men, poetry

Crossed Legs

Crossed legs

Fixed expression

‘Any spare change?’

Glittering stubble and rotten apple cheeks

Invisible and camouflaged in pavement colour

Street textures

Of course he has a can by his side

Wouldn’t you take anything to

Hide from the hard surfaces

Sharp edges and yet he is there

I don’t have any change

Too busy running to stay in place

To accumulate coins

And we are all one bad day

From sitting down

Crossed legs

Fixed expression

‘Any spare change?’

But desperation

Hardens and focuses a man

Like in romantic comedies

Except you’re stalking life

Thinking it is mutable

And you are not

Maybe he sat down because

He figured out

It is the other way


love, poetry, women



Ask me something

About myself

Something complex and personal

I’m not carrying baggage

Past my allowance

But sometimes

I just want to feel

I’m not invisible


A cuddly toy who sits bitter watches

Ask me



beauty, love, men, poetry, women

Coffee, with demons.

Being good


Magic spells to ward old devils away

Being able to leave your phone unattended,

Without the low hum of fear

Running nails down your spine

But no one notices

Because you’re supposed to

And no cookies for the bad boy

Who is being a good man,

Coffee with my devils,

Black, no sugar

But he ladles dessert spoons worth,

Into his

She’s asleep,

Could go through and tell her,

But no, goodness is simpler

And I don’t beg

There is no notion of getting lucky

There is

There isn’t

I know magicians

And she told me about

Compassionate compromise

So, in the wan hours of morning,

Sat and talking,

With my demons,

Educated to a point of refinement,

It is almost invisible.

And the only things cut are

The horns from his head,

But sometimes,

They still sting.

beauty, love, men, poetry

Paternal Column

All now is father,

Bear the pangs

With aplomb

Voice in the throes of

A roar and how much better

To be heard than to find

No one was listening in the first place

Say less, act more,

A little more kindness and gentle ferocity of spirit,

Here, no hope but action.

And when you find weariness

Has the force of gravity,

I will be your column.

No matter how deep the cracks

Go inwards

beauty, love, masculinity, poetry


The smoke coils upwards,

Faint and always in the process

Of becoming something else

Invisible to the eye

But sensed

When you’re free to be quiet

I replenish in solitude,

Connect to the self,

As the day rubs its eyes,

Breathes in and if you

Concentrate with the earnestness of

A child’s wish,

You get to breathe with it



Burdened with the charge of

Dissatisfied hungers,

quiet concerns,

But still,



beauty, love, masculinity, poetry, women

Civil Twilight

Does the soul bruise

Breathe in the chill perfume

Of evening

As civil twilight tips its hat

In my direction

Spent days in comfortable silence

Speaking on the page

Life is a symphony

Some melodies remain

Others added

Some dissonance

Kept and others

Are wrong notes

Useful to remind me

That the trick is to keep playing.

love, masculinity, poetry, women

Meat, Salt, Water.

Not so much simple

As elegant

Tender to the possibilities

But within myself

A king in his kingdom

Tasted failure more than once

But won’t swallow it

Until the alchemy of determination

Makes it sweet

And made sleek with certainty

Happy without the pofaced rhetoric of

a past where I believed

I knew what happened when you’re

Making other plans

Escaping the idea there was a way to

Have my cake and eat it too

But now there is meat

Salt and water

Strong enough to bear it all

Love until you bruise.

Leave you to sleep and

Watch you

Ache with all the sweet, daft shit

I’m too strong to say

But what you feed in me