Encore.pic for poem


vanity will be the death of me

with its urbane tendrils clinging

like entropy to everything

I ever held dear

elevating innuendo to precise sneers

for I am stunned

by my own false perceptions

living now in fear of the inevitable

the drool, the smell of piss

 my very own creeping desuetude

and the irony of fake pride

that will lick at my withering sides

in the calm and measured preparation

awaiting us all in the queue

for the final curtain

How sad

How sad. pic

How sad

the ego clings to the fringes

of what is left

remembering in the pallid glow of reality

that the past was a better place

invested with the best of memories

still electric, still with the power to pull

old bones with their cloak of decaying cells

onto the back of an old motor bike

and ride, demented, without a helmet

into the wall of some past glories

How sad

that the epitaph may be spoiled

if the truth came out

that vanity was the ultimate fuel

and not a single prayer for peace

that split skin and blood

were attended to in the urgent blue

of flashing lights

and trained hands transferred the body

to a bed in a place that was

not home

How sad.

Request. Stop. Please.

Request. Stop. Please.

Request. Stop. Please.

Request. Stop. Please.



They have,

suffered rendition by twilight

opaque souls in jelly moulds

behind distorting glass, wet with steam

from discarded breath


They descend, en masse, downhill

Ensconced in their private mires

While I travel the other way

En route but solo to another place

Thinking as I pass

How willingly we let

Our lives go by



No flash of brilliance. No insight

Just a chance sighting

A fraction of glimpsed time

Scar tissue of mine

So. Smile please

So. Smile pleaseSo. Smile please


In shreds

All torn. Left bleak

The frayed edges still

Laid flat like mould

On the corpse of failed hope

So even dreams begin to doubt


The tired man

In the morning aches

For more fluid limbs

Sunshine in the senses

And petrol in the tank

To deny accumulating years


Sounds. Emotional intercourse

All around normal

Cease to spark or lift

This dependant soul

Until in truth

Conscience pricks self-pity


So, praise for humour

When sense takes scissors

To the false preening of vanity

And draws together scraps

Of fabric

That make you whole

Lost One

Another mother mentioned in passing

A reminder of time. Elasticity.

How fate will honour all of us

In his or her inexorable slide away


Memories soak in

A torrent of emotions

Break the dam

No flood barrier can catch them


The past may become recrimination

Instants of remorse

Tug at the soul

Flag-up the meter of loss


But we must live in the here and now

Be proud

Salute the loss

And move on in praise of love


Moody sunset over water

In those faraway eyes

And meaningful sighs

I sense cold comfort

A little sadness at the brazier

Of the heart

A propensity to flick the switch

To neutral

And drift

When indications suggest

An all points alert

And rapid mustering

To the central muscle

And a warm infusion

Backed up by the head

That nervous calibrator

Of all that’s read

About the daily post

But I doubt that any intervention

Of mine would help

Farewell my friend

Be happy