I have discovered the river

It was there, late and lazy, dragging small branches as souvenirs along the way. Feeding itself on portions of dissolved mud. I saw it, almost hidden behind the busy motorway. My shoes were covered in a strange earthy soup. But I felt blessed. And so did the brave three-legged dog and the man with travelling eyes who accompanied him.

The Kings of Rock 'n' Roll

Classes ended at 1 o’clock. That meant we would get light lunch from the bakery. Then head to your house, where the afternoon would sound like Prefab Sprout’s cassette. And then we’d play our games until the bus came to pick me, around 6, as all the relevant girls and irrelevant boys returned home.

Nothing

There was nothing, when I fell asleep. Just a white borderless landscape. No definitive horizon. No concepts. No contradictions.

When I woke up, a whole new world had been invented. There were traffic jams all over my body. Colourful crowds sang and fought with the same intensity. Mountains grew up, opening holes in the sky. These holes hurt. Then, it rained.

And all I wanted was to sleep again.

The Horizontal Day

My eyes are set straight,
The line across the sand,
Horizontal.
V
E
R
T
I
C
A
L
S

N
O
T

W
E
L
C
O
M
E

H
E
R
E
The deep blue edge on the horizon,
Drawn with a steady hand,
Horizontal.
V
E
R
T
I
C
A
L
S

A
R
E

H
E
A
T
H
E
N
S

H
E
R
E
Clouds thin and long and regimented,
Mimicking all they overlook,
On This Horizontal Day.

Henriette

Henriette,
Even at the crack of death,
My mouth is addicted to your name.
And my heart,
Well my heart can barely speak.
But it feels.
Believe me, it feels.

Henriette,
You were the only one,
Amongst the hundreds, the only one
That my heart
Accepted as the welcome guest,
But I guess
You were always busy...

With a loveless life to live,
You’d never dare to give
Your heart to a man
That’s broken so many.

Even though it’s him
You call at night.

Great Scott

Mad scientist invents cure for madness.

Creation

Slide a finger down the nape of the spoon. Taste it. Smooth and cold on the front of your tongue and sticking to the roof of your mouth. Dip your finger in and sneak another taste. Delicious before it's even finished. And mysterious. Put all your hopes in that tin and hope. Watch it rise up. Your very own edible Frankenstein. Eyes hungry glinting in the light of your kiln as hot air breathes life into its pours.

Where the Range Rovers grow

My eye, so ceaselessly cries,
For on this sunny Sunday afternoon,
My parents only care about trees and birds.
I want them to take me
Where the Range Rovers grow.

Where noses are stretched
At the smell of English roses,
Themselves inclining their heads
At the parked Mercedes Benz.

Don’t take me to the swans,
Let me feed CEO’s with eau de cologne,
See them fight each other with handshakes.

Take me to the place
Where everything’s expensive,
Except for the heir, that is free
To be whatever he wants to be.

The Monster!

Monster found! Strange name. Killed namer.

Old

Bones click into place as you stand,
Tracing the wrinkles and lines with my hand.
Legs are heavy, footsteps small,
Speech a withered, tiresome drawl.

But through your eyes grey and creased,
I see a life lived underneath.
With tears and laughter mixed behind,
Life and memories, soul and mind.

Mr. Winter

Snowflake,
Open your arms and dance, dance
Until you let yourself fall
To the ground, surrendered
To the laws of gravity.

Little drop of rain,
Come to me, slowly, slowly
Fall into me, kill my thirst,
Turn to ice from the weeping sky,
Fall into my eyes,

Pretend it was me who cried.
Pretend it is me that rains.

Excuse me if the air I exhale
Turns into a deadly whisper.
If those sweet words I mean to say
Are nothing but thunder.

Once, I wasn’t like this.
Once, I was all peace, bliss
And good intentions.

Samurai - The Art of War

A samurai walks a pebbled road. Grass whistles at him, as he graces a deserted village. Tentatively he approaches the temple at which he should meet his master. The hairs on his neck rise as he slides his hand down towards his sword. Alone, he feels watched. He slips his shoes from his feet, to allow him to see without looking down. He glides towards the door of the temple. He stops. His feet are warm. Looking down he knows without seeing. A body was there. He tightens the grip on his sword, for he is not alone.

A Year

Think of all the things that can happen in a year. 365 days. Think of all the laughter and the tears and the smiles that can fill these weeks. Life is too short, they say, whoever they are. When we're young we want to be old, when we're old we want to be young. No one is ever satisfied with where they are in life. But me, I'm satisfied. I can look ahead and I can look behind and be alright with where I am.
It's been a wonderful year.

