Out of the Darkness

I clothed myself in shadows,
then went searching for
all my hidden secrets.
I found the biggest one
curled peacefully around you.
I left it undisturbed,
a dark lie to remember me by,
as I leave you ignorant to the last.

Outside I flick my lighter until
it reluctantly sparks.
Then with a cigarette glowing on my lips,
I emerge under the street lights
like a B-Movie bad guy.

I set off passing underneath
a patchwork of windows, whose glow
showcases silhouettes, slow dancing
under their shower’s spotlights.
Uncaring I stretch out my arm,
my cigarette falls to the ground
like a fading shooting star.
Before it hits the pavement the bus arrives.

Its windows glow,
like funeral candles.
Inside the terracotta passengers
silently sit,
Indifferent to the opening doors
and the shadow of the driver,
welcoming me aboard, like an old friend.

Lurking on the Back Row of Life


At school I always sat in the back row,
Ground down by their pointless rules.
Egged on by friend’s laughter
I easily learned to play the fool.

When forced on Sundays to attend church
At the back I’d yawn the service away.
Lounging in a pew, uncaring
My atheism defiantly on display.

On a bus I’d favour the back seat,
Stuffed full of chips and beer.
I’d lustily sing or craftily smoke
And at disapprovers sneer.

Now I lurk at the back out of habit
Full of gripes and moans.
Unable to move to the front at all
Hiding there my natural home.

Bus vs. Poem

Good ideas are like buses,
They have their own timetable.
Which doesn’t conform to reason
So don’t wait for them to turn up.

If someone tells you one is due,
Don’t get your pen and paper out.
Instead light up a cigarette,
And be prepared for a long wait.

Once one finally does arrive,
Make sure that you are ready.
Catch it no matter what it takes.
As who knows when the next one’s due.

Caught in the Act.


Someone famous must be on my bus,
People look around and fuss.
I wonder who this celeb could be,
And are they sitting near to me ?
Then I notice the CCTV,
Broadcasting for all to see.
My stubbled chin and thinning hair,
On the security screen up there.
I don’t mind that people stare,
As I slump in my chair.
With my face tired and drawn,
Barely concealing a yawn.
But what I really do regret,
Is that I’m not captured at my best.
I wished I looked more composed,
And wasn’t on CCTV picking my nose.