I started with a story about a feather. But it wasn’t right. I finished with a tantrum. That was unnecessary.
I asked him to leave so time would be on my side. It didn’t work. It did go quiet though… and pester free. They were thought, written and deleted and then it was late… later than I swore and time again tore through my plans.
It kept moving and I kept waiting. It started to piss me off but shouting at it never works.
You cant bargain with it or reason and bribes will never do. So I paused myself.
For a second it disappeared and thoughts streamed back, Irrelevant ones but still,
Its back again and although I may be paused, It cant be, now its just moving around me and that’s even more distracting than he that was asked to pee.
I was going to break it tonight, But I couldn’t get my grip.
So I joined instead and moved with it Which brought me to reading this.
6. Just call.
years ago I met a boy with potential he was smart and fun but I insisted we keep it confidential a boy fair and kind and sturdy of mind But could never quite land a pun that I didn't mind, I could overlook not sweat the small stuff stick around, don't up and run
Only now on reflection A lot was said and done, we were far from perfection, but now that boy, the man I hoped was the one, Appears to have lost his mind and gone all out of spun A man whose now much less refined please dont falter too far if you want to call, just call. I honestly don't mind.
9. Theres more you know.
Were older now and in need of a job, A fancy one with a clock in machine, Where you get your own door fob, A uniform allowance of fifty whole pounds, a world of company values, new sights and new sounds, but theres more you know, this lifestyle will eventually blow, insight boredom and prevent a girl to grow, theres something to be said for uncertainty, of reckless nights not for the frail and fainty, but dare to if you care to, be free to paint if you're feeling painty, have a day off, a culture day, set sail, somewhere far away, be bold and soak up the world, but don’t forget to snap that pic, so we all know life is truly sick!
10. Home time.
Travelling to the town I once called home, Everything is smaller this time round, Mam’s voice on the end of the phone and the walls felt tighter I found, the smells and the textures, filled with nostalgic pleasures, can I come home for a couple of days? I wish to regress to my childhood ways.
12. Hungover.
I must say I enjoy a hangover, from falling asleep on the sofa, waking in yesterdays smell and last years dress, strung out by your side the shoes you wore to impress, a haze of memories filled with last nights tunes, all of this brings to me little distress.
17. Mam.
Mam, something weird is happening, I wonder if you ever got this, its how I know I'm not a girl anymore, and I'm not living in some adolescent bliss, When I see the women with their kids, and the kids get in the way of my path, the woman stops to say this, and the words make my head jerk and my body pull back, its a phrase that jars with my inner mind, and I know its not meant to be something unkind, that said I wish the woman would choke the words and swallow them back, she says, “Stop and let this lady past” lady as in I'm not some baby, as if my image of the girl would last, but frankly, presently, she's still present to thee, and that quickly makes me re-evaluate what I thought I'd be, shit I'm all grown up and no-one thought to inform me, you're girl now something of the past, kiddish freckles something I guess Ive obviously surpassed, but Mam, If I can, I'm just gonna demand some more of you're attention span, because I've got something to declare, are you listening? are you there? Its official I'm a woman, I've moved up a notch, being moulded into something more than a mere childish blotch, so, that being dealt with can I address you Mam, woman to woman? I get this feeling thats floats in my breaths, a pull or an ache that lingers, It tickles me from my feet to my fingers, but I know what it is in fact I'm certain its like I’m still drawn to you, as if theres still a cord from me to you, and I just feel I yearn to talk to you.
18. We carry on.
There is a city in the united kingdom, one thats known for sport and music and industry and legends, a city that thinks like a town filled with spirit and a sense of freedom,
A year ago I made this city my home, left the small town where I was born, a city of workers and buildings of grey and of chrome, Architecture that reflects the people who have strength of stone.
Someone, someone, A someone we now know is a no one tried to shatter that, but lets leave him and that failed legacy alone, for the boy was lost and another hate fuelled drone.
For thats the point you see, Us mancs ones born and bread and those like me, ones adopted from here, there and everywhere, We will not fight fire with fire, We all hold a power of peace and thats something to admire.
The message is something rather clear, its says carry on you mancs, gather together the scoundrels and the skanks, the atheists, religious and agnostic, the people who are open with love and non toxic. Take to the city and the suburbs of this great place, take the hand of a friend and look your enemy in the face, the men and women from chorlton, rusholme, moss side and deans gate, cry tears of loss and of love with no room for hate, We walk united as thats how the mancs claim this space,
This is mine now, this city is home for me, And for you and you and he and she, and that is not a sentiment thats new, its not a sentiment that will ever be gone, so lets just be mancs and carry on.
