Pegged Down Square

As you snuggle down your eyes
flutter towards the beauty of REM
touching your hair
I whisper maybe we should move
on from this cracked cold land
you dream murmur
I barely hear as whining winds whip
like bullets through sounding walls
quiet you say
I delve into thought of our glitzy
summer wedding so many years
without fruit
the structure will not cope with
many more winters nor inner cold
where would we
go to rid these caged emotions
and travel roads of communication
like hot wires
I long for the music of life like bees
round her majesty satisfying needs
honey to my spice                                                                                                                      she keeps me pegged down square                                                                                   tethered to our journey – I snuggle into her

Asleep

ASLEEP

A child sleeps in body-warm
blankets, cosy, enveloped in
unreality as moonlight
plays in and out of shadows.

February’s frost, glistening to the
moon’s tune, froze windows shut,
icy-toothed taste of dawning
drifted in biting, biting relentlessly.

The child disarranges as dreams
unfold into vividness, not nightmarish.
Outside below the frost line insects
sleep, entrenched in subterrania.

Hedgehogs hidden and hibernating,
locked in winter’s crystal cages
oblivious to a fox skulking, sniffing
listening and pawing for a meal.

Frozen ground, frozen sound
Bumps’ turn into glaciers for the errant
their body cold under a frost load.
no rug-snug bug here.

Trapped beneath an icy sheet
awaiting tomorrow’s thawing
nature’s natural clock shaping,
shades of night new life, new dreams.

The child stirs, stretches, yawns
confused into reality,
seeking the warmth of covers
fingers counting the cold’s cost.

Quote

Poems

via Poems 

On the edge                                                                                                                                                                       After Ken Currie’s painting ‘on the edge of the city 1987’ Manchester Art Gallery

He looked around furtively
walking past a man giving head.
Two others, he thought, waiting
their turn sat quietly in a dumped
car watching, waiting, time retreating.
He hurried on his journey through
more dirt, dead cars and debris
passing homeless vagrants
keeping warm at a brazier
not cosier or friendly.
He, secure at home, two hours ago
until a call was made.
His mind twitched back to two days
ago when the card game was lost
his mood darkened with the situation
he found himself in, how things
have changed since he left his wife two
years ago.
As he heard the man being de-spunked
he jumped the fence which led to the
arches, leaving behind him the horror
of humanity and depravity.
In just a couple of hours he’ll be free
of the torment of time.
He’ll board the ship of experiments,
its journey will take two days to
reach its destination a new
direction full of determination.
He won’t reflect on the murder
he witnessed 2 hours ago.

Published by Puppywolf, Best of Manchester’s Poets 2012