Read my eyes. Read them carefully.
I heard you. I really got your gist.
I’m not talking. My words are silent.
I am trying to think. And block out your sounds.
I heard every little thing. I am not deaf.
Why are you so unkind? Don’t you see me?
Look at my face. Read the expression.
A plethora of scribbled emotions. Keep out of my path.
Think I’m deaf, do you? Look at me.
Look closer. See my body raging.
See that deep upset. I won’t speak.
I don’t want to erupt. I am close.
I have plenty to say. I hold back.
You push me and push me. And some more.
Keep on pushing and pushing. Pushing the hate.
Nothing positive to say? Thought not.
Can’t you shut up? Think of better words.
Don’t I have feelings? You hurt me.
You really have made me sad. Unbelieveably angry.
I count. Don’t I?
poem
Outside in.
How do you find yourself when part of you seems lost or missing?
What if being different is the thing you ignore: your greatest strength?
How far into the abyss would you go to protect someone you love?
What if the world doesn’t make sense, would you still abide by the conventional rules?
What if the bravest thing you can be is yourself and no-one else?
Can your gentlest whisper say more than your loudest shout?
Where do you turn when you feel that you don’t fit in anywhere?
Who said being a mature grown-up had to be anything like perfect?
When everything feels torn and twisted, can you still believe in hope?
Is there only one way of life (that’s your own)?
Read the trees.
Read the trees.
The remnants of a once flowing life.
Given air, giving words.
Read the trees.
Calling
Farewell to the stars
My eyes blur with sleep
I don’t invite them on in
Nor do I allow their shouts
I couldn’t hear it
A misdeed so true
I couldn’t feel it
A transgression of angst
A silhouette I am
In a pale concrete box
A Pompeii blast-mark
Solitary without you
Unable to see you
Prevented from calling out
Unable to hear you
I could no longer call
No call possible
Answers no longer reachable
1915
Guns have won
Childlike show
God listens no more
Debased figures rot
Angry
Shorter indented lines
sense of grim order
Monstrous ANGER claiming victory
Ripped from life. Unfriendly
Bittersweet
Disappointed nature of war. Unobservant
Ultimate victory of foes by cold steel
The devoutly religious with no time to pray
Ineffectual begging given no moment
Depressed
Order gives way to chaos loose unreachable
No survivors walk the squalid trenches
GOD cannot listen
Your voice unheard
Helpless
The unfolding scenes of death. Stripped away.
Erratic sounds in battle
Frequently breaking patterns.
Disruption coupled to disorder
Tortured
The pain goes on.
Light blues.
Woke up one morning and the sun refused to shine.
Woke up, head slumped, joined another line.
Got up and went on, but the day didn’t play.
Tried to talk about it but the words I couldn’t say.
Need a little sunshine for the day.
Need a few more rays to shine my way.
Need a little lightness to say, “Hey!”
So, send some sunshine and break the grey.
The will to go on heaves less and less.
There are more problems that I must address.
My passion to battle often does regress.
Yet, all I want is your love to bless.
Need a little sunshine for the day.
Need a little lightness to say, “Hey!”
Need a few more rays to shine my way.
So, send some sunshine and break the grey.
The drum beats firmer in my ears.
The drumming brings forward all my fears.
Surrounding myself in proverbial beers.
Listening less and less for positive cheers.
Need a little lightness to say, “Hey!”
Need a little sunshine for the day.
Need a few more rays to shine my way.
So, send some sunshine and break the grey.
Send the sunshine.
Send it my way.
Send it.
Send it today.
Divided We Fall?
Never once heard a left-wing leaning leftie say the Union Flag is offensive to anyone. Heard a few republicans call for the abolition of the monarchy and the U.K. flag, and a few Welsh ask for an update to include Yr Draig Goch in it. Honestly, every time I see a post about the U.K.’s Union Flag causing offense to Muslims, and it usually is Muslims, it annoys me. Social media posts, of this hateful kind, being shared look to divide people. Nobody is offended by that U.K. flag. Proud of the flag? Less and less, yes. It represents the majority, born here or drawn here. Perhaps, minorities would display it with pride if the U.K. was a little more friendly.
So, where’s it all coming from? Decades of stretching the haves from the have nots? Year upon years of a widening gap between salaries and costs of living? Or, perhaps tge rich get richer and the poor get poorer? That old cliche. In 32 years since 1990, the top 1% of the U.K. billionaires have seen their wealth grow tenfold. That collective wealth is almost exclusively out of circulation and likely adding to their ability to pull in more pennies. In 2024, according to Oxfam, U.K. billionaires gained £35 million a day. Is that £182 billion a year fair? 70% of the population barely equates the top 1% of the U.K.
