Wednesday, 18 March 2015


He that loves pleasure must for pleasure fall.
Cronos sits, and licks his lips   
   with lustful eyelessness.
His light bulbs blaze and seethe in greed 
   beneath the beating sun,
and his grease-bedraggled hair hangs down
   in tangles round his cheeks.
He ogles at his flinty feast 
   as televisions flash;
above, a jet plane scalds the skies
   with roaring sicknesses.
Cleft bones crunch between his teeth;
   his thirst can not be quenched,
his hunger, never satisfied.
   – Not ever, ever 

Sunday, 1 March 2015

They Once Did All

These desiccated walls once sung
    with velvet voices bright.
The tiles beneath our feet once danced
    as couples shared the night,
and love infused the blissful air
    that swayed with you and me.

I went to bed each night assured
    that sand would always pour,
that Time would never dissipate
    and leave me wanting more.
So when life let out its brightest glows,
    my foolish eyes were closed.

Now, the flame of youth is gone:
    smoke lingers in my throat,
and no matter how I strain my ears,
    these walls don’t sing a note.

The font which once gave endless life,
    now oils into the sea,
and the dusty tiles which danced before,
     will never dance with me.