the rose on my grave.

She was the rose on my grave
A token display
Of hope as it fades

I spoke in scattershot phrases
My foot tapping the pavement
I was happy and ancient
When she spoke
It was impassioned and aimless
I spent whole days
Racking my brain with
A stereo’d play list
Playing my favourites
Happiness is as close as the tape gets
To replacing my frayed wit
It was all faces and names split
God never informed me
That there was a change in arrangements
I hear they prayed for the day which
To stake my engagement
They couldn’t see in my eyes
That I was patiently waiting
I knew this face wasn’t saving
Her date with a sadist
Who keeps Christians crucified
Until they’re plagued by a brave sin
No shame in those wasting
Lost in the flame we’re encased in
Shedding layers as snakeskin
Lost in tales of great men
She heard words she couldn’t use
Left pale and shaken
We could see
That her frame couldn’t take it
So frail and ageless
The pain spoke in strange whims
She thought this body
Was the grave she’d been placed in
All arthritic framed limbs
She has gutter ball vision
Her arms are the ones
I would’ve stayed in
For days frustrating the situation
That we were placed in
I could look past the greyed skin
She could see I was fading
Her dreams are in paintings
They’re seemingly weightless
Now I’m singing her praises
We hoped for nothing
As ambitious as greatness
We never experienced
A prisoner’s hatred
Alzheimer’s shaking our bones
We were a vision as sages
But now I’m dead
I’m condemned to be free
With her as my bravest
Makeshift hold onto grace
They say we live
Through those we love
Now my stay has been ageless

a poem for pamplona.

"A San Fermín pedimos,
por ser nuestro patrón,
nos guíe en el encierro dándonos su bendición"

We arrived in Pamplona with only cigarettes and three cents
In the silhouette of dreams spent, we were eager for the weekend
With the sea scent still fresh on our backs
Red scarves and white shirts like ties to our past.

We didn’t sleep
Red wine still cradled in our palms, next to our lucky charms
We arose timidly
With visions of saints, we sat smoking cigarettes
Killing the wait, we were visions of angst
Testing our fate against the gods
They could see me shake visibly
I tried my best just to laugh it off
And pass it off
As the wine catching hold, at a time when a soul
Would try to absolve
Itself from its cage, so tired and old
We tried to joke in the silence
While rose petals settled to floors
We smoked in the quiet.

We toasted Saint Fermín
With a hope on our eyelids
Dope on our side
With the closing of tiring
Eyes quick.

We awoke with marijuana smoke
Carrying us down to Santa Domingo
Nervous laughter
But still broke
Feel low, with our eyes to the ground
Silently praying aloud
That this day will be found
In our hearts, in our heads, as better than nothing
Except for the suffering
We were bred for this courage.


We waited nervously
Stood at the entrance of the valley of the dead
Pacing purposely
Shuffled nervous feet, waiting for rockets at nine
Flipping lucky pennies
Ready for the shock of our lives.

We savoured the taste
Of adrenaline in the air
Rockets sounding
Fear was traced in its wake.

With death at my heels
I was desperate to fill
The void in my life
That was
Desperate
To feel.

I was crushed
On the first bend
I’d never trust in my good friend
Just a taste of rust that was a god send.

That’d be our first and last
Running of the bulls
Lost in the valley of the dead
My lips still pursed to laugh.

love as it sings.

Prince charming left Cinderella high and dry
He said that he detested her tired eyes
She tried to fight back but her will wasn’t right then
This isn’t the fairy tale that she died in
She grew, strong and happy with a penchant for laughs
Disliked the boys with their ten minute hearts
While I was pedalling scars she walked the earth
Leaving her imprint on this chalk and dirt
I scored the words for her soundtrack mindlessly
Keeping a record of all her tides and dreams
Her mind was screams and drudgery mixed
Her god spoke with a slovenly wit
She asked for no favour from the ugly king
She used post it notes to cover her wings
She never could understand love as it sings
Walking straight backed into the blood in the wind
The summers a whim of the gods with broken sight
She was hopeless with a token pride
Hopes a night bird that hears the call of the wild
She never did anything right but falling with style
She revelled in a distorted denial
Every time she moved her mouth
It fell short of a smile
Her life was a plausible white lie written under night skies
I lost my footing walking her time line
She hated the shy guys with no words of their own
She played second fiddle while they were burning in Rome
Locked in a determined slow dance, she despised life
After one too many lonely nights, she was a bright light
Guiding the ships onto rocks
She drew prince charming losing the lot
I’m assuming the rot gut made her lose her mind
She wrote me letters full of abusive lines
A beauty tried and trusted and dishevelled with time
She said that I was her devil that cried
But I’m bending the story to tell my truth
I was only ever her friend in June
She caught me in a pensive mood, cigarette loose hold
In another universe lost in loop holes
Looking down at our creation with a grin on my teeth
There’s no reason why she was sinning for me
She drank vodka vicious and neat
Kept her eyes closed when she drew pictures for me
We were gods in our universe high on drink
Bred on lies and ink

hopscotch.