Mind the gap. Income inequality may remain constant but the wealth of the richest and poorest is a chasm. Inherited wealth over generations may help the rich keep their titles and banks healthy. The poorest leave behind little and in many cases can’t even add gravestones. Disproportionate tax policies supporting the well-to-do through low taxation of dividends and capital gains benefit the wealthy. Inner city kids have no chance. Should we accept our place? Fodder for Lord Amazon and Co.?
Is there truth in Russia pushing immigration towards the U.K.? Well, many Ukrainians have sought sanctuary in Britain. Wars in Syria, Palestine, Yemen, and unrest across other global regions will always add a demand to find safer shores. Gangs exploiting trafficking for profit and increased ability to find weaknesses in U.K. laws following Britain’s exit from the European Union have certainly raised numbers.
The Royal National Lifeboat Institution (R.N.L.I.) are lifesavers. Volunteers who respond to sea emergencies and pluck the needy from near-certain death. They even rescue sheep and goats from time to time. Life is precious. Their sole purpose: to save lives at sea. A combined crew of 9,800 and 2,000 or so support staff make that possible. Since the 4th of March 1824, the orange livery of search and rescue have been around British and Irish waters, doing their incredible humanitarian work. Never discriminating. I always thought that’s how the U.K. should be viewed: a place of sanctuary and love for life. Perhaps I was naive and should have laughed at the picture of the RNLI boat full of Muslim-looking men heading for the Dover cliffs?
Then again, my Mam has always taught me not to be a knobhead.
When they came for the asylum seekers, I remained quiet; I wasn’t an asylum seeker.
When they came for the transgenders, I stayed silent; I wasn’t transgender.
When they came for the Free Palestine supporters, I kept my mouth closed; I wasn’t a Free Palestine supporter.
When they came for the free press, I didn’t utter a word; I did not write for the free press.
When they came to add internet censorship, I felt conflicted and hid; I did not act against them.
When they came for the library bookshelves, I stood tall and defiant…
Inspired by German Lutheran pastor Martin Niemöller (1892–1984) and his words below (English and German)
When the Nazis came for the communists,
I kept quiet; I wasn’t a communist.
When they came for the trade unionists, I kept quiet;
I wasn’t a trade unionist.
When they locked up the social democrats, I kept quiet;
I wasn’t a social democrat.
When they locked up the Jews, I kept quiet;
I wasn’t a Jew.
When they came for me, there was no one left to protest.
Als die Nazis die Kommunisten holten,
habe ich geschwiegen; ich war ja kein Kommunist.
Als sie die Gewerkschafter holten, habe ich geschwiegen;
ich war ja kein Gewerkschafter.
Als sie die Sozialdemokraten einsperrten, habe ich geschwiegen;
ich war ja kein Sozialdemokrat.
Als sie die Juden einsperrten, habe ich geschwiegen;
ich war ja kein Jude.
Als sie mich holten, gab es keinen mehr, der protestieren konnte.
Life goes on.
Life goes on.
Where are you right now?
Accompany me every day
I accepted the parting, but underestimated the missing! It is destined to be an endless dampness!
古
Williams Duo & Goodwin Too
Oh, hey now is this a sign?
Have I been here before?
Oh, why should I care?
You can hear the silence drone
I still thirst
I looked for some guidance
Some beauty in my heart
Trying to accept the person I am
God knows it ain’t easy
Who knows the reason why?
Seize the time
Here comes my day in the summer sun
On summer days like these
But it slips through
What did you want?
Out of time.
Out of time.
Spin, spun, twirl, and life has gone;
Gaze, glare, peer, asking all you love;
Vacantly, unoccupied, empty, an account declined.
Elapsed, faded, as ebbed time trickles away.
Endure.
This canvas captures my heart’s breath;
Stronger as remains blanket the grief.
Acts of kindness, love, and selflessness.
Portions of souls shared.
The best yet made.
Endure and carry on.
Benchmark.
I used to pass benches by.
I used to chuckle how you’d all sit there.
Nothing seemed to happen.
Yet now I understand.
Now I take a moment to sit.
Reflective thoughts and hypnotic dreams.
Lost voices surround.
Farewell friend.
I want to thank you.
Thank you for opening my eyes.
Opening my eyes to a new lens.
A new lens capturing moments of time.
Moments of time caressing tender memories.
Caressing tender memories that led to this day.
Led to this day when we said farewell.
Said farewell to you and thank you.
Thank you for being here.

Self-discovery lens.
We each have bad habits, and it isn’t my place to judge.