19. Cheesecake.
I can eat obscene amounts of cheesecake. I like all of the elements on the plate, from the cheese to the cake.
24. Bricks.
We belong to a town full of red/brown brick, With cement crumbs scattered over mams terracotta carpets, Stomping above the corse cold wool, shoes filled with breathing hope and not quite yet regrets, Snarling children and lesser snarling pets, Whose claws tick tock, On the fields of chalked concrete, Tick tock, And on repeat, Men stuffed to the chest with bravado, He’s off and its all fuck you toast and avocado, Non of that shite here don’t ya know were macho, But the hearts are large Upon grey hard human laid grass, Theres this dance we do, Its a dance of the life we know and the moves are few, But watch us when we move, smooth and crude not in the least bit stingy nor rude the beats on mass,
We dance it better or freer or finer when the kids hand out the grass, Come on, now hold off, its just for a small bit of hard earned cash,
Within the bricks, We danced once with family of other families, And the odd one or two pricks, Within the bricks, We found some freedom within a sort of suppression, To outside eyes if ever such eyes looked it was no first, Second or any impression,
But its the bricks we miss, Its the bricks made us, Us dull young things Dancing within bricks within bricks, All for kicks with the odd one or two pricks.
27. Butter.
Betty Botter bought a bit of better butter. Speak the sentence softly, trippingly, correctly, and for god sake, for crying out loud, take a second and think of the crowd, would ya, could you? dont, In your north east drawl elongate the phrase into that signature mutter, Sound them out like silk, like soft, slippery butter. People can’t hear the words unless we all sound them like one another, But the bit of better butter Betty Botter bought was bitter, So she took it back, She wouldn’t have that.
Shall I give it another crack? Or I have cracked it already, Because I think I nailed it, the speaking bit, And I don’t think there’s a better take to be had, Because I like the dialect, I speak. And its makes them weak, not me, If my vowels make them question my intellect, Cos its just the dialect, I speak. So here goes, some free speaking something a touch more direct, All the Betty Botters better block their ears my dears, We're about to set sail their biggest fears.
We are not a dying breed, despite popular belief, The men and women who have earth salt on their A, E, I, O, U’s Those with a knack for turning those simple, smile and say it with a dimple, sentences into cry em out tunes. And if you listen, carefully, you can hear us on the wind that whistles round the corners of old buildings and new buildings, corporate buildings, nod to the past buildings, no thank you buildings, yet to be built buildings, greeted at the door buildings, making my eyesore buildings, built to burn buildings. Bouncing on the cobbles of times gone and on the cobbles of times to be repeated, God forbid If we continue this role of the new age defeated,
We’ve arrived, at the time of the tired. Sleep deprived. Not to be revived. Living in two modes, sleeping or seated. We're muted, or just dialect diluted, the growth stunted, drive jilted, now so very tired, We’ve retired. Without the pension, just some back and shoulder tension, for good measure, Forecast Forgetful just after a little Netflix and chill pleasure, once in a while.
Maybe we are a dying breed, once united, now turning on each other at in a flash, don't look back to the past speed, Divide and conquer, Persistent is the need to feed the already fed, And if they can’t keep quiet, make sure their facing one another, And not looking down here, Where the rules are set, Where the rules have always been set, And will continue to be set, You know I shout at my brother about Brexit, I don't want to exit, You think its to our credit, He’ll repeat it like he thought of it, And Boris still can’t spell it, Its rotten can you smell it? Like a needled bedsit, Makes my soul sick, Im dizzy give me a minute to sit, I’m sick, Which is a no go because, They just sold our national health service. We should have been more nervous, And took that threat serious, Now all we can do is get insured, Because the elite have well and truly matured, Like a fine full bodied red wine, that we can’t afford, it trickles only down the spines of the apparently refined, And maybe we can blame each other, While Boris and his likely lads indulge in the past, Because its all repeating, like we knew it wouldn’t, so we keep to our comfy seating, now tv, amazon prime, BBC iplayer skip question time, Straight to Atalanta, Lot of hidden social commentary in that bit of tv, We nod along, how smart it is, how smart we are, For noticing what’s in the writing. A perfect distraction from the real world fighting. With the wrong people. We ought to learn to reach, or climb, or grow a few more inches in height, There’s a reason they rode horses at Peterloo, It was to make them smaller, And they make us smaller still, But we could be bigger me and you, him over there too, let's not forget what they did at Peterloo.
