Free Coffee

Every sense is being eroded away
by this stale atmosphere
until I become just another grey face
answering the phone
realising that I've achieved nothing
and never will.
They provide us with free coffee
which we're supposed to be grateful for
but all it does is heighten the despair.
The only way out of this place is up the corporate ladder
-- where you'll get to harvest fresh souls --
or suicide.
These thoughts make me feel masochistic
so I grab a free coffee
it makes me want to shit.
I slip away to the toilet
it won't flush
I look at the bowl:
it says more than any yearly review
and I know it's time to knot the noose.

Damn Condition

This damn condition comes and goes
laying any foundations to my life is impossible
it renders me impotent to aspirations
forces me to live in the present
whilst running up a debt to the future.

I grab wildly at scraps of happiness
with no thought for those it hurts
as long my ego can be massaged
it’s a few moments of relief
where I can hold my head high.

My neck aches from looking over my shoulder
not just at what’s coming
but what I’ve left in my wake
a self esteem in tatters
and a soul not far behind.

Only one thing keeps me going:
one day I held my Grandad’s war pistol to my temple
helped up there by a bottle of Blue Label Smirnoff
when I suddenly had an epiphany:
how uneventful would life be without misery?

Spilt Vodkas

Her fake tan is rubbing off onto my jeans
helped on its way by countless spilt vodkas
this is no lipstick on the collar
sadly it’s just friendship

she’s crying that she’ll never be loved

that her drinking will kill her

that she’s going crazy

no different to any other girl on a Friday night
 
she’s already loved

but I’ll never make her spill vodkas

and that’s the drama she craves

all I can do is put my shot glass next to hers

rejection on a daily basis
even unsaid
is enough to kill a man’s soul

I tell her I have to go

she seems distressed

but it’s not borne from any longing desire

which is why I HAVE to go

and scrub the St Tropez from my denim.

The Cat's Eyes

There’s a dead cat outside
slowly decaying in the scorching heat
a crow flies down and examines it
begins pecking at its lifeless eyes
I’m watching all this from my office
surrounded by needless stress
at the mercy of broken air conditioning
how I wish I were that cat.

Cornered by Ambition

My grip on ambition is slowly loosening

each passing day is relentless toil

all the trappings are out of reach

the procrastination of my youth shames me

my current destination appalls me.

No more irons in the fire

reticent from being burnt in the past

by my own laziness.

Blame the world

from behind my directionless life

heading towards a forgetful oblivion.

A strong man wants to be remembered

by making his mark

so he’ll be talked about in years to come

like all my heroes

but only one in a million is a hero

leaving many thousands of cowards.

Maybe I can write my way out of this

avoid this faceless future

leave my mark

get the respect I crave from those I despise

or just give up

and await retirement.

Recluse

I spent a period of my life as a recluse

consumed by a sadistic self hatred

I couldn’t see the point in going out

society didn’t want me blotting it’s landscape

my parents became very angry

a mask for sympathy or shame?

probably both.

their beloved son not reaping the rewards

that a twenty one year old should be.

every parent wants their child to be happy

free

and fucking 

I had every cliché going.

terrible poetry

although some might say that hasn’t changed.

lost all interest in sex

which kills a man’s purpose.

wished death upon myself every night

obviously, it never came.

I pestered doctors for help

they could offer me nothing

I had to rely on my own determination

something which had brought me little before

this time it was serious though

and it paid off

a man losing his freedom is a real tragedy

finding it again is beautiful

lines drawn are erased

new ones put down

women return

life blooms.

Local Rag

I flick through the local rag

there’s no news for me

but they’re not likely to feature strippers

so I shouldn’t complain.

I reach the dreaded jobs section

sales sales sales

admin admin admin

heartbreak heartbreak heartbreak

where are the jobs for me?

executive fine wine taster

professional lounger

fully qualified ogler

who dreams of anything else?

who wants to be ground down every day?

a good drive would probably help

I look at the sports pages

the men in there have drives

they may not be in the big leagues

but the sports kids always got the girls

I throw the paper down in disgust

this town will be the death of me.

Solidarity

Solidarity is a false security
no two men have the same mind
subscribe to your own madness
let it take you to the very brink
look beyond the chaos
at everyone else
in similar boats
but crowded
with no room to breathe
relