Always a (Nothing) Never a (Something)

I think that’s one litre too far
Of the infamous magical potion
Housed in the caves of the Spar
In exchange for credits I don’t have
Oh magical fluids grant me strength
To ignore anxieties and mistrust
She’ll be hanging around tonight
A beacon to my bug eyes
She was round here yesterday
Pillaging my passions
Placed her vicegrip on my throat
Conducted Electricity
With the iLoins charged
She’s off and out the door
Was I due a message in a bottle?
I don’t think I quite know anymore

Always a Tic Tac
Never the Sunday roast

From cute smiles
To vacant stares
From Admiration
To Deconstruction
From holding my hand
To shoving me away
From laughing at my jokes
To laughing in my face

Always a Little Chef
Never the Harvester

Last night; took me round the bend
Just to avoid association
She treats me like a joint
Smoke it before the teachers come
Now tonight; hides herself at the bend
Just to avoid conversation
She treats me like a mother
Don’t embarrass while she’s with her mates

Always the grab of the shaft in the car park
Never the drunken fuck in a hotel suite

They never cared
They’ll never care
It’s always like this
It’ll never be like that
They never cared
They’ll never care
It’s always like this
It’ll never be like that

*Written For National Poetry Month – 19/30*

And The Morning Will Come

Oh please sweet lord won’t you have mercy
Not the daylight, not the morning shine, not yet
The moisture hasn’t returned to my body yet
My love she can’t bare the weight of her eyelids
But alas our pleas fall on deaf ears
The defence of the curtains starts to break down
I think we must submit to the planets will
And start the new day

You’ll attempt to break into the world
Yawning in a frequency only designed for canine ears
I try and match it with a frequency of my own
While I mime out being stretched on a rack
As if to stretch my limbs just that 1cm longer
Now tomorrow’s a concept I can tackle

Oh how weak must us humans be?
That I must succumb to the nutritional needs
I’m choking on an overabundance of vitamin D
As I re-trace the walk of shame form the night before
Excited families decked out to tackle the coast
Little kids reeling for the drama of the playground
“You’ll overheat with that mop on your head”
Prophesizes the homeless sprawled on the floor

After I return with supermarket rations galore
I’ll sneak back into your burrow of quilts
My spirit animal’s the needy household cat
You could tell by the way I assault your arms with kisses
Getting more excited the longer your cute face is my sight
Now tomorrow’s a concept I can embrace

One more day with you~

*Written For National Poetry Month – 18/30*

Chloe

No many people could get away such a selfish ‘tude
To stride about carrying the scent of deceased fish
But when your still falling of the edge of boxes
After falling into a deep sleep, how could I stay mad?

When I return to the pits to refuel
After a hard day of doing a Oliver Twist
For a bowl of that employment gool
You always welcome me with a expecting look
Just a friendly reminder no matter how useless I feel
You would die of starvation if I wasn’t around

It’s always appreciated when you tolerate my rituals
The way I grit my teeth and scream into your ears
When you hide your feet in the fold of your belly
When your taking a nap on the armchair

When I return back to my studio
And I’m reeling behind the shower curtains
To apply antiseptic to my personal Picasso
You always demands a reservation on my lap
Treat me like your own personal Swiss-army throne
But no one else would fit the buck for you

Bitches gonna come and bitches gonna go
But you’ll always be the girl welcome in my home

*Written For National Poetry Month – 17/30*

It’s Hard To Watch People Squirm

Slumped with your pelvis pointing to the heavens
On a forgotten park bench underneath an oaks slouch
Caressed by the fog on a humid spring afternoon
I spot a familiar wince to trigger the mist in your eyes

There isn’t a grimoire in the land that could scratch the surface
Of the inner workings of the roulette wheel in your head
The one that decides how your going to see the world today
The one that despite all the drugs, steals control from your hands

Oh but I know that dice roll all to well
I was born with the same game of chance in my cortex
All I ever wanted was to let you know someone understands
I just wanted you walk the streets with a smile again

It was never an intention to be a pylon in your path
I just hoped maybe It’d steer you away from any more aches
But you just plough through me at top gear, as if I wasn’t there
Just to make your way to the next pothole to fall down

Oh how it ties my gut into a Shroud knot
When I see you shriek in pain from your pedestal
It’s an impulse to feel a twinge of guilt
Maybe I could’ve taken the bullet you aimed at your head?

What do I have to do to get your attention?
What do I have to do to not receive the palm of your hand?
I can’t be your distributor of impulses on the side
Is that all I could be for you to listen to me?

I never ment to make you cry
To make you lose your mind under the street lights
I just wanted to see these things though
I didn’t want leave you alone without knowing I tried

*Written For National Poetry Month – 16/30*

No You’re Right, Danny’s Just Moaning

To tell you the truth romance is just the easiest route
So that Danny can feed his hysteria the diet it needs
The voices that used to guide him have gone mute
He’s a scared little boy lost in London
Under the cover of darkness, eyes blindfolded
As the tarmac behind him starts to collapse
You better chart your own course Danny
Straighten up and fly right on pure guess work

Danny’s like a dog looking into the restaurant
Seeing Natasha and Benni share a vodka and coke
Danny starts to feel a twinge In his chest
Angus tells him to stop moaning and man up
Danny hears Terry complain about Mothers Day
Kerry runs off to V Bar without saying goodbye
Danny just wants someone to talk too
Johnny rings his dad from the pavement for a lift back

You see all Danny wants someone to come up from behind
Lock their fingers around his chest from behind
And to tell him that there’s no need to fear the silence
To tell him everything’s fine like a good mummy should
To tell him that they’re proud like a good daddy should
Henry just wants a bitch to suck him off
Henry sneaks out back, but he won’t be alone

