Archive for August 28, 2016

” … so you’ve been broke, and you’ve been hurt, show me somebody who ain’t … I know I ain’t nobody’s bargain, but hell a little touch-up and a little paint, I ain’t lookin’ for praise or pity, I ain’t searching for a crutch, I just want someone to talk to, and a little of that human touch, just a lil’ of that human touch …” – Bruce Springsteen, ‘Human Touch


do you revisit those sultry summer nights,
sweet sweat pouring off your skin,
your hair fanning an eternal fire,
toasting deep within,
ever since I saw you, standing at our old train station,
wearing your red beret,
and paging through a book by Emma Goldman,
somethin’ ’bout the tragedy of women’s emancipation,
we stood there in the pouring rain,
wishing we could race down the cobblestones on a renegade lane,
to take us away, from the stasis, the bruises, and the pain,
we laughed, we cried,
we held onto each other,

yearning for freedom,

from the straightjackets they tried to wrap around everyone’s brain …

Well, that was all those years ago,
when love meant something more than a ten buck stage show,
now the guys at the watering-hole tell me that you’re a big deal today,
it looks like you’ve packed Emma Goldman, and all your other books away,
perhaps they remind you of our younger selves,
it’s a pity that you’ve grown so large that there’s no room left for me on your neatly lined shelves,
ah but I still remember the woman that you once were,
but now you’re  weighed down by your pearls and your faux-fur …

I wonder if you even think of me at all,
the boy who promised to be beside you,
f you ever were to stumble, or to fall,
or has your new gucci-clad crew,
stripped you of your soul,
as you laugh and drink and screw,
I wonder if you even remember my name,

or have you buried me along with all that you once were,
out of sanctimonious shame …

… I’m still here, where you left me, festering in this rotting old town,
unemployed since the years when those stock-tickers went plummeting down,
today as I stand in line for my warm bowl of soup,
the TV on the homeless shelter wall says it’s going to get worse,
cos’ even the banks have flown the coop,
well, I think of you often, as I lay my head on the cold ground,
tasting your soft lips as our tongues waltzed around,
but tonight I kiss my bottle of moonshine,

that keeps me company while the sophisticates wine and dine …
I know you’ve forgotten all about me,

cos’ you’ve got futures to trade,
blue-chip stocks to sell,

so sleep tight tonight, my darling, in that penthouse where you dwell,
I’m used-up now, there ain’t nothing more I can say or do,
I’ve run out of yarns to spin, I’ve exhausted all the stories I once could tell,
so all that I can offer, is a silent fare-thee-well


Why does the sun dry up so many scattered tears
Slipping down the coarse cheek of a million hushed fears
Where no one is scalded though the searing fog clears
While prayers are mutely spoken even as the end nears

We shatter and scrape on demented knees
Blindly begging for mercy as it silently flees
Searching listlessly for salvation drowned in the breeze
That spits at the soft rose suffocated by a wheeze

I know now what I need never have known
Of hope that was trampled before it had flown
Into a wasted sky filled with hate that could drown
The giggling of the crowd and the crying of the clown

A hope so fragile its wings were of brittle glass
Ripping the veneer off the sewers of class
Twisting the fabric of the weighed and costed mass
Who numbly waited hoping that it too may pass

For when shards of that hope in all hearts scurries away
To a darkness where crowded night is emptied off the heaving tray
’Tis then when sewn eyes behold that doleful day
When all shall tear at each other while on demented knees we still pray

For a lifting of the veil of that wilful deceit
That’s wrapped up in a flag swollen with conceit
While the limbs splinter in the claw of a winner’s defeat
Yet still the drums roll for the ill-fated souls chose never to retreat

From that drenched battleground where blood flows through a sieve
And love’s lost song plaintively begs for a reprieve
From eternal loss which into raw emotion does cleave
Only to slip through the fingers and like grains of sand leave

​on the cusp.

trawling turquoise seas,

cast adrift,

                   your eyes caressing fitful slumber,

                        whispering paens,

           soothing the ache,

of this weary traveller,




cresting waves,

                           treading water,

             hither and thither,

a tattered heart,

                             a wounded soul,

        bathing my being,


       in cocooned dreams of your sugarcane lips,




                                      your breath,

soaked in visions of you,

the mirage,

                    a crescendo fanning flames of desire,

                                            of love, lust, tremulous fingers,

brushing your hair away,

sipping kisses,

consumed by the furnace,

your body, mine,


hungering for your tongue,




soaring above vagabond skies of blue,

             unshackled at last,

             craving only you …

​The Standard Model …

bygone kisses

hungry breaths







all just

a couple

of particles


me and you

as we model




as we


plucking strings


hearts go busily about

rearranging things


particles do

I remember her beret,

on that rainy day at the bus-stop, 

she said that she had grown tired of the pretences this world demanded,

we spoke of Marx and she smiled, for I was much younger then, wearing it all on my sleeve,

she smiled, and we spoke till she had to leave.

we met at that bus-stop many times more,

sharing our laughter, our pain, of the knots that cut deep into our core,

she always wore her beret and she was fierce, brave and steadfastly traversing the murky waters of being a wage-slave,

we promised each other we wouldn’t be like the rest, not even in our grave,

ah but that was many moons back, when life was starkly coloured white and black,

I wonder where she could be now, and I hope she is as she was back then,

when everything wasn’t just about love and light and being zen,

I wonder too were we to perchance meet, would she pull me close out of the grime stained street,

or would she walk on by, leaving me to my own devices,

after decades of being whittled down, after making all the right choices … … …

tiny splashes,

toes teasing toes,

as the rain lashes,

dancing under moonbeams,

hazy lazy clouds dripping nectar,

cheek to dripping cheek,

your hands in mine,

your eyes sparkling with a fire divine,

dancing barefoot in the rain,

with you, my whole, my own, my life,

dancing with you,

barefoot in the rain,

toes tickle toes,

far from this life’s pain,

away from the strife,

with you, within you,

I have found renewed life … … …

​midnight memories,


splintering dreams,

scattered along the trail,

my heart,

wedged between the curtain rail,

left behind,

my heart:

’tis with her,

’tis always been,

hers to find … … …

​on your skin, scribbling odes to love,
angry, lost, empty,

raucous, pristine, encompassing love.
on my heart, scribbled odes embossed, etched, engraved,
yearning, pining, aching,
for you … … …





alfoat on honeydew petals

mere strands


years trickling through


lost whispers

dreamed caresses


alive …


ablaze in the cauldron




of convergent wisps

sprinkling kisses

on your

honeydew lips

we shall always be many more

we who roast in your designer factories

our brows dripping salty sweat

we who forgive but shall never forget

we shall always be many more

we reek of cheap moonshine

we stagger and often stumble

our stomachs never ceasing to rumble

we shall always be many more

we polish your fine bone china

our pay gets docked if a cup gets chipped

our children to wars get shipped

we shall always be many more

we clean up after your pretty children

our kids are hungry, naked and callously swept

into bowels of desolation, as mothers’ tears are wept

we shall always be many more

we do your dirty work every day

you treat us like vermin, foul and rotten

our dignity always forgotten

we shall always be many more

we will rise up, seizing the standard of hope

reclaiming what is common for daughters and sons

always squarely in the cross-hairs of your guns

we shall always be many more

and there shall be many more of us to come

to rid you of your smug arrogance, endless greed

yes we too have children we have to feed

we shall always be many more

‘and the meek shall inherit the earth’

or something like that though we no longer care

for we shall rise up demanding our common share

we shall always be many more … … …

( with thanks to Ken Loach’s film ‘Tierra y Libertad’

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