I saw her land on 5 on that pigeon leg
With the reflection of the danger in her eyes
As a mirrored threat

The pivot step caught her off balance
When she heard shouts
From a man speaking poor Spanish
In a Porsche
Banging beats as the doors slamming
As crows carried cries
Of another crime
I watched from the steps with shaded eyes
And I’d pray the lines
Would hold her frame so sturdy
At least in another time
I saw her brother strike a match
On the other side
Of the road
Cigarette stuck to his lips
Just to smother cries
In another life
His subtle strides
Would have met her sooner
These kid games always end with someone hurt
But we still play them
Dumb as dirt
I was numb at first until I saw the scene
Unfold in front of me
So blunt and dreamed
Her eyes so wide
So stunned she bleeds
In that grimace
Her gums recede
All she could hear was that thunder scream
This summer seemed
To wait for this second to break
Every soul on this Earth
Has a definite fate
Life took hold at a deafening pace
We prayed with our eyes closed
That heaven would wait
As the man opened his eyes
And exited his car
To examine the figure that he hit
But he hadn’t got far
When the world caught motion
And we all stopped staring and ran to the her side
I thank god for him
That this wasn’t the day
That she died
She got back to her feet
With grit in her smile

she wrote me letters.

She wrote me letters with ring less fingers
Sunset jingles with moonshine blinkers
Whose lies flicker on the page she burns
Sage is burnt in an effort to stage an urn
With the ashes of heroes

She sung me songs in a voice I didn’t know
It didn’t show on my lifespan, she steps pigeon toed
A vivid clone of blues steeped in lost soul ethics
She said she was diseased by hostile spirits
And notes she lost

She traced a bird on my ribcage in permanent ink
Her eyes lit when she was burning with drink
Hurling a stink bomb hate filled drunk note
She yearned with blood hope, loves slow
And burns where the foxgloves grow

She wore blue green eyes with a hint of mascara
Drew a grimace with the glint of her father
I was too timid to martyr, she broke me down
She once told me that hope is sound
And notes break hearts
Like leaves

She left poetry in library books with the fines attached
She was an angel with these righteous acts
She was shy, trapped in the arms we leave
Gun barrel eye painted on her charms and eves
With bullet wound lust

She watched me walk bow legged down the plank
And had my back, my anonymous tank
Honour was blank in our winter of discontent
She punched rocks but her fists don’t bend
And her will won’t break

She left with peppermint kissed bruises
On rain drops for sick losers
Drunk in the gutter with a song on their lips
For these are the days when the honesty quits
She left them with stained palms

She spoke in tired hymns with the tongues of gods
It won’t be night until the hunger stops
Thunder drops notes of pity on the lifeless
She paints grey skies with light quips
When the sun shone brightest

She had a deadpan humour with an irony tinge
To the broke starved masses she’s the siren who sings
When tyranny rings she closes her eyes to see
An angel floating closer on a lighter breeze
With a duct taped halo

We don’t get along but we see eye to eye
She’ll greet with open arms when it’s time to die
But the days stretch seamlessly when we speak
And she knows that I’m afraid and weak
And that’s why
Mother nature wrote me a love song

i spit blood through a diamond cut.

I spit blood through a diamond cut
It might be love
But the timings off

I’m selling love half price, with grit in my smile
This cities a child, pigeon holed, a vision that’s piled
Sky high, with a night line made from tied twine
And shy signs of lust are played from a dry wine
And every time I die, I’m re-born from ash
No phoenix, no broken wings, just scorn and fact
I’m torn and trashed, falling flat
On a back that’s held the world, and much more than that
I’m poor and trapped in a land made for strong men
Psalms blend when my palms bled, this song ends

[listen]

I’m screaming sonnets in dead end streets
With reddened cheeks, spinning a devils speech
Wishing for a peasants peace, filled with pleasant dreams
I imagine these grey skies aren’t how heaven seems

[please, listen]

