Night of dream storming

And so the rain beats comfy in the gut

Snuggled up in itself and rounded
Out like a loud joint creaking in the

Wind that feeds the curls of wayward hair
And births the life of thoughts that
Migrate like enterprising robins through

The ruts of energy that cool the livers over heated blood cells in a maze of

Wicked swirling craves that pace up and down the corners of the cell that sits in the final of the labyrinth seat of real truth

The collection of eaves that make up me that could at any minute exchange space with you or it or they that make up

You or someone and something else into a string of nothingness that is as true, although intangible like the feeing of a

Prayer soaked up on a day when pennies were raining, pitter patter, patter pitter, on the window pane.

Watching you sleep like a lion

Yours is a perfect face and it’s inhabited by the perfect sleep of a perfect mind

Whose full idea of life is to be as quiet and still as possible, a true creature

Unperturbed by the weight of humanity, At one with the quiet behind it

Perplexed by unnecessary ornament that
Ferments reality into human fabric

That cloaks and chokes the bright buzz
Beneath the haze of small talk

Unison

Night’s gates are never shut and
Dreams escape to play with
Light and break the rules
That make no sense to gods
Who rule lines through the
Signs that say “No ball games”
When the Sun is brazenly
Shining on every ring of
Saturn and every blade
Of grass, as it plays
Ball with us and the stars
And makes Heaven and Earth one.

Lullaby, no added sugar

Word jar I wish I
Could jam my way
Through

Like a jazz musician
Feeling akin to
Misery in beats

Tipping top lip and
Sticking toes’ curlable
Bits to the very

Top tips of sweaty
Sox from the drum
Hum of the streets

Word jar, I wish I
Could jam my way
Out…

Midnight chorus

Awake on the city’s lines
Birds sing karaoke, out of time

To Night’s electric dirty
Diesel dittied backing beats,

Dawn turns up unannounced,
And turns up the original track,

Instantly everything syncs back
Into perfect harmony, as usual.

My first taste of Africa, starting at the tip.

The world is so loud at night

I hear Morocco pulsing

In my feet and Hong Kong

Twinkling in my throat

 

Montserratian and Barbadian lapping

Ears over to New Orleans,

Rolling down to Acapulco

 

Further down Columbian greens

That heard my father’s

First word to the world

 

Now I’m flying high above

The deep giant squids and

Corals, fighting and fading into blue

 

Back to Europe, Corfu

Familiar pieces of the jig saw puzzle

Curling at the edges, many missing

 

Do of it what can be done

With what is left, before

Some breeze, dog or toddler gusts it apart, unthinking.

Letter from the night

Broken beats cracking

The ear drums,

If they didn’t miss

The junction

Round about the heart.

 

Woken sleeps that

Wait the slide

While thunder hoods the

Pitch with

Noise that quakes the eyes.

 

Sorrow skims the

Bootless calm

Of knees that let shins

Tinge with

Grief that hands won’t clean.

Crime, Non Fiction, On Petherton Road, 3:30 am, 24th of July

 In the morning I walk

Up one side of the street

In the evening I sometimes

Try the other, but

Sometimes not, habit grates.

 

Half 3 am is like the strip of

Grass that runs down the middle

Of my street, a place

For robbers to walk on

Avoiding dog-shit, just like

The day would, carrying

Bats, ready for the night.

 

His hood was down, his

Head was out, his walk

Was fast, his bat was

Long beneath his sleeve,

I didn’t see it or his accomplice.

 

I looked on, walking

Two were upon me

Bees out of air, with

Stings I didn’t believe in-

Would I get hurt if I

Wouldn’t find my purse?

 

‘Give us everything,’ they said

Like kids for sweets, ‘or whatever

You’ve got,’ I took them seriously,

 Like a teacher playing along.

I threw some first class

Stamps in with the other goodies.

 

They didn’t think the stamps

Were kind or funny but bless

Him, he stuffed them back

In my little red bag, lips

Open, bemused.

 

They were blind to my lap-top

They ran off – like bats

Out of Hackney, I walked

On, thank god or the greatness

For twisting my fate just

Enough to wake me,

No pinch to my heart.

Next time I’ll take a taxi,

There’ll be no blood from

Me for bats dressed up in

Tracksuits.

 

Rain-Drenched Night

Bogus rogue

The rain broke the

Window out in blisters

Bursting loudly on

The glass, punctuating

The house’s every step

With pangs of water

Driven through the

Thunder-frenzied

Cloud.

Tin hat

The roof pounded

Hounded to the

Sound of cat

Chasing dog and

Dog chasing cat

Catching string balls

Of silence and

Screaming them

Flat.

Stolen mother

The wet curdled wind

Whistling chinks in

The bricks , tickling

Cans and bottles while kicking

Polystyrene and papers

Up to trees bristling over over-

Grown washing sneezing

Socks to the

Breeze.

Lamp-lit quarter

Roller coasts her

Back to ground where

Sleep occurs and

Rest resounds out

Of Darkness and of

Quiet, when sharp

Noises slice unseen

Through ripe

Dream.