Sounds of Progress

A yawn, a sigh, a pause.
A tap, a tick, a tap.
A yawn, a sigh, a pause.
A stretch, a sniff, a crack.
A tap, a tap, a tap.
A yawn, a tap, tap-a, tap.

The day I was born

I would like to remember the day I was born. The freckled lady who held me as Michel Preud’Homme back in the good old inglorious days. Was it cloudy? Was it rainy? Probably, given the fact we’re talking of Salford, Greater Manchester. I would like to recall the whiteness of those sheets, the greatness of my mother’s tears, the fear in my heart. Or the hope. Not all of us have the luck of being born in a place called “Hope Hospital”. Only the ones who come from that part of the world…

The King of the Monsters – The Battle

A graveyard made of office blocks, a city battlefield. In the blood stained centre of the city stand two-behemoth monsters, Godzilla and King Kong. The battle starts. Fists, tail, rubble, everything is a weapon. They grapple and roll, falling to the ground. They eventually go down; hurt, wounded they stumble to their feet, before falling to the ground again. Broken. A helicopter approaches the grounded monsters. Target locked, missiles launched. A cloud of death fills the sky. Smoke floats in the air for what seems like hours, until it finally clears and shows the one true king of the monsters.

Flowers

As soon as flowers are clipped and given to someone special, they start to die. Are we selfish for enjoying the flower's slow demise or are we giving it a purpose near the end of its days?
We all want to have a purpose in life. Sometimes it really can be as simple as making someone smile.

The Photograph

Of all things you the photograph, are true. Still and impartial. Not like film or literature. But you cannot be true. What I see when I look at you.. at me. At me and you, cannot be true. I'm not vain. But I am not that either. Why do you delight in capturing reality, when the delusion is far more appealing. Perhaps one day when we are both old I will look at you, and you will look at me and we will look at each other and we will think that it all wasn't really that bad.

The man who cried

It was only half a day ago I met the man who cried. He was tall and fat and letting people see the tears roll down. I was quite surprised because I didn’t know men were able of such a thing. He could at least have covered his face.

The King of the Monsters – The Challenger

Godzilla, a monster steeped in myth, stands in the middle of the destruction he has caused. The army does its best to evacuate anyone who has not already left or been killed. A war like scream shatters an already fractured scene. Godzilla looks up. The people stop in stunned surprise. There is a second monster. The ground shakes as footsteps come ever closer. Closer and closer the noise becomes until the challenger stands facing Godzilla. Now there are two monsters, but there can only ever be one king of the monsters.

Resolutions

I'll eat better this year. Exercise more. Speak less and instead open up my ears. I'll spend less money on things I don't need. Keep my apartment clean and do the dishes at least every couple of days. Find someone who loves me. Get a job I enjoy. Start saving. Keep in touch with old friends.

These are old resolutions for an old year. This year, I just want to be me.

The Violinist

The wind in front of you and I after,
Pushing your soft fragrance towards me.
I'm there. My head in your neck, delicate.
And you knowing just what to do,
Like a violinist holding his violin.

Raymond says:

I had forgotten to look for you. Your pictures. Locked in drawers – the bottom ones – to escape the temptation. To avoid getting distracted from Mr. Gorbatchev, Mr. Reagan, walls and federations, parliaments and constitutions. To avoid love. I mean: you. Ten full years spent in a box: a junkie, yes, but an academic junkie, nevertheless. One of the students looked like you. My career was in danger for five seconds. Then I looked beyond her, as I usually do.

The King of the Monsters – Rampage in the city

The earth shakes. Windows begin to crack and break. The people are screaming and shouting as they run from their buildings. A shadow engulfs them. BOOM. A fist punches through an office block. People scream and die as the monster tears through the city. The army tries to stop him, but their helicopters only become an extra toy for him to throw, as he continues on his rampage through the city. The monster appears completely unstoppable, and he is surely the King of the Monsters.

Conversion

I have become bold in my insistence on non-conformity,
having re-birthed out of
the sin of church-halls in boxes
lined row on row by crosses
mixed up and faltering at the hip.
Too old and rusty,
they need a little oil in the hinges,
a little life in the bones
(a little bit of Smugglers on a long winters night)
You pluck a tune on your guitar, the one they all forgot.
I know the sound.
I remember.
There must be some way out.
This round's on me.