She once

Said…

“But keep

Some

Of yourself

Back”

Behind those Doors

And all her

Similes

Were Doors

And all her

Doors

Similes

She wouldn’t say

That she

Loved to see

Her

Reflection

In

My eyes

As we made

Love

She wouldn’t admit to

Missing me

When I’m

Away

She’d put

Those

Thoughts

Behind her

Doors

And my one

Mistake

And

She

Smashed

Those

Metaphors in my

Face

One slip

And she

Choked me

On her

Similes

So I’m behind those

Doors

Locked

Out

Or

Is

She

Locked

In?