The best man I know

This isn’t a poem or a stupid picture, this is about the bestest man I know. Jeff Powell, my uncle. Today I found out he has a few days left to live an has been moved to a hospice and tomorrow Morning I am getting the train into town and buying some of his favourite sweets and going to visit him alone. Everyone else has work.

Right now I am sat behind the grange, a building near my mothers and I am lost. I need a friend. He is the bravest and best man I know.

He took me to football matches when I was a kid and my dad wasn’t around. He made me cheese and tomato sauce sandwiches. He gave me my first cigar.

He got me into Liverpool FC. When I was five or six, a match day program from liverpool vs Villa. I ran to my friend Stevens house to show him. The goalkeeper, david James, had my first-name as his second. How cool is that! And they play in red!

I was set for life. YNWA.

Tomorrow I will try not to cry, not because I do not want him to be sad but because I want to get the words out and tell him how much I fucking admire the man.

You’ll Never Walk Alone Uncle Jeff. Never.

Silence everywhere

There is a silence in your skin
It covers everything
There is beauty in your angles
A blue moon caught in your tangles.

But I am gone
I left
Checked out.

The street is lit with
A blue moon

And still I hear your silence

Letter to living

Some mornings, you shouldn’t fight
The fight
Be it the good or the bad
And the feelings that you feel
Will be neither happy
Nor sad.
Those are the mornings you sleep
Or realise
Everything kills you
Slowly but surely.
Some quicker than others
But the result is the same.
Those mornings
Like last February
Happen more often
Once they start. But it is okay.
Everyone gets those mornings.
Love can kill you too
But it is not something I
Would recommend.
Next time,
Sleep in.

Silent Poems

She wanted me to stop writing
Stupid little poems for her.
That’s what she called them,
She would rather silence
From me for her.
But if I stopped writing
And only offered silence
She would still mistake one
For the other.

Red Lipstick

Outside the window
Everything is covered in a haze
Coloured like that red lipstick you
Would wear.
And my fingertips were coated
In it’s hue.
And everything I would touch
Becomes covered too.
Those days, everything is smeared
With the colours of forgotten

It’s Hard To Give A Shit These Days

I had spent the last few weeks
And getting familiar
With a girl with
hodierno tempore difficile est aliquod flocci facere
Written on her arm
Or something similar.
I liked that on her sleeve
Where her heart should be.
Her heart was hidden
From me
But I liked the chase.
She first told me
Something she heard from history
That there is an infinite amount of hope
In this world, but not
For people like us.
She was disappointed I did not fuss
Because I had to agree,
There was no hope for people like me
Or her
Or us together.
I said it was no bad thing.
I said I lost my lucky ring once
Well, I had lent it and lost something
Far more precious
And that came with the territory
And whomever had the ring had
Forgotten me.
So to me,
Hope is like a rope they give you
And if I can be true,
I’d rather do without it.
She said I was full of shit
But she liked me,
This surprised me.
She said not to worry,
Death is in no hurry
And like the tattoo where her heart should be says
It’s hard to give a shit these days.

Vicious Circle

… How it ends
Or how it begins
And losing track of the middle
It’s about eyes
And hands
And long ago lips,
And broken promises
And broken people
Who fit just about
But roughly.
Round and round and round
Forgetting the common ground.
This is not…