POEM: The Oven

I wonder if the oven knew

that nothing had cooked?

Just set to pre-heat and left on by mistake.

A changed mind; a different dinner.

Switched off forty minutes later just as it was switched on:

Empty.

Enough time to heat up a meal,

using the same amount of energy,

but nothing to show for the effort.

And if the oven doesn’t know

when its time has been wasted,

and it’s purpose left unfulfilled,

do we?

POEM: Losing Me

It’s been a year at least since I slept the whole night through.

And when I concede defeat and swap blankets for coffee at the sound of the alarm,

I pretend everybody wakes up with their stomach in knots.

That breakfast is a meal best served choked.

And that if I play my music loud enough,

I’ll learn to smile through my commute.

Parking the car my feet feel stuck.

My hands don’t leave the wheel.

And I imagine turning around and never coming back.

Before I sadly turn the key,

Slowly open the door,

Succumbing once more,

To the monotony of cowardice.

But one day you will see;

My secret power is my power to say no.

POEM: The Lottery

Why do we think it likely

To not only beat the improbable odds

But by an order of magnitude?

Birthdates, anniversaries, the number on the door of the first place we lived;

Wrenching destiny from entropy we personalize our disappointments,

Playing narcissistic numbers for rich cash rewards

Fated for someone else.

POEM: That Was The Room (Upon a Visit to My Old Childhood Home)

 That was the room of disappointments and success

That was the room I always kept such a mess

That was the room where I had great ideas

That was the room where I developed my fears

That was the room where I first heard punk

That was the room I vowed straightedge, not drunk

That was the room we always knew was haunted

That was the room whose view was most vaunted

That was the room whose walls I did hit

That was the room that was never well lit

That was the room the builders fucked up

That was the room that would never shut up

That was the room where I wrote my first song

That was the room that always felt wrong

That was the room where we brokered the peace

That was the room where their marriage did cease

That was the room that never brought comfort

That was the room where I learnt how to subvert

That was the room where we had the big fight

That was the room where we stayed up all night

That was the room where I lost my virginity

That was the room where I rejected the Trinity

That was the room where I fell in love with reading

That was the room I got bandaged when bleeding

That was the room where I last threw up

That was the room where I finally grew up

That was the room where we found our cat dead

That was the room where the family was fed

That was the room where dad told us he was leaving

That was the room where, when he died, we all started grieving

That was the room where the Christmas Tree stood

That was the room where we learnt bad from good

That was the room where I wrote my first poem

That was the room where I knew where I was going

That was the room where a policeman once sat

That was the room where we pissed, showered and shat

That was the room where we loved and we hated

That was the room where we were devastated

That was the room where you binged and you purged

That was the room where our personalities emerged

That was the room where we got our hearts broken

That was the room where great truths were spoken

That was the room where we hid a surprise

That was the room where we told our best lies

That was the room where we put on our shows

That was the room where big choices got chose

That was the room I lay scared and awake

That was the room where I made a mistake

That was the room where I heard Bowie and typing

That was the room where I hide when they’re fighting

That was the room where I dropkicked the door

That was the room – but it’s not that room anymore.

POEM: The Week

The week began in darkness

Rolling thunderclouds

A gun inside a nightclub

Terrorising crowds

Fifty humans killed

Because their love was unaccepted

Still the calls for gun control

Will once more be rejected

We are all Orlando

Until the next one comes along

And then we’ll all be that one too

The cycle carries on

Mass shootings in America

Just part of daily life

Just like homophobia

The fear of men without a wife

And women without husbands

Making love with the same parts

Bigots only see disgust

Where they should see loving hearts

And sometimes bigots pick up guns

And take them into crowds

The week began in darkness

Draped in funeral shrouds

The week before was hotter

Glorious sunshine

The sort of week you just assume

The world will turn out fine

But people like to take the wheel

No matter how impaired

And drive around out of control

Because they think – who cares?

Until the thud, the sudden bang

That sobers them right up

They see the blood, the mangled limbs

He isn’t getting up!

Just a kid crossing the road

A kid who looked both ways

The medics did all that they could

The kid could not be saved

Grieving family devastated

The ones now left behind

Trapped inside a horror movie

They cannot rewind

Dead at only 19

A kid I used to teach

The week before was hotter

But no-one thought about the beach

The next day brought the rain

Cars blocked flooded streets

An MP with a surgery

And constituents to greet

A mother and a wife

Making the world a better place

A life in charity

And then her one electoral race

Campaigns to stop child soldiers,

Protect women from rape,

Fighting for the poor

So poverty could be escaped

But somewhere on the internet

Angry fingers clicked

Racist memes were shared and liked

And trigger fingers itched

“Britain First” the slogan screamed

He bought a gun and knife

Outside a public library

He took the woman’s life

And so for our democracy

We once more have to weep

The next day brought the rain

But blood had stained the streets too deep

Next week the outlook’s hazy

With fear of the unknown

Will we keep our union

Or go out on our own?

To leave or to remain?

A question for the ages

Except we’re choosing blindly

Having dumbed down all our sages

Europocalypse now

We’re uncertain for the future

This referendum’s is a wound

For which there is no suture

Never thought I’d see the day

When in a Manifesto

The winning party advocates

That human rights are let go

Alleged fight for sovereignty

From “Brussels Bureaucrats”

Masks losing sovereignty much more

From backroom trading pacts

If we make a Brexit

We may wish we could atone

Next week the outlook’s hazy

But I can hear the storm winds moan