(Day 23) Let's hope..

Let's hope Spring stays this year longer
Than a garbled afterthought.

Let's hope in this Spring 
We are able to wander round the meadows
Near where I was born
And this Spring we are able to walk
Past the horses which always sigh at me
With a look at me you again?

Let's hope in this Spring 
We are able to walk down past the river
Round the back of Guide Bridge station
Like we wanted to do last Summer
And got stopped at least three times
By the rain.

Let's hope in this Spring
We will be able to wear shorts 
A bit more than we did last year
And this Spring
Neither of us get hit again
With Summer Flu
And don't pass it backwards
And forwards to each other
Like a warped game of tennis.

Let's hope in this Spring
We have a nice break away
And not in a hotel which 
Looks like it should have put down
Thirty years ago
And the wind keeps trying to
Throw my hat into the ocean,

Before shifting back again
Into Winter in the middle of April.

(Day 23 as noted in Day 22 was also wrote in spiralling pain
And was originally going to be a earth poem but the reasonably
Nice weather produced this Spring like poem again instead). 

(Day 22) Divorced Memories

I know you still miss
Those old rock t shirts
Which you used to parade
All over your back
Like steel tipped arrows.

Miss bouncing off the walls
Off the fishbowls
And off Big Mac Dave
When headbanging
To Nine Inch Nails's Closer
Even thou you are glad
You have now lost touch. 

Know you still miss
Your hair down your back
And the way some of the kids
Used to call you a girl
Before smiling at you mother
When she complains
About your brother
Looking like a reject
From ZZ top.

Memories and music
Interspred in the past
Like lost countries 
Divorced and sent
Into exile.

Divorced with
A special vitality 
Scattered like leaves
Into dustbins
You see how it was,

And despite the regrets
You wouldn't change a thing.

(Day 22 sadly was wrote when ill with back problems and the pain brought backMemories of bad pain when headbanging in Rock World and 
the poem became a elegy to a former self). 

(Day 21) In Flames

As I gazed at the flames of the fire

I could see your photograph burning

Until I could hear it crackling

Like a siren’s song in reverse.

I could see your smile over and over

Until it melted like cheese

Into the ashes of the flames

And the smell of that last kiss

Screamed shut against the smoke.

And with it what was once my love.


(Was out today so missed the prompt so instead wrote this short piece
looking at a fire at my parent's house and this story which is fictional
sorta told itself) 

(Day 20) Anonymous Affair

Striped lights lay across

Purple open curtains

With fragmented train tickets

Tucked in the table

When you said you loved me.

Unlit sunrises

Blinking behind clouds

Like an anonymous affair

Gone haywire

When you said you loved me.

Lost in days adrift

Crossing concrete deserts

And words like train journeys

Instead of a steaming hot coach

When you said you loved me

Which still Echoes down the hallway.

(Day 20 happened as a kinda sequel to Day 19 which described
the leaving of a holiday. This is on the journey back home)

(Day 19) Leaving Blackpool

Leaving Blackpool

All we could remember

Was the wind

Spitting in our face

To take it with us

Like a begging child.

Rarely the high street

With the shops swinging shut

Like ghosts

And the North Pier’s gates

In the wind

Despite the effort

Of the workmen.

Rarely the trams

Slipping on the tracks

And cars constantly

Doing at least 50

In a 30 mile zone.

Rarely the hotel

Which looked like the great wall

Of China

But had cracks in

The window,

Out of date wallpaper

And a cruise singer

That would have been

Too cheesy for Phoenix nights.

All we could remember

Was the half built Sainsburys

Outside the station

Lingering sketeal

Outside the station

Like  a pack of cards

Half built into a house

But always

Always the wind

Wrestling for your attention

Reeking of dropped suncream

Over the horizon of a child’s hair

Which for a moment

Looks like seagull crap

Black on the moon’s face. 

(Day 19 I was still away on. This is reflections upon leaving Blackpool. I didn't see
the prompt that day)

(Day 18) North Pier Storms

The sea calls me constantly
with watery blue eyes
and greying lines of separation
blindfolded into a barrel of
sniggering windswept giggles.

The sea calls me over and over
in forgotten, broken languahes
almost out of earshot
away from your loving arms
with a emphasis bordering on cruelty,

across dust over tracks
leading to the ferries
and pastoral scenes
collected in stained rain
before whispering goodbye,

leaving codes in the clouds
and tears on my collar
bordering on jealously,

skywriting in slow motion
with the early morning storms.

(Was away on Day 18 of Napwimo was don't know what the prompt was.
This however was wrote after a early morning walk in the rain near blackpool
north pier)

(Day 17) The day Nicolae Ceausescu died

Everybody was stood there

And waited in silence

In a nervous excitement

As they heard them both led outside

With their hands strapped

Firmly behind their backs.

Some had marched

From villages nobody had heard off

And others had been at Timisoara Square

Watching the tanks

Crunch across the pavements

Like splinters in oceans.

Some wanted to cheer afterwards

But were hushed quiet

By their superiors

And whispered to show respect

While others simply

Spat in the snow.

Some had experienced

The food rationing

And grew up with the blackouts

Accepting the suffering

For the ultimate good.

Hundreds had volunteered

And most barely

Kept a straight face

When the shots laced round the side

Colliding almost un-noticed

In the night breeze,

Buried in small change

Blood soaked in the drops

Of a rising snow storm,

A revolution whispered in the past,

A reality still tapping on the doors

Of lessons not yet learnt. 

(This piece came inspired by Scott Walker's last album 'Bish Bosh'

which featured a song called ' the day the Conducator died. 

Interested I chose to read up on Nicolae Ceausescu, who was 

put to death in by all accounts a botched trial on Christmas Day

and this piece sort of told itself)