Ode To My Addiction

When feeling down in deeper depths,
Self-loathing flooding ten regrets,
The sure bouy’s back and surfacing fast
On waves that whisper ‘never last‘.

There is my rock to which I cling,
Where oldest sirens preen and sing,
Dressed in feathers I caressed
While pecking at my sunburnt flesh.

In succour I bloomed for an hour or so
But little considered my loosening soul
Would fill where prayers refuse to go,
In briny, speluncar fish-bone holes.

And though on sailing I depend
I always return to that place in the end,
The flock is feasting on my heaven
While my senses drain and deaden.

I convince myself, like many others,
That I’m alive and that’s enough;
My brothers below betray such comfort,
Empty-eyed beneath the bluff.

I woke, the awful crows transformed
In to an ambulance outside dorms;
A student there departs once more,
To a different, distant shore.


Soul’s Landfall,
Where I defended myself
From remembering you,
Groynes reaching
Out into the grey-brown
Wash of Forgetfulness,
And gabions, their
Amnesiac nets protect
A sandstone cliff.

My memories then
Collapsed into
Themselves like
Immemorial dark stars,
Like crumpled photographs
Which re-posted
On social media
Are tagged with negative
Phrases like Missing
Hurt, and Regret,
Where other minds
Have memories as clear
And well-composed as
Chandeliers, with
Configurations in
Crystal set.

Arriving at theatres,
It’s as though,
Expecting me
To speak at length,
Audiences near and far
With craning necks
Gasped when they became
Aware of my tonguelessness,
My arms and elbows
Meaningless, and
Pinned to my sleeve
A still-beating heart.

So with hatches battened
And shops boarded up
I stooped into storms,
Eyes in water, weather-worn,
Where lashing gales made
Their own Landfall,
Battering just behind me.
Incapable of gazing backwards,
Pacing forward unprepared;
This is how a limbo feels
For the lonely
And the scared.

If you have someone to hold,
Hold them again once more;
If at night you lie beside
The unspoken beauty of love
Then love with words reformed;
And if you’ve lost no less before,
With Patience and Time,
You’ll be together once more.

The Wishing Well

In a dream last night,
A recalcitrant dream
As well-versed and equally
Inured as unwelcome spells
Residing in my sleeping mind
Lay siege, unwarranted,
Disobedient to my intent
Which once was good,
And ever since mind’s
Potentates were themselves
Besieged by
Terracotta armies
Running riot, and
Separated from the
Periodic Table by mandate
Of the God of Chemistry,
In this dream,
All my teeth fell out.

Curious affliction,
The disease descended directly
Down a medieval well
Just beyond the village
Where Time’s bypass
Hastened the demise
Of daffodils and spinach.
The teeth were caught
By grateful elvish hands
Like wishes from a
Comet’s tail,
Those who lived
In the dark dank smells
Of that thankless well
Through so many of our songs,
No longer could they tell
Where their fingernails
And lunulae began.
Their galoshes squelched
Through residual pools,
Mulchy, muddy pools more
Made of weeds and the
Casual detritus of
Passers-by whose care
For Nature
Believing it was sufficient
To save endangered species
By recycling plastic and
Subscribing to
Magazines about wildlife.
Even dinosaurs dreamed
Of losing their teeth,
So these subterranean beings
Chiseled and whittled the
Mouldy molars into
Newfangled fangs
Which now adorn
Their necklaces,
Next to reindeer hooves
And my unending sense
Of sadness.

Back above-ground, my brother
Held a tablet device
And stylus to count my losses.
He used a spreadsheet and
An esoteric formula.
I had a stylus too but
Mine had been used as a knife
And was stained with butter.
I didn’t own a tablet
So I tapped inconsequentially,
Feigning importance
On a well-used notepad.

The well is near the woods
Of my dreams, and that is where
My brother was last seen
Before he disappeared,
Where nothing good is as it seems,
And who needs teeth
When there is nothing to eat
In my dreams, there are no
Roadhouses and the motorways
Are closed, no truck-stop cafés,
Yet still I drive with my words
Through lucid, deciduous
Anxieties of my
There’s good reason
As to why I cannot find
The rainbow’s end
No matter how far I must drive,
For you cannot see the prisms
Of sunlight and rain
When your sleeping persona
Wakes down a deep well.