Oh Danny would love to see if they could cope any better:
If they couldn’t ask mummy to raise that ego
If they couldn’t ask daddy to close the wound
And their cries left unanswered as the bounce of the walls

Danny wonders out into fields of green
Clutching his last can of Stella
Danny collapses outside his mothers grave
Before he drifts into another world
He quietly utters the following words:
“Where’s my mummy tonight?
I just want to hold her tight”
and with that Danny eyes start to close

*Written For National Poetry Month 15/30*

Wings

Oh it’s oh so clear to me now
I may of spent a few hundred million years
Scratching the desk and knocking over my beer cans
To cold call a league of philosophers at my door
Man the tantrums seems so silly now
When I’m arm in arm with comrades of old
Gliding down the streets screeching our anthem to the sky
Oh yeah it’s so clear to me right now

They told me I couldn’t find anything better
And too take the lashing like a good little slave
They swore it never got any better then this
I was lucky to even grab where I was by the fingertips
They promised they were right
Far be it from me to question your motives for telling me that
Is this what you have to do to people to stay confident?
I’m confident that’s the case

You had to make me feel like dirt
In order to make yourself feel alive
All I had to do start living my life
In order to make you feel like dirt

All you ever wanted to do was clip my wings
Use me to shield you from the deathray
You fired straight at the mirror
Hey no biggie I’m just damaged goods right?
Well I didn’t hear the others complain
The only one who’s complaining is you
As you lay yourself in the same mousetrap
Scrape another lover to use from the highway

*Written For National Poetry Month – 14/30*

A Matter Of Time

It always conducts a glissando up my spine
When I spot your clan tracking at my sanctuaries
I don’t claim to have the deeds to these locals, but surely you know?
I wouldn’t leave these premises just for your consideration?
Are they scouts? Sniffing for my co-ordinates?
Are you hiding in smokers planning your tactics
Using the finished cocktail glasses
As chess pieces like a military tactician

Are you under the impression I’m still enamoured with you?
I’m not saying the hypothesis isn’t true
It’s just when you find yourself stuck to me like glue
I wonder, what exactly are you planning to do?

Each heckle the dogs give me on the street,
Each Chinese whisper forcefully relayed to me
Each WooWoo beaker thrown at my head
Feels like the tick of the clock
I don’t think I could call in sick for this appointment
Not even if I wanted to
I can imagine you coming up to me at the bar now
With a familiar smile, and a view to kill

Are you under the impression I still think of you all day?
If you don’t mind I’ll keep the answer to that one at bay
But when you do decide for us to meet in your little play
I wonder, what exactly were you gonna say?

This Poem Has a squeal:
http://thetartanprelude.tumblr.com/post/83517596383/a-matter-of-time-pt-2

*Written For National Poetry Month – 13/30*

Own

I mean… I don’t mean to complain
But I guess lately It feels like I’ve dropped in your priorities
Like an old wooden beaded bracelet
Brought from an old gypsy stall
And handed down to you by a summertime lover
Once you found a way to fit me in
No matter the outfit or the weather
But I’ve fallen down the side of the bed
And to the back of your mind
You never really paid me heed since then

That was until you caught a glimpse
Of the girls who received my bracelets in summers past
Your eyes light up, I imagine like a housewife’s
Who’s discovered their fine china has a 4 figure worth
And suddenly you act like my new necktie
As you caress the base of my shoulders
Not unlike a fox skin you shoot the offenders a dead eye stare
They can’t second guess; is she wild or tamed?
Would she ward them off in heroic defence?
Or would the murderous intent of pride overtake her senses?

If I ever questioned your devotion before
I had no doubt that I was your man now

*Written For National Poetry Month 12/30*

Recollection (Prelude)

I’ve known guilt and then I’ve KNOWN guilt
But I couldn’t even begin to put the term into human tongue
When you tap my back, in the middle of 90’s britpop chants
And you greet me holding a gargantuan tome
Containing your photographic memory
Try as you might to rekindle a recollection within me
As you recall the times we strolled down your road arm in arm
I hate to break your heart twice over but it only brings static

I couldn’t say I have the foggiest
I don’t remember being enamoured with your frame before
Walking down abandoned docks, eating white chocolate magnums
Was that with you? With the blue bow and dolly shoes?
I can’t think of a face nor a name
Did we kiss by Dr.Chippys? Did we make love after the fireworks show?
Did you ever lie to me that Ollie Sykes could sing, by the river?
My pockets are overflowing with snapshots, but nothing to connect them

I’ll just have to take your word for it
Guide me with your palms and make me recall

*Written For National Poetry Month – 11/30*

Can A Life Be Well Lived?

Deep within the recesses of tonight’s summer dream I say
“Don’t looks some glum honey it’s better this way”
As you clutch your cyan tinted suitcase
While boarding the 7:12 to London Liverpool Street
My absence in your life in but a small price to pay
To ensure you can touch the stars you lust for at night

Yet in reality: I see girls discarding away dreams and ideas
Like a pile of first drafts overflowing from a bin
All because of that funny look their boy gives them
When they dare try to make a move in his presence
That may kick him of the top dollar spot on the throne
To die so submissively it breaks my heart

And yet even in a world where I can have anything
I’ll still let you go to makes sure you can have everything

And yet when I awake at the rise of tomorrows sun
I’ll be having breakfast alone again

I don’t think a life can be well lived
At least unless lived on your own

*Written For National Poetry Month – 10/30*