To Move Forward
When poems trickle like walking in shoes-full
of small sharp pebbles,
when the words are doused in sunlight
or scorched with night,
when the days seem to hunt you like
ravenous wolf-pack,
when the clock is plotting against you,
its time to say Okay
pour yourself a drink,
unplug the pc and radio and phone,
sit back
and drown in the quietness.

The Reminder
Its rarely that I share my
poems with my wife,
some of the sex-poems I
keep from her, particularly
if they involve her,
I offer her poems of
tragedy and humour,
the poems of human-
horror I hide from her,
she sees it, like you do,
everyday, we deal with it
in different ways,
ignore it, push it away
like its not a part of
their lives, but of
course it is
and I write poems
to remind them.

Here Is
Here is the paper
here is the pen
here is the poem
about someone you
didnt know or
care for as I did,
here is a poem
of sadness, a poem
of everyday despair
and tragedy, of
the hopelessness,
of the endless
anguish and pain,
here is a poem
of stark, brutal
raw honesty,
here is a poem
you wont want to
read, a poem
gripped with the
madness of our
harrowing times,
here is a poem
without the words
of love to shine,
a poem that holds
onto her
simple beauty
and the wonder
of her time here.

The Refuge
I could take refuge in the
silhouette of holy places,
in the pages of children,
in the cul-de-sac of dreams,
in the wink of an eye,
a slight of hand,
behind the windows of
something lost,
in the headlights of a
speeding motorcycle,
in the music of love,
in art,
in the corners of history,
in the flame of last
nights candle
but Ill keep my mouth
shut and write poems.

Most
Most know me as an
asshole,
some know me as a
wine drinking drug
taking asshole,
a few know me as
a poet
and I steer clear
of these people.