You Punched The Moon In The Face You Fool

You punched the moon in the face
and painted his eyes swollen
He became angry and grew ferocious
beards of grey and black spectacular 

with bushy eyebrows of snapping trees
swept about his brow

Accusatory, his roar
follows jagged, silver, finger-pointing

The harsh slap in the face of his breath
waters wild eyes and scoops out souls
Count the seconds until his shout 
collapses your withered ears once more

Or sink on broken knees, and apologise
Cast those eyes to the wind, and apologise

You punched the moon in the face you fool

and blacked his eyes in spite

So apologise



Dissonance, disruptive and unharmonious,
is not beautiful, and has no place in the world.
Conflicting thoughts must be shot in the head,
at point blank range, and buried under beliefs.
Accepting that there might be another way,
or, that we might be wrong, is unacceptable,
as it may cause one to question something.
When in doubt, consult the television guide
to find a suitable tranquilliser for the brain;
it is, after all, the purveyor of fine truths.


Over And Under

It’s over and under
and just round the bend
it’s mad and it’s loose 
from beginning to end 
it’s hard and it’s soft
hot and then cold
it’s bought when you’re young
and sold when you’re old 
it’s cruel and it’s kind 
on the edge of a knife
this thin slice of time
in which we live life 


Build an inverted pyramid
and balance it on your nose
let the roaring in your ears
tell your eyes a train is coming
and let your brain tell your soul
it is just a dream, you’ll wake up
This means nothing at all
To anyone, so don’t let that
get you down 
or up

Just get on


Signal to Noise Ratio

Close your eyes and listen
What do you hear?
How many layers of sound
colour your environment?
How often does the message
get lost in the layers?
Get lost in the noise?
I guess it depends
on ability and willingness
to listen and think
to figure it out
What is signal?
What is noise?




It can take quite a while sometimes, to work out that we are not, and can not, be in control of all that is outside ourselves. We are dealt cards in a game that can be beautiful at times, and incredibly cruel at others. We cannot control these events, or stop them from happening. And you cannot undo them. What I hope you can do, is make a choice. I hope it is within your power to choose how to react to those difficult and painful cards that life will deal out to you. 

Reliving the painful past over and over is not a useful thing, unless, something positive can come out of it. Like growth, or fond memories. Rewind and replay can become automatic, looping. If you can stop at that moment, and breathe. Try and bring yourself out from within, and focus, if you can, on here and now. The warm glow of the desktop lamp on your books, the trees that wave at you through the window. Now close your eyes, don’t think, listen. Listen for the loyal beat of your heart. It hasn’t deserted you. Listen to the secrets the trees whisper to you through their leaves. If you can allow yourself to see the beauty in this fraction of a moment, it might stretch on and allow you to reroute your mind from that deep well of pain. Relief. If you can practice seeing the beauty from moment to moment, then things will become easier.

Make choice your friend. Don’t fear it. Find the strength and courage to remove yourself from things in your life that are damaging you. Reach out for help if you need it. People do care. People you know, or have yet to meet, will care. But don’t remove yourself from life. Don’t let it beat you. There are of course, reasons why it is hard or almost impossible for some of us to regulate our emotions, thoughts, reactions. Some pain that is dealt to us in cruel games can be almost too much to bear. All I can say is please, don’t give up. And take care. If you need me I can be found here, inside you. All you need to do is remember I’m here.

And you are not alone. 



Steel eyes scrape the skies
a carapace of green and blue
mirrored in silvered wings
mapping, routing, stealing
light from the warm one
whilst taking happy snaps
of the scurrying ants below
or staring out into the black
littered with points of light
organelles in a cell tumbling
through the bloodstream
slipping through the veins
of nothing and everything
and then…
…you farted


These Parenting Plans

From this point in the document
The parties will be referred to as
The mother and the father
These Parenting Plans
So far removed from those
Plans that were planned 
In the beginning
In the end
New plans
The complications
And negotiations
The ramifications
Of distance
And best interests
Mean time, Mean Time
Time is mean I think
Because what is lost
Cannot be regained
I feel a connection
That the long road
between here and there
Will stretch
But I can’t hug them
Over strands of copper
And glassy wire
I understand why
You must go
500 k’s away
For your new lover
I would never try to stop you
I would like it 
To be fair
Yes for us
But more for them
And this is not about
It never was
Nor will be
This is about
& Father-love
Being present
Which is in
The best interests 
Of the ones
They un-name
That they call ‘the children’
Of the parties
This is no party
They have real names



Beautiful tragedies
now showing
at the cinemas in their heads.
But as the curtains slide back
revealing the harsh blue light
of reality, they find 
there are no remotes
in their hands to rewind
and there is no popcorn
or candy, or lemonade fizz
to wash the bitter taste
that they thought
they would savour
from their mouths



A shoelace untied drags through puddles
draws lines from one to the next
The hole in that pocket is chosen
as is all that falls through it
Fingers are pencils for drawing in the sand
these pictures are momentary
They are mine, like the stars
but I’ll share them with you
I suppose