I ain’t ever smoked a cigarette, although I’ve breathed in far too many.
My not trying drugs is an issue I won’t ever budge.
Sometimes, my focus loses its antennae.
I am not an alcoholic although I do enjoy an odd drink.
I wouldn’t say I look to fight, even if I feel ready for a hit.
I like to avoid conflict, passing on kicking up a stink.
I can not tell a good joke or come across as full of wit.
I try to give more than I take. Whatever it may cost.
I prize friendship over profits.
I treasure memories but worry about opportunities lost.
I get frustrated at times. Throwing all kinds of fits.
“I’m not a racist but…” No. Not all all. I hate racism.
I’d like to protest but found my hands tied up.
I question capitalist ways, leaning my ears to socialism.
A bully bullies because they’re bullied and hold no club.
I am, however, a disappointment.
I am a disappointment.
I am.
Drawers.
At the bottom of the unit lies a spring-loaded drawer with all my deepest and darkest utterings and thoughts.
Above that, another drawer, less-sealed, more-opened to tuck away memories warm and cold.
On top of the metaphorically wooden system, a drawer for the here and now. It has future dreams, brewing, and stewing.
One drawer shut tightly contains a world of marvellous thoughts.
Above it is an open shelf of optimism. A sliding glass door keeps in contained. Often, it is open just a tiny sliver.
Sometimes, just sometimes, I can keep everything, but what I need closed.
Mostly, however, my drawers are left open with socks and underpants spilling all over the floor.
If I were Napoleon, I’d shut the drawers and nod off.
I’m not Napoleon.
Words – The 2nd Batch.
Too many. Too few. Clumped together. Read askew.
Too often. Silence broken. Paired wherever. Empty token.
Too strong. Ground shaking. Poor weather. Earth raking.
Too desperate. Atrocious intentions. Painfully clever. Ancient inventions.
Too delightful. Descending torrent. Delivered endeavour. Willfully warrant.
Northern Rail
Points failure. Delayed.
Late from the depot. Cancelled.
Staff member unavailable. Denied.
Leaves on the line. Complained.
Due to a landslide. Declined.
Snow, ice, fog, and high winds. Failed.
Extreme heat and railway line buckling. Inconvenienced.
Overhead line equipment failure. Uncovered.
Signal failure. Terminated.
Poor Victorian planning ahead for population expansions. Unconvinced.
Heavy volumes of rail traffic.Backlogged.
Overrunning engineering works. Poorly planned.
Speed restrictions in place. Underdeveloped.
Trespassers on the line. Stupid.
Telecoms failure. Apologised.
Animals on the line. Departed.
Lineside fires. Transpired.
Death on the line. Expired.
Another tannoy apology by a robot. Delay repayed.
The good old commute.
Immigration.
Wouldn’t mind more migration and less borders.
Wouldn’t mind a little less bombing interventions overseas.
Wouldn’t mind peaceful values and ideals before responses get dished out.
Wouldn’t mind capitalism paying more taxes and seeking less havens.
Wouldn’t mind a shoulder to cry on.
Wouldn’t mind a living wage and more opportunities.
Wouldn’t mind fewer inequalities and a smidgen of hope.
Wouldn’t mind a hand of help reaching out to those who need it.
Wouldn’t mind thoughts before actions.
Wouldn’t mind understanding before judgement.
Wouldn’t mind smiles over frowns.
Wouldn’t mind less wealthy controlling corporations.
Wouldn’t mind a boom in small traders.
Wouldn’t mind dreams and dreamers discussing ideals and progress.
Wouldn’t mind more and more and more and more trees.
Wouldn’t mind water so clean you can paddle and drink in the freshness.
Wouldn’t mind the words and wisdom of the deceased generation that loved us all.
Wouldn’t mind no babies in hospitals, displaced by bombs, disease, and warmongering criminality.
Wouldn’t mind translators and cultural exchange bringing people closer.
Wouldn’t mind change.
How about you?
Jitters
If I could disappear, without causing pain, I would.
Just drift off on a mountain trail, all alone.
Not a trace would remain.
That’s just insanity talking.
To be found.
I used to smile.
Instead, my face creases like contours from a map.
I used to laugh.
Now jokes pass over me like Arctic winds on the tundra.
I used to chuckle and gleam.
It’s all replaced by a seemingly eternal cold emptiness.
I used to preach hope.
But for all its worth, I let go of that dream.
Before today, I was strong.
I slink down beneath a door frame, unable to open the handle, and let myself in.
Before today, I sought new songs.
Yet now most seem overplayed and all the same: repeat after repeat after repeat.
Before today, I had ambitions.
