Distortionist

Show me the money.

Show me the knife.

[^]

I’m paid too little
to hand over my life -

so here you go.

Thanks so much.

Is that ok?

More than enough…

[o]

What was that?

What was what?

I saw your hand…?

..some wires were caught.

Don’t lie to me:
all is lost.

You misunderstand, sir:
our wires are crossed.

[>!<]

Strapped for cash, then?

[.]

It’s Christmas, y’know.

I understand:
it’s a big boat.

[?]

Stuck on the dole,
a man with two names;
jobless a year,
no jobs to gain;
supporting my kids
and the ball and chain;
supporting my habit
to escape the pain;
a price on my head,
prepared to be slain;
so tell me, lad,
how are we the same?

…

But I am sorry.

Sure it could be worse.

You could be dead,
leaving in a hearse.

Yet you’d never.

I prefer not to.

So why the knife?

Simply to shock you.

[*-*]

And as Serge said:
all is found.

The guards, here?!

According to the sound.

You’ve ruined my life!

Quite a good guess.

They’ll kill my wife!

She deserves less.

My children, taken!

That would be, yes.

[_]

I’ll stick you now,
Fucking distortionist!

{<>}

Awake I lived,
Asleep I died:
But at least in bed
I did not hide.

Armed to the Tip

Surrounded by death,

Armed with a pen:

With each last breath

I think about then…

Your eyes smile still

From the edge of home:

Tell me, just then,

Did you feel so alone?

So reconciled,

Beyond recognition:

Bound by the bonds

Of unspoken tradition –

You noosed your own,

As life had shown.

*

You without voice

Lived within you:

You without hearing

Died in situ.

In circles we cycle

To the present day:

Motson mutters,

“More of the same.”

A strangled silence

Kills the strongest:

A life asking “why?”

Is certainly the longest –

Without real repose

As life slowly goes.

*

The ink runs dry,

Re-written thoughts:

All to ask now

Is the number of knots.

A family in tears,

The goalkeeper’s blunder:

While a peerless pro

Brings global wonder.

Before them both

There was only you:

A dangling example

Of what not to do –

With death no-one knows

(what pride would not show).


(here I try to relate the deaths of Gary Speed and Robert Enke with my father's)

Chasing Histories

Chasing my own history
Like I can stop time
In this world where
Not even I am mine.
Though still young
I recall my youth
Through a kaleidoscope
Which distorts the truth.

I grow older
As the crowd never ages
Repeating old words
On yellowing pages.
Chronically present
I remain in the past
Fighting for a love
Still fading fast.

Antiquity passes,
Unheard masses,
Rose-tinted glasses
And you and I.

Stubborn stasis,
Without synapsis,
“A state of chassis”
And then just I.

In shadowy corners
An island of one
Marooned to others
But revered by some.
I wait as always
For it to mature
But fail to notice
It slowly immure.

Offending lights
Strobe to blind
Everyone who was
Left behind.
And yet your eyes
Bore right through me
Caged within
My hushed humility.

Antiquity passes,
Unheard masses,
Rose-tinted glasses
And you and I.

Stubborn stasis,
Without synapsis,
“A state of chassis”
And then just I.

History through roses
Perfectly paints us:
The present poses
Happily without us.

Presume The Posts

On he stumbles,

Blinded like I was,

Bouncing off walls

Transparent as gauze.

One despairing dive:

A brotherly screen -

But somebody steps

To screen him from me.

His hair would curl

At her breath so warm,

But when she left

His curls were shorn.

Having died its death,

That love so fleet,

False solace was found -

Her silver-tongue still sweet.

Friends preserve masks

              with ossified odes,

But will not stand

              loitering in their own abodes.

Friends seek refuge

              without restraint,

But will not hear ill

              of ecstasy’s feint.

I hark backwards,

A wont of my own:

Anecdotes of ache

Pile within my phone.

Firmly on my shoulder

Rests a hazardous hand -

Deaf to the words

Of our generation’s bands.

Their words are his,

Uttered in sincerity;

Harsher all the time

In truth and severity.

And she is naïve

To be so callous,

Dragging their story

Screaming through malice.

Friends preserve masks

              with ossified odes,

But will not stand

              loitering in their own abodes.

Friends seek refuge

              without restraint,

But will not hear ill

              of ecstasy’s feint.

And then we collide

          - his world and mine.

Indiscernible divide

            - though inimical inclines.

Yet still he persists

              - silence of the crammed.

His brother he resists

              - his father already damned.

But his friends exist

              - so his posts are manned.

When It Floods

Skies above crack
Before they fall;
In our absence,
Nature grows tall.
And sure as drops
Hit the ground,
We did falter –
The first to drown.

Now forsaken,
Without a doubt;
Our slow poison
Effaced by a rout.
The water rises
To our shoulders;
Us of all guises –
Colder and colder.

The jagged rain
Pricks with points;
The bitter wind
Stiffens our joints.
The peaceless sea
Attacks the shore –
Damnless Clontarf
Yields to the roar.

Epiphany, too late!
Behold the flash.
Some writhe but wilt
As the waves crash.
Floods sweep away
All in their path –
And muds settle above
Our vain epitaph.