I breathe in sepia tones, cigarette in my hand
They leave me alone, a minuet I can stand
Dancing figure eight silhouettes, tipsy of tongue
Our love was nipped in the bud, it was fitting and dumb
We were missing the sun, and I’d strum chords lightly
I ran for the hills and that’s unlike me
I’ll write scenes where the smoke highlights your figure
We stayed in broke motels, watch the lights, they flicker
Fingers trace Braille on skin, the plight of sinners
We shine, and dimmer
We shied from winter

[please, i’m begging you]

My guitar case holds my clothes, cards and cash
Another starving act, with only stars for snacks
Passing back, the petty change, I didn’t ask for that
I left the party blank faced, marred with ash

[just give me the chance to explain]
We made love as the sky fell, under nameless trees
On dirt grazed knees, we were shameless teens
With brazen needs, we were made to see
That life is easy for rogues and thieves
Hopelessly in love on the days spent, saints that bleed
When I left you with my tainted seed
We were brave and lean
Plagued in sleep, with the strangest dreams
You left holding the baby, was the basic scene
I needed to head out of town, find space to breathe

[i tried]

With a broken heart, I walk streets downtrodden
It was years before I realised that we had problems
When the screaming shortened arguments to fist fights
I left in morning with bruises, there was no respite

[i really tried]

When you gave birth to Fiona, I cried my eyes out
Now I was tied down, tired all the time now
We were fighting all the time, so I ran with the moon
Guitar in my hand, singing a passengers blues
I often wonder about what happened to you
And the girl with the blue eyes, scratching at truth
Hopeful, that she keeps her daddy’s musical traits
Tell her I’m sorry I’m not there; I’ve been moving of late
Assuming that fate will bring our paths back one day
But now I’ll keep to these tracks, worn down, rum brave

[i wrote her a song]

I know this letter isn’t much, I speak in broken tongues
I hope your days are well spent, and soaked in sun
It’ll be better tomorrow, she’ll make it worthwhile
That’s why I’ve sent you this, attached with a guitar and a smile

[give her my best]

a rose on her blouse.

It broke her
Heart
When she died

She was 16, always kept a rose in her blouse
She claimed it was Atonement for now

She had a cross to bear, they spoke in obnoxious stares
They’d watch from the gutters with half conscious cares
With their pungent airs and graces, they were barely faces
They were paired as strangers, tread scared as angels
She wore a barely there halo, kissed with the trace of a saint
Knew her day would come, since history favours the great
And history favours the patient with the time to spare
Especially this pretty little thing with the migrant’s hair
With the slightest prayer, walked on water, got her feet wet
Even a fool could find treasure in a beliefs wreck
I lived in her dreams debt, while I followed her steps
Those footprints in the sand, were hollow at best

[she speaks no evil]

She spoke in strange tones, walked the righteous side of the path
They hated her wretched little mouth that moved in a tiring laugh
In light of the past, they kept their jibes in their pocket
She kept gold in hers, myrrh perfumed words and a lie in a locket
She resented pious prophets with a grudge and a wink
She was a favourite at bars when she’d double their drink
I had trouble, I think, with the way that she moved
Every half bright man thought that they’d be taming this shrew
And I hated to be breaking the news, that there was no chance in hell
That they’d be touching her, fucking her, I tried my chance as well
Because as they say, every dog has its day
She wouldn’t look a man in the eye, unless he was stopping to pray

[please. let her speak. listen.]

She subsists on bread and water, heavens daughter
And when the skies broke, good lord, heathens caught her
She couldn’t breathe in the water of the tides that we spoke
On the body of the wave she was trying to float
She was tired of hope, caught her like an off beat song
Like summer gone wrong, like a knock kneed psalm
Like I can’t cause harm with a bruise on my palm
And like any good story, they say the truths in the yarn
I’d sooner discard the light in the tunnel
Then ever even admit that every day that I’d loved you
But the words bubble out now we know the truth
They put a marker on her chest now we know to shoot

[that was your last chance]

But every soothsayer knows that our times are abrupt
They also know nothing in our time spans dependent on luck
A friend isn’t love; this is a ten minute lust
Where we watched her every move, because heaven is trust
She saw the devil in us, we smelt home in her hair
Just another hopeful soul, she was broken and scared
She was hopeful we’d care, but our truths rang false
Till she wore a crown of thorns and bruise tinged hope
Loose lipped toasts with the blood of a saviour
She was another lost fool with her trust in a traitor
Betrayed not by a kiss, but a gun and a threat
We don’t believe in a Christ now, we’ll see our punishment yet

[she was telling the truth]

It was over in seconds, the shot, a sobering sound
She was 16; we left her with a rose on her blouse

i know of only one duty.

I watched
An Indian summer
In her Gypsy eyes.