They slipped away, leaving an endless string of survival day by day.
Before today, I loved the rain.
Now, I greet umbrellas and raincoats and wellies as sanctuary.
Where is the old me?
Lost, maybe.
To be found.
Pumice stone.
From the tone
Said alone
The sword abandoned the sofa’s throne
“Where’s me bleeding pumice stone?!”
An end.
Stones roll inwards;
Passing fiercely;
Slamming down violently;
Smashing all in its pathway;
Tossing and turning;
Without discrimination;
Rupturing creation.
Turning solid shapes to shards;
Presenting passage;
From life to the beyond;
Savage and cleansing constructs.
An end.
This land: home.
Vikings raided, settled, and persuaded;
Flags waved, distances faded.
Outliers passed over seas – islanders no more;
Old words and legends floated on seas of time.
Joy and separation folded together;
Historic sights of sites recalled;
Steps go up, and up, and up;
These dots of green on rock feed our souls.
This land: home.
Streets Apart I
Soap Street needs a wash.
High Street is looking low.
Bank Street took my dosh.
Fast Lane is moving slow.
Maine Road has closed down.
Swan Street is full of geese.
Paradise Close makes me frown.
Winter Hill, I wore no fleece.
The Road With No Name has a sign.
Sandylands is grassy still.
Bendy Lane runs in a line.
Calm House, what a thrill!
Scotland Hall Road, hall-less.
The Soapbox, stood down.
Ice Rink, only at Christmas.
Circus Walk, devoid of a clown.
Welcome to Manchester.
Now get out!
Test.
It’s like there is nothing left. I’m drained.
Between the breeze and the wind, upended.
Struggling against the tide as it drifts away.
Pushing on, step by step, yet sinking and never gaining ground.
The sapped life comes and goes. A moment’s joy evaporates.
I could have been better. It could have been better.
But, it’s not. It isn’t. It could be. I know it could be.
It could also have been far worse. It Feels this way.
Nothing worth doing is easy, right? So they say.
It hurts. It really bloody hurts. Like loss. Yet there’s no loss. Just hurdles.
The sky glows under a bright moon as lanterns drift upwards.
A glimmer. Just a flicker. That hope.
That energy I see in their faces. I can do this. I must. I will.
Just as faiths test their masses, I must believe. I have too much to lose.
For this, I am lucky.
Drip, drop, drip.
Drip, drop, drip, rain begins to fall,
A soggy blanket over us all.
Pitter-patter, drop, drop, plop, it’s quite absurd,
Each raindrop whispers a moistened quiet word.
Many flowers giggle, the trees all prance and dance,
Worms pop up, taking their chance.
A puddle forms, a tiny sparkling sea –
A stranded haven for boats made of leaves, yippee, yippee!
Splash, splosh, splish, what a watery flowing treat,
Raindrops tip-tap-dancing over the street.
Forget not your brolly, dear old chap,
Or just you might drown in your very own lap!
The rain it mocks, it rattles, it laughs, it jeers,
Sneaking down necks, alongside strands of hair, tickling ears.
But oh, dear rain, you do as you must,
For without you, we’ll be dry and towels trust.
So drop, drip, drop, and have some fun,
For when you’re gone and done, out comes the red hot sun.
But until then, I’ll wear a joyful grin –
And a very large bucket hat to keep you from getting in!
Pour the next coffee
Pour the next coffee
When the cup gapes open
And the mouth yearns for another filling.
Let us know how it feels
When the drops flow with warmth
And flow down the gullet
Each ounce a production of love
Stimulating rapid growth of irises
Sharpening senses and awakening the mind
How does it feel to feel the heat?
The steamed milk and familiar fragrances
The deep brown darkness of hope in a cup
The riot of swirls as milk blends to coffee
The sound of a sugar lump dropped deep into an ocean
The reflection of soul upon the surface’s light reflection
The handle proudly standing out
Grip me, it calls loudly to you
You reach out, and the joy begins.
A seed of hope.
A Muslim hand could hold a Jewish hand.
White van man, Audi driver, and all around us should be survivors.
Creation and creatives devour words and art, feeding us new days and ways.
A Palestinian should be born under safe skies.
No guns, no knives, no fear: just lives.
The Scottish, English, or Welsh must walk together.
Whatever you believe, be able to show it. Be able to grow it.
Let the music of Bob Marley show one love.
Switch of the division. Let videos and lies fly away like fireflies.
Their dreams and plagues will no longer taunt and haunt us.
Together is always better. A community of unity.
Failure to success; pain to redress; broken to fixed. Live forever.
Some day we’ll find a brighter way.
It starts now: I give you a seed of hope.