28. Mustard.
I lay awake while you sleep. Myself unable to sleep. Eyes open wide like I forgot something I said “don’t forget before you go to bed”. “Don’t forget to put the…” I night dream about how I want to unearth you, pick open your skin and see your secrets. Dig into you like a dog clambers into a bed of soft summer soil, In a rush, like the gold could vanish before you catch it. Poof. Dancing in rising winds where you can no longer snatch it.
And when I go to write in the darkest hours of the night, you may think I’m disengaged, That I’ve cling filmed you in Tupperware and popped you in the fridge to sleep tight, Until I’m hungry again. But the truth is I’m so engaged, So entangled in watching you sleep, Not in a creepy way, Not like men do, But like women do, Where its almost rom com cute, In a I’m vulnerable way, Just in that moment where its safe enough to wear my heart on my sleeve way, And smile as you groan and thread your warm hairy leg through my legs, A position I wish we never had to leave, But you’re an early riser and I’m a late starter, Late to work, Late to the party, Late bloomer, Day dreamer, Late on our second date,
And I write in the middle of the night, When the Whalley Range fox scrapes through the leaves under my window, Me and fox living in a late night world of distant passing lorries, And weather changes only we hear, And it gets lonely, from time to time, So Id love to have you there in my bed while I’m seemingly disengaged, Writing my way into something to keep me from becoming salary fed, And tightly caged. Because I can’t live on that, I need a cut with a bit more fat, So when you fill me with happy and inspire me to write. I write. While you sleep. And god (who doesn't exist) help me, that is the arrangement I’d like to keep.
And for full, hand you my soul, disclosure. I wont get up with you at nine, Or go to bed straight after dinner, But I’ll be insufferably kind, Doing my best to stay sound of mind, When you make mistakes and you will make them, And I’ll forgive them, Or pretend to at least, and then you’ll do something like you do and I’ll just have to, Because I know I’m not the dream girl in your mind, Which is becoming increasingly clear, But you know what, her in there she’s not someone you can dig deep into,
And one thing I’ve been scared to tell you is that I don’t have a relationship steady trajectory. Engaged after two, House to move into, But if there was to be a house That a cat and I occupied and you did too. It would be a house with one mustard yellow feature wall Painted jagged at the top where my normally sufficient height let me down. But it is painted, Mustard. Because you like the colour but you can’t wear it. Its your hair, its just too fair for that shade,
Oh. The hair. I love it when you run your hand through it, And I love it still when its my fingers running through, When you're busy studying details of my bare body.
As for the wall. That will remain mustard yellow when its out of fashion and then back in fashion, And back out again, But may the mustard live on, On the wall, not you, it really doesn’t suit you.
Early on, which is about now, It's. Early. on. I was worried for me you’d be a distraction, But my drive for more and my life goals just jumped up a fraction, I never could imagine I’d want more, than the more I already want. I think that there’s something else to this than simple anyone can have it attraction, When I move away from the comfort of you. To write. It's a compliment.
And it wont change, It's not wrong, just long, Imbedded. Its not a case of a quick exorcism or medical abstraction, You’d kill the host, And you like her. Even if she is a writer? Like really like her? And if that’s true and you honestly do, Come back over where the soil is soft, And one wall mustard, No matter what.
P.s Im sorry I wrote about you, I know you said you’d hate to be written about. I needed it out of my head so I could go bury myself in you, in bed.
29. Drink.
Drink it all up, Drink up the late late nights, Drink in my stories of growing tall, Drinking in closed groups on the school field, Drink me all up, And I might just place down my shield, And drink you all up too, Cheers.
Smoke it all in, Smoke in the late night clouds, Smoke in my tales of teenage sin, Smoking behind the garages at break, Smoke me all in, And I’ll wrap myself around you like a needy rattlesnake, And smoke you all in too, Inhale.
Talk it all out, Talk it out in midnight ramblings, Talk about the best bits of your youth, Talking in hushed rushes at the back of class, Talk me delirious, And I’ll stop with the miss mysterious, And talk you deaf too, After you…
Touch every inch, Touch me until the sun never sets again, Touch through every scar and mark left by growing pains, Touching a shoulder by chance on the stairs of c block, Touch me non stop, And I’ll happily touch your hardened … And touch you tender too, sweat.
