tweetin'

this is a working song in progress for my modern day blues duet called, 'merlot moonshine' agin the band name is a work in progress.

gotta update my twitter
gotta tell them
i'm their leader

just tweeting my eating
gotta tell them
what im eating

gotta update my twitter
gotta tell them
what im feeling

gotta update my twitter
gotta find out
why im needy

gotta ignore my twitter
gotta get some
validation.

you're

you're a fox
wearing my grizzly bear onesie
you make life far too easy

you're my place
within innocent sleepovers
in faded pants and knickers

my arm held
at 45 degrees
waiting for
that high five from you

you're a thought
whispering deep inside me
listening in so closely

you're no weight
carry you around forever
we'll find our way together

my arm held
at 45 degrees
waiting for
that high five from you

i'm a fool
wearing broken heart remains
you make my life full of pain

you're a whore
knocking pleading on my door
wanting to come in once more

some more haikus

.LongAgo.
You in my wool socks
we lounge this rainy morning.
Autumn draws on.

.AtoB.
Veins under pale flesh
coloured underground map spreads.
District and circle.

haiku

.Noise.
Discarded ear plugs
lay with crumpled fag ends smoked.
Band practice ash tray.

haikus

.WordsSaid.
Conversation starts
with words from someone other.
Reply thoughtfully

.Afternoons.
Shuffled biscuits lay
bloated tea pot center stage.
Let brew, pour, enjoy.

giants map

The contour lines on this browning pleated map are the recorded
results of unkempt emotions left
to run over this boundryless sullen body.
Leaving behind circling tracks around excavated areas
of self inflicted rage. Those calligraphy cut markings that those "experts"
from all over come to study,
yet noone, not even those most loved and trusted could give a definition
nor explanation to their origin.
Your world where you live
and this giant looking through tear filled eyes,
reflecting back all those soul searching looks from strangers.
This punishment was received on a different plane, in a different age,
where now forgiveness would cradle. But here those received
wounds do not hurt a snap shot of stagnation,
evidence carved into his chest for future generations to see.
A warning, the giants keep off the grass sign to all.

Nothing hurts until the following sunrise, where
heading towards the shower the automaton giant creaks and stretches
like a wooden seat taking his own burdening inner weight.
He humps himself into the white lined sterile cubicle.
Red eyed and staring, focussing, blinking in morse code
at the shower dial with the suspicion of Dave
towards Hal in 2001:Space Odyssey.
Turning the dial to allow the water to heat and steam, to cleanse
whisky blocked pores.
Captured screams echo at first contact of heated water as
scolded blisters already under skin
boil into venom, then injected violently into the giants
bloodstream creating maximum destruction.

Crawling back on wasting limbs, the safety of under his bed
- to recover
his low fort where no one would look for a giant.


Calendar falling into autumn leaves as this
Forgotten stone face cracks,
cold to anyone’s touch,
yet waits like a forgotten book to have the dust blown from his
emotion starved face
by your lips and for gentle fingers to run over delicate features.
Slow blinkered eyes focus into the stare of a homesick sailor
Looking for home, looking for what he hopes is there rather than look
at what is here.
The bastard coward.

Bass noted voice drawn through lips that need retuning.
lies are spoken,
his truth caught on a catapult
hurled further back down inside where they burn and power the giants anger.
That constant burning indigestion forces the giant to clutch his belly and
hurl himself in cramp to the floor.

He calls for his steed to carry him in drink to the other plane
Where he can recover from these mortal wounds.
In time these scars heal and fade
as ink spots on turned notepad pages… these pages are filled
read and read further on until those scars are nothing more than fullstops.

This giant stands too tall for people to see the imperfections.
This giant is me.

a haiku

.WorkThrough.
Tears fall to tiled floor
sad cleaner mops, wet floor sign.
An infinite loop.

some haikus

.TheLast.
My milkshake straw sinks
our final conversation.
Hers left here,half drank.

.RunOn.
Please just walk away
left limping from our time here.
Once healed will run far.

feral senses

Lonely child run.

Run back to your bolthole, each ground covering
gallop increases your safety zone, you slow to wade through thick
green whipping grass. Throughout this escape your pale
milk-coloured limbs slowly tan through souring yellow rage.

He crouches twitching on sparrow legs,
Fearful to sit down and rest fearing sleep again,
Dreading to wake to seek revenge against those who beat you,
your victorious captors. Through silent hollow breaths you creep
forward around landmine snapping branches to take point,
scouting ahead ready to run on, to flee.
Further into this green gloved world. As last year’s dried dead
leaves hustle on along by a shivering breeze.
The forest floor echoes fleeting sounds of the ocean waves on the
rocks, the sounds you remember? A memory? Or more perhaps a
hope for the less lonely future.

Crows bark above with angry threats similar in tone to what is known
back home. Smudged faded t-shirts, lazily over washed in
attempts to purge them cling to a soft peach bruised body with a
bitter hard stone inside through braced tensing from beatings.
These poorly fitting hand me down clothes leave you always shivering
for warmth that you so desperately seek. Numb from hours outside
unable to distinguish time due to wandering alone, words forgotten
mouth opens with no sounds to escape as feral senses set in.

Run on and dive into your castle hidden deep its walls made from the
brambles and overgrowth. With your soot grey smudged eyes
peeking out from this bastions turret looking for all enemies.

The curtain draws and darkens late as these summer days are
stretched over times bent knee. waiting with deep calm breaths
silent to the world, safe as though you cannot see them and they
cannot see you.

Moving with agile and stealth

Into the darkening hours to return home, silently slipping in
through a peeling white washed back door turning the cold
handle and upstairs to bed to curl up in your duvet nest.

Muddy and safe only to wake early and escape again.

So rolls on summer until the school term begins
that quiet awkward boy takes awhile to adjust back to friends and
sounds after a summer of human silence and isolation.