She said she’d never kiss a soldier with a gun in his hand
He said he’d never kiss a woman whose hurt he could stand
He never spoke a sermon as planned, turned and he ran
As turn coat, burned hope, ashamed of this land

He kept his back to the wall
On every day of this war
On every prayer he swore
That although duty would call
He’d keep the promise he made
Saw her sobbing in shame
Saw her dropping his name
In every conversation the same
That he was born to break her
Tears ruin letters that were meant to save her
He was more than a temporary saviour
With brave words
He always kept her poem to hand
Sealed in the envelope
It stayed unopened as planned

She said she’d never love a man who would die in a war
He said he’d never love a woman who could describe what she saw
He was tired and fought to the best he can
Closed eyes, don’t cry, he showed the best of man

She kept her face to the glass
Wished on every day that would pass
Kept his picture in her mind
Where she knew it would last
Chewing over memories
Which clung to the sky as sweet melody
Left a butterfly bruise on her past
She was losing it fast
Assuming a mask of hate and lust
Time would tell if they were brave enough
She spoke with a shamans touch
And held prayers to the sky
When the days erupt

She said she’d never touch a man who died in a field of poppies
He said he’d never touch a woman who shied of robbery
They say that time is costly and the guns ring true
She said, when you come home, bring the sun with you

He turned his back as the guns rang true
He stepped from the trenches
With a rum brave view
Knowing that some days truth
Would leave her in his arms again
She’d never had a thing for army men
But the conscription kicked in
It made her think sick things
About what he might do, so she scripted
A letter of sorts, poetry prose
But what she wrote inside
Only he’d know
Till the day he got home and gave it back
To the woman he loved with tears in his eyes
And the words that she wrote, traced in ash
Read sincerely in a basic poem
That if he arrived home without a death on his hands
Then she’d take him home

She took him home

He’d made it home

gifthorse glue.

This is my love letter to England.

Her step-father was a broken man from the get go. Small hands. He built sheds with sand. His ambition never rose as far as castles. Castles were a mugs game. Start small and stay small. These sheds fell short of renaissance. The subtle edges were accidental and beautiful.

Her mother was a poet. She never went anywhere. Not as far as an imagination. Nowhere. How the two met is a mystery. Not to them, obviously. But to the world. An enigma not worth unfolding. The effort would not be rewarded. The story would be short and plain. The ugly runt.

Her birth was a miracle. Not in the Jesus sense. The ‘why’ sense. The child was born to apathetic applause. I witnessed from a distance. I cared little. This child was no different to your child. Not worth the story. At three she drowned. At four she repeated the act. At five she didn’t. etc.

He bought her a horse. It was ugly. I hated it. She hated it. etc. He thought it was beautiful. Her mother was indifferent. Her mother was always indifferent. Even when she drank the poison. She died. etc. The horse was long in the tooth. As the expression goes. Its eyes didn’t work.

My grand-father was a mechanic. My grand-mother was a loving lady. My father works with life and death. My mother works with knowledge.

The horse had no name. It didn’t require one.

We broke a cathedrals window. Once. Never again. I hated breaking the faces of saints. It filled me with a silent terror. It fills me to this day. She giggled. I hated her. She couldn’t have been more than five. Still. No excuse. St John is crying.

Glue has various properties. And uses.

He punched her in the lip. Hard. Hard enough to sting. Hard enough to break flesh. And chip bone. Hard enough to make her cry. Hard enough to make me cry. Hard enough to make her mother drink poison. Hard enough to not make the glue work.

I never punched her step-father.

I should have.

He walked with a limp. It was for effect. I’m not sure what effect. But for effect all the same. It was only a slight limp. People felt sorry for him. I’ve no idea why. I didn’t. She didn’t.

She put a ribbon on the horse. To spruce it up somewhat. It was a blue and gold ribbon. Like it makes a difference. Appearance is everything. Especially if you are a horse. The elastic holding it together was due to go at any minute. Everything has a shelf life. Some lives are just shorter than others.

I got the job in the glue factory through a relative. My parents wanted me out of the house. They said I needed money. I said I was fine in poverty. They didn’t agree. I wanted to spend the summer dreaming and smoking. And drinking. And dreaming.

I started around May time. Late spring. Flowers in blossom. Kids throwing bricks onto the motorway. That kind of thing. I wore my best shoes. The factory was well kept. The owner was pleasant. I hated it. The job was monotonous. Horse in. Glue out. Day in. Day out. I never said a word.

I got by. The hours were fine. The minutes were tedious. The company was lacklustre. The money was enough.

