Saturday, 29 August 2015

Jazz record Cut off Half Note

Looking back in hindsight
I wonder how some
Of my ex girlfriends
Would have handled me
Getting diabetes

Sian who lived with her wealthy parents
And who kissed me with a desire 
Beyond her tender years
Would have resented my inability 
To keep running down to London.

Helen would have sat in front 
Of her ever increasing cocktail bar
And have said what the hell
Can you drink now
(which in reality was very little). 

Dani would have been sympathetic 
But secretly missed our film and pizza weekends
When it then became apparent
My whole diet and sleeping pattern
Would have to totally change. 

Sam no doubt would have cheated on me
Even quicker than what she did 
When she saw the list of appointments
I would have constantly live with
For the rest of my life. 

Each relationship
Twisting different emotions
In particular now
Entwined in imaginary
Last embraces 

Coyly enamoured
Consuming memories

Creating different backdrops
To each element of my life
Like a jazz record cut off
Half note

Passing through each door
With no chance
Of sliding backwards
Even if I wanted 

Exploding emotions
Cast aside from changes in health

A history lesson
Tied together in a cluster of dots
Ripped apart
Into a totally different jigsaw.

(Another poem from my up
and coming third solo poetry book
‘From the Diabetic Ward’)

Monday, 3 August 2015

Autobiography (New Poem)

Coming apart like stitches
Memories break off
As you grow older
Dissolving into skeletons
Drained of fact.

Stripping emotions
Into stark instrumentals
Confusing Sian
The first girl you kissed
With Helen, the second.

Diminishing the 8 years
Working at Great Universal
Your first job
When then you wondered
If it would ever end.

Padlocked in broken gasps
All the way out
Carrying you constantly
Through your 3 years
At Bolton University.

Woven in amazement
Even now after that
Advising people at the Job Centre
Who recognise you
Ten years after you left.

Replacing the years
And all of the jobs
(never forgetting all of your partners)
that followed like footprints,

fragmented following Diabetes
which crashed into your life
like a train crash

tracing tears caked around your heart

constantly creating new
dramas slightly off key

dislocated across
half built promenades
in your imagination

blown apart every morning
in broken storms
looking at tablets lined up
in a row 
refusing to give up.

(From my upcoming next solo collection 'From the Diabetic Ward' which is a bit off before you ask)