good and easy

some whiskey and cant think for 3 days
bearded alone in this late expensive bar
full of people
who neither seek nor speak to me
my smart trousers and sports
top and
this invisibility is the gift of age when returning to
previous haunts carrying
the years you’ve sat on
to new young men and women with the energy
and youth to deny
or believe
especially what comes out of pretty mouths hovering in the air
where smoke would have
when i last sat here drinking cheaper beer
and watching barstaff as old
as my brother

nothing lasts and a filthy pigeon sitting on my knee is as forgettable
as the death of a friend
occasionally understanding or glimpsing how this life
means an even chance of seeing 70

yet still
its good and easy to sit at a table or perch on the edge of the crowd
watching mainly to listen
and supping the whiskey they down without tasting
cos the years i’ve gathered are ok
and age doesnt weaken the arms or mind if you keep the spirit in health
or at least in the fight

morning walk

the nuts on their morning walk
rarely together
usually single
slowly loping
in floppy hats or hoods up

one spoke to me
asking if I’d prefer to be in her building instead
behind the iron fence and

small birds flitting

i might very well be one day
so didn’t


after reading some books by david foster
wallace you get an idea why he
took his own life

he knew and understood everything how everything works from people
to business to fracture and everything in-between

after this there is nowhere left to go

no wonder
no magic
no joy of the soul
no hope

body drop

is it chemical it drops like the temperature
feel it in the centre of my body

watch things happen
as a passenger
no real cares

is this what they call bi-polar
one then the other
i refuse to be manic
my will
can overcome chemicals

hayle in winter

a fighter

got up at 4.a.m.

watched a documentary

a fourty year old fighter who was
had lost his way

still travelled
fought in tournaments
from vladivostok to

he moved between friends’ houses
washing in buckets
huge thick beard ex- and present

eyes squinting face lived in but
body lean taut unexpected under dirty clothes

and he was

sat back waiting
pulling at beard staring at floor as others
practiced and fought shadows

said he was going to
get beaten
he was old

cracked a cheek bone
to go with old cracked ribs disjointed

the fight was stopped
said he wasn’t concentrating
walked off

he slept rough

one night someone stole his
which had medals photographs
basically his whole
he said this matter of fact

without pity

the actual spirit of a fighter
a year older than I and
every day


worked their way round the room busy tables
low light
on heels
see-through dresses lots of leg
arrived at mine

would you like a dance? both of us for the price of one?
no thanks
he’s scared
i don’t like skinny girls
do you prefer fatties?
fatter than you

they headed for the next table
i watched
the girl on stage peel

and bend

churned earth

like WW1 veterans sitting on hospital beds shivering shaking jolting
at imagined shells
in trenches ankle deep in rats water bodies
cigarette stubbs

i cringe at the sound of a voice or a phone
would cast them all to sink in the mud
and churned earth of no-mans land

but the new world of the capitalist has become
a no-mans land

its too hard to keep your head below the parapet and above the dirt water

the shells of other people’s lives fall
on your