I got sacked for being drunk. I wasn’t. Perhaps a little. It was a poor reason. I was a good worker. I did my hours. I did my work. Drank in the middle. Drunk at the end. I held my head high. I kept my hands out of my pockets.

She watched me smoke cigarettes. I told her not to. I didn’t like to think of the consequence. I didn’t like to smoke. I had no money. I’d been fired. I was living in a field. A hippies dream. A real life nightmare. The sun on my back didn’t warm my soul. I was lonely and had only the company of a six year old. She was poor company.

I shared my field with the horse. The company wasn’t an improvement.

I shared dreams with that horse. Petty dreams. But dreams all the same. I don’t know what they say. I can never hear them. I try to listen but it breaks my heart to. And I don’t work well on a broken heart. I don’t know anyone that does. I imagine he dreamt too. He’d leave silent tears on the hay. Not in a poetic way. He had trouble with his eyes.

The horse was mild mannered. As far as I could tell. He never did me any harm. Nor did I do him any him. It was the fanciful relationship that we all hope to attain one day. I guess that this was my one day. I imagined it a poor marriage. Him not speaking to me. Me drunk in the grass. We got along like a horse and cart.

A great man once said. ‘all great things must come to an end’. That great man is dead. Rotting in a grave somewhere. The sun beats a strange shade of irony on days like today.

The girl was a brat. The kind that not even an young soul could get along with. It was only a matter of time before the horse lost her attention. This saddened me. Most things do. I guess it was just another day at the office. My office was stained in blood.

Of course my office was no longer the abattoir. It was a moon grey field. Filled with nothing. But myself and an ugly horse for company. The sun rises sometimes.

The girl paid me in stolen cigarettes. And a repulsive smile. I hated myself. She didn’t even have to bring the horse with her. I was with him all along. I don’t know why I did it. The money wasn’t great.

I drank first. Of course. It was the only courage I had. A small bottle at that. Not even enough to see double. I used an old gun I had bought off a travelling salesman. Real jumpy type. The kind who doesn’t lose a fist fight. I didn’t want a fist fight. I barely wanted a gun. Win some. Lose some.

I put the gun to his head. With the restrain of an unsteady hand. I pulled the trigger. I took the smokes.

I never saw the girl again. I never wanted to. I never found out why she needed the glue. I never wanted to. I’ll still remember that smile. Broken teeth. I still have dreams about the horse. Regret doesn’t pass easy.

I moved to a different town.

a fear of flying.

She said she’d only kiss a face like mine. I don’t know what that means. I didn’t ask. I was tired with drink and I preferred to just look. The days are confusing enough without a love story entwined in the wreckage. She liked to talk about the war. She never told me which war she was talking about. But she was very taken with the war. She adored the heroics of it all. The romantic images of brave boys with bayonets. I tried to insist there was bloodshed. I don’t think she was listening. She saw poppy fields and soldiers returning home to their bloodshot eyed wives. I saw differently. But she couldn’t see where I was looking. The horizon becomes blurred if you stare at it too long. The land becomes water. She wore blue eyes with a hint of innocence. That wasn’t what I liked about her. Most of the time she’d talk and I’d listen. It seemed to work to both of our advantages this way. I wasn’t much of a talker. I’d trip over my tongue trying to say the wrong things. Plus she liked talking. She wasn’t just stuck on the war trip. She was stuck on anything that made her more interesting. It didn’t. But it made her feel that it did. And who was I to discourage this interest in being interesting? I’d just sit with my back to the wall. Cigarette in one hand. She told me that smoking was bad for me. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I knew. I liked watching the smoke rise as she told me facts about wars I wasn’t born in time for. Stories about heroes that I didn’t recognise. She said that she had dreams about them. I doubt it. She didn’t have much of an imagination. She worked in a museum. She kept posters of war heroes. She left scratch marks on my back. She preferred floral designs but wore dark colours and vertical stripes. She said it made her look skinnier. She didn’t look fat to me. But what do I know. She wanted to fly gliders. But was afraid of heights. These little contradictions made her a person. On scraps of paper no bigger than my thumb she’d write me love poems. I kept them in a scrap book. About the size of a novella. I don’t know if she liked me like that. Or she found me an interesting way to pass the time. Either way. I don’t mind too much. We once walked down the motorway at night. Drunk. Waiting for bright lights to come our way. We weren’t looking to die you understand. We couldn’t see where the pavement was otherwise. Once we’d negotiated this hazard we didn’t know what to do with ourselves. Life is full of these stop starts. Haphazard life negotiation she’d call it. I never asked. I just locked a rye smile on my face and kept moving. One day she got into her glider and flew away. I never saw her again.