Holy Cow

the ritual of disclosure

that striptease of discovery

makes liars of us all

yet those forgeries of love

and softly spoken fables

soon become our sacred cows

Little Porkies

she took a piece
delicious little tart
I spun her some yarn
on the off chance
she still harboured
any romantic illusions
some tired old cliché
from the top shelf
an awkward confection
of fractured truths
and outright posture
I can sell snow
I know my face
is my best device
I don’t rehearse
I do it alfresco
but it all joins up
in the ancient ritual
and no-one gets hurt
so there’s no crime committed
.

Meat On The Table

what can I say?
I needed the brass
we can argue the ethics
it won’t put meat on the table
I’d steal for my own
I’d probably kill
too raw for you?
so what would you do
there in my shoes?
.

Ghosts In The Blood

you got ghosts in your blood   you best get you some stony   I got the fear on  roll me one too    I’m bound to get lucky   I’m prepared to die trying   you can fetch me solace   from another man’s gutter   because I’m headed home   where there will be a welcome   or a maybe just a lynching   they might have forgotten   I hope they’ve forgiven   what’s done is done   and I paid my dues 

I don’t believe in resurrections    or in tearful reconciliations    the past is gone forever    ghosts take shape in its shade    and my head is haunted    with that fearful geometry    and the friends undone    by time and tide   you take your best shot   and maybe another   you might win some    but you’ll likely lose more   no-one passes this way     unless they pay the toll

The Final Straw

I lost my spit and shine

And the all weather finish

That had served me so well

Against the inclement

I had been less than diligent

With my applications

You might call me lazy

But I was tired of the front

And dropped my guard

The signature of a chump

I took the blows due me

And maybe more besides

But there’s always a final straw

An injury that cannot be borne

Often it’s a concealed blade

Nestled in the hand of a friend

I’d be a hypocrite to complain

My dabs were all over that instrument

The blood on my hands was not my own

My complicity was beyond all reasonable doubt

.