Scotland's Heatwave

This has just been published in an anthology called "A Book of Dreams"  will update details as and when I get them.  Enjoy.

Dishevelled by the sheer numbers

Faces shining from the heat

Of all the other shining faces

We multiply the temperature

With gasped hellos

All gulping at the thick humid

Vapours, guzzling down a drink

Or maybe escape with a smoker

We look for a solution

To cool outside

Disappointed by the fiery

Clouds retaining clammy

Low pressure systems broiling

We wither under heavy skies

And cannot sleep

Un

Run out of reasons

Looking for a motive

For anything

For everything

Every ‘WHY’ shouts back

Another giant question mark

And in creeps

Everything must go

Either that

Or I will

The world’s not big enough

For me

And my unanswered questions.

Indulgent One

In an old space

altered beyond recognition

as two floors, three at a push

become one

and a huge shark is replaced

by a great white plaster wall

and a DJ, one-eared at his phones

sways where once

a crocodile swam

with a chipped face

as it bore us on its back

inexplicably halved

by an old oil drum.

Yet I recall the emptiness

and the atmosphere

before the revellers come

sitting like a regular

waiting for the rest.

The newly fat

and recently bald

or greying

reminds us

that it wasn’t yesterday.

Herds and Flocks

The activity around me

The works

The offices

The traffic

Feels like death

A slow plod

Of monotony

Boredom

Numbness

Leading to the grave

For years I’ve sat

Here in this garden

Listening

The voices change

The fashions move

But it’s all the same

Holidays

Football

Money troubles

The same

The same

The same

Sirens hoot

Every day

Heart attack

Fire

Stroke

Always those

Seagulls whirl

Sparrows call

In them I see

Life, freedom

But it’s really

Just animal

instinct

Anger

We’ve all been angry enough

to kill someone

red mist and adrenalin

but somehow we don’t.

We shout, we scream

we smash the furniture

but the brakes kick in

and breathlessly

we leave it

sleep on it

and think again

yet some don’t

and we call them monsters

and deny that we’ve ever known

the touch of fury.

Composition No 2

Here's an old favourite:

Tensing, straining, holding muscles

Contort stance and visage

Breaks for readjustment

Turtle’s head touching cloth

Sitting, pensive, relief from strain

Stomach empty yet full

Adjusted and cleansed

But still the remnants

Are leaving on parachutes

Of fairy’s wing

Dented and creased re-cycled

The silvering handle makes

The orifice sing

And all is gone

Round the bend

Mank Boliday Honday

Sunny skies said Michael

and everyone smiled

and rummaged in the closet

for the lost sandals

and the hat of straw

we’d never ever wear.

Blue and bright our Monday

with everyone off work

all barbecues and picnics

by the green lakeside

that we never see

until this time of year

Hot and sweaty bedtime

with everyone awake

the duvet on the carpet

face stuck to the pillows

remains of the day

still buzzing in our minds