No Regrets

hotel room
in summer
sheets pulled taut across the bed
cotton as tense as the buzz between us
reckless place to be
caught up in the midst
of past
and present
like ants in amber
each expecting the other to move
to remember
what it was like
to feel
to breathe in each other’s breath
undress
leaving room
for no regrets

Desired Effect

Your soft promises of love
written poetically
laid to rest on our bed
had the desired effect
they were the blinders
that hid the transgressions
and the indentation on my pillow
of an interloper’s head

Air Mail

Don’t send me envelopes
stuffed full of hot air
devoid of emotion
lacking any sign of love
or devotion
they are not worth the paper
they aren’t written on

Numb

I feared I had lost all ability to write
Or perhaps 
I just lost all feeling
As you suspected I might
once your dirty linen
came to light







DNA

You were the DNA stain
impressed on my dress
proof of my
indecency

You were the hidden texts
the love letters
evidence, I shredded
frequently

You were my greatest love
most hated ex
who courted someone else
deceitfully





Scratched Vinyl

Left me
unglued
a lifetime ago
my broken pieces strewn
across the poetry
he wrote me
nestled in the photos
I snapped as we drank
like scratches in the vinyl
of our songs
Its been 3 decades
sleeved in regret
but then he came back
in a reply
(6 years late!)
a fraction heavier
older
no wiser
a happily married cliche
with children
still a salesman
touting his boyish grin
and all over again
he has me committed 
to sin










Parting shot

this, is for the false memories
suspended in photographs
hung, drawn and quartered postcards
endless phone logs
and care packages
which found their way into your arms
when I was distant and out of reach

this, is an acerbic soap box preach
my parting shot
a ghost
to haunt
the conscience you lacked
when you had someone else rolled on their back
because mine was turned

WTF

I wish I knew
what the fuck you are looking for
‘cos I just this minute saw
that creative
funny
smart
rubenesque
creature
you profess to seek
reflected
right there…
semi naked
in your bathroom mirror

She said she served herself up to you
on a silver platter
only for you to say you fancied
something less sweet
more tart
and preferably
with no meat

Fear: Sold

Walking home from a nightshift in Sleaford
moving from A to B
in a rough sequence of Muybridge movements
stop motion
stop the world from churning inside my brain
stop my body aching
like a bone refusing to knit
unnerving photographs from the past
super imposed on my conscience
from a time you pursued me down with a proposal
and I simply said yes
to settle 
for less


* first appeared as a guest blog on Ford Dagenham’s Hatchbacks on fire 



Isolated Devices

Caching pieces of yourself
along the crumb trail of infinite feeds
cowering behind age old avatars
cropping away less favourable body parts
in that place
where regret is erased
when hindsight catches up
You delete the diatribe
and in a set of key strokes
it’s taken from view
but still impressed on servers
hanging there
like dirty laundry
awaiting discovery in another time
but this is the modern age!
Characters are formed in technological think tanks
polluted with narcissists and ill informed miscreants
it’s where we present
those fractured and manipulated versions of ourselves
This is the new world we discovered
through coppery wire
and high speed connections
led here by visionaries 
armed with punch cards and magnetic tape
and the irony in all this?
despite their promises
we are still
nothing more
than
isolated devices



Axis

White sheets
crumpled
like a scene from Tracey Emin
You
laid back
My leg curled 
over your thigh
a million 
dust motes
suspended
in the shards of sunlight
cutting axes 
through the room
dividing our cosmos
like an unsettling analogy
between the former
occupant
of this space
and me






Soliloquy

I never did
adjust
to being
just
a
friend

having to employ new techniques
just to connect
like ducking and weaving
the salacious topics
that flowed freely between us
before

trapping fully formed sentences
behind pursed lips
and swallowing back
the bitter taste of sharp words
in one go

I don’t recognise
your new version of me
the one unable to win you over
with a curved hip
or this soliloquy


* written as a part of a guest blog ‘triptych’ for Ford Dagenham at Hatchbacks on Fire

Target Audience

I should have just told you how I felt
spelled it out
in plain text
instead of
encrypting desire
in
subliminal poetic prose
close to the bone
but miles off the mark






Red Eye Effect

A camera used to record us
but it no longer holds your image
or mine
just the negatives remain
black and white points of view
that my inherent sensitivity
refuses to filter
or bathe in new light
the focal point 
was a shallow depth of field
and too many forced changes in the exposure
captured isolated subjects
which diffracted

We are stored now electronically

imperfections registered
red eye effect
left unaddressed










Guest Soap

I left with creased clothes
the scent of guest soap
still on my hands
and the memory of your body
weighing me down
pilling the fabric between us
fastening me resolutely
to the past
I imagine you went home
to recline on your fear of commitment
and unwind
in the outline
we’d left behind