Fall far and deep, Fall freely into the darkest of dark, Fall down every memory laced lane of that childhood game, Falling down often and standing back scarred, Fall for me hard, And I’ll fall for you, And fall far together we will, Even if it is to be a short lived thrill, Drink with me?
25. Sand
I thought you found me awkward, And then the thought of that fell somewhere like sand, I thought I was overbearing and over enthusiastic, And then I thought I didn’t show enough enthusiasm, And then in one quick spasm, That thought poured out my ears and through the fingers of my right hand, Something a bit like sand,
I thought you thought I was no good at what I do, And then I thought well you know what who the fuck are you, And then that boldness became short lived, And down my dirty kitchen sink it was sieved, Like it was sand,
I thought I just might today have something special to say, And then I thought I might not deliver it right, But i’ll stand and deliver it anyway, in which ever way, I choose to play, it out. And out my mouth some words pour out, Like sand, And then like I just couldn’t help myself, and I often cant stop myself, I thought about how I stand, And how you read my body language and if that effects whether you want me around or not, Then the thought grew and grew even though right then we both knew that I had better things to do, You see now I’m preoccupied with me and my own anxiety, And that sees thoughts pile on thoughts on thoughts on thoughts, Like sand on sand,
Sand, and she’s getting sweat creeping up on the palms of her hand, seeping like sand.
Sand. A loose granular substance, Resulting from the erosion of rocks, A major constituent of beaches, deserts, river beds, the sea bed, Somewhere of such deathly peace the modern we so often dread,
You see you have a sea in you and the whales and the weed and the winkles float around that head, A whale so big, he’s thudding from skull side to skull side, And when it comes down to it why would turn down the free ride, Until he swims down stream and out your eyes, A bit like sand.
And so here it is and here you stand, Where lemon tops are made, And swings are abandoned for you, And because they’re left there unused, You can use them whenever you and your mate need to let loose, And they’re are dummies of blood red sugar, And hanging over head a plastic contained cloud, And the thought of that might just one day be something profound, Theres a ramp of concrete leading to a smoke coloured sea, Sitting either side a substance of fine granules, Whose surface is graced with the plods of worn out mules, Whose backs are graced with the buttocks of little fools, Who can not help but fall in and out of the rock pools, But the impact softened by a bed something like sand. Sand.
26. Ache.
Every now and again, when my brain doesn’t want it, my gut aches for it, longs to feel it again, Someone says something and looks someway in my direction, And off starts that old fashioned game, I don't require anything even close to perfection, Just the right kind of all seeing attention, You know what, Ive got a gentle spot, Im some variation of soft, But don’t let that put you off, my bitch face resting reads I don’t care, And in the past its right to say I haven’t always played it fair, theres one or two, actually lets be true only the one, Who if I went back I would kindly spare, My all encompassing, heavy handed, thats what he demanded, Kind of love.
And if I could, And I reckon I really should, Just vow to leave it alone, just keep it to one side, And forgo ever getting on that ride, again,
But then what a shame, that would be, Because when he’s there sat across from me, Or when we pass tightly on the stairs, My gut ache flairs, And from then I can feel the hot burn of his stares, And my gut ache flairs, more.
And my mind plays all of the films that can be imagined, My own purple rose of Cairo, Juliet and Romeo, and then off we go to bla bla land, Where our names will be written in the LA sand, Until one or both of us declare each other or just the whole fiasco, another brand of bland. And we’ll leave it there, like we did in fact have it that way planned.
But for now its not even started, The possibility of me and you sits far behind the starting line, Just behind the movie of my mind is where we live, And thats fine, I’d already began to question what I had to give, And I suppose thats fine, Because as far as a perfect man goes you would not be considered mine, And I guess thats fine, When my gut ache flairs, Ill remind myself to pull out of your stares, So no one will ever be heard saying “you can tell she really cares” And ill allow myself to be repulsed by your drug habits, So I wont miss that we never had that day going like rabbits, Because I’ll never allow myself to say I like you, Incase it was all me and never you too, And when the gut ache fades, I wont regret the dizzying, flirting after work charades, Or facing up to crushing on yet another wildly unsuitable, Just call me endlessly gullible, Destined to be unlovable, Remaining tight lipped and untouchable,
Ill save room for a flash back to your laugh, When I felt the body heat stoke, Under your benson blue cig smoke, When we debated, collated and intimately related, Under some kind of influence, Under the north west dark, That night , The night we felt the spark.
30. Throne.
I’m a natural hermit, Sitting on my unwashed sheets in front of dusty windows, Its my land up here, on the second floor, watching the rain pour for the third time this evening, in my dank and dampened kingdom and for that I don’t require any official permit, They just call me the natural born hermit,
My laptop screens in heat with all the playbacks played back, While I assess the surface of my bed for one in search of the comfiest seat, My fingers they still have the smell of the what I fought for, lives were risked for luncheon meat, That I finished today, bang on the best before date, Aldi these days is by no means no small once a week feat, So thats the last of that sandwich meat for a while, I’ll keep a safe distance, I always did that, and can you stay to the next one along aisle, I never ordered the neck to toe hazmat, I didn’t have room in the’ payslip for it, back to the decaying safety of home, sat upon, my flat with no view, throne just me myself and my wit, Just call me that natural born hermit.
I talk to my best friend now more than I ever have, Each message from her brings up the smell of summer 1999, Which I only just noticed was our baseline for unadulterated joy, We talk about that youth, jokes from the past, Always look back, In fondess , I stop from all the stopping and ponder if she might just sit and ponder too, If life suddenly getting smaller, Is a good thing, I have. I do.
This new world, mad world, trapped in world for me doesn’t feel all that brand new, It feels like you all just slowed down with me, In the new stillness bestowed upon on humankind by a faster moving illness I can breathe a breath of fresh indoor air Knowing I don’t have to keep up the rush of keeping up With your world, It was always paced just one pace too fast for my me, Anyway.
Get the girl some chickens and she’s all set, For the journey of a lifetime, that travels no miles, And the only smiles she’ll see are those on her feed, If the government can pay me to focus on me and what my mind body and soul need, I’ll take on that debt, And by the end of it all, I’ll be fitter in work for it, But I’ll most likely still be that natural born hermit.
32. She.
I miss the horses, I think thats about it, Everything else can go suck it, I only miss the horses,
The smell of fresh air Unfreshened by the muck out pile, Is something I do actually miss, I even despair At the thought of my muscles weakening And me loosing that riding elegantly flair,
I think horses see us more than we see ourselves, They fear us, even though we think us humans we are harmless, We wear our stupidity on the sleeve that strokes them. As soon as she dips into that manmade harness she joins us, And then she just fears everything else, Like we do, But our job from then is to keep them in good health, Even at the expense of our own personal wealth, If you have enough of that in the first place, And keep food in your own pot belly tank, If you’re rich enough in life and bank to have a horse look you straight in the face, Day after day,
Know that she is studying you, Like you’ve never studied anything, You’re not schooling her, she’s schooling you, And if you hurt her or betray her trust, She’ll beat you right on cue, Because they’re the powerful ones, And she knows it, Their the ones who hold the strength, Even when were on rein and she’s on bit, she knows it, That why we admire them, isn’t it? that quietly powerful spirit, That we cant stand up to, It too high and mighty for me and you, When we broke her we were broken in too, It was she who handed us the work permit, And that horse knows it.
34. First Love.
Ive had the heights and all the lows of first love, Now a distant memory that resides solely in my physicality, Kisses, touches, laughs, naked baths and acid words Coast through my blood.
33. Quarantine romance.
Under the heavy thud of my own privately rented ceiling, Resting on walls impending that by government order I now must keep in, I just couldn’t shirk this new romantically might be misplaced feeling, That gave me comfort and hope for the day we break through our front doors once more, Rushing out for a first date with someone I’ve already had three with, I know his name is Joseph, Taking all that into carefully considered account, of my carefully considered counting that could make it a first date score, for Joe, We’ve had three virtual, I'm not a fucking whore, Not that it would make me one anyway. We all planned some nooky on freedoms first day, Meeting the man who it seemed I had all too much in common with, From the same town, so we have the same vowel sounds, Talking about quarantine dates And tales of our failed workouts with now quarantined mates, We couldn’t find the thing we disagreed on, He, like me, liked art and wanted to share his music In exchange for some of my work to his add to his reading list, And then I discovered A little fact to wipe off my naively, been indoors too long, smirk, You see I couldn’t often get out to a supermarket, That must have drove me a little really human contact hungry, But it turns out he definitely doesn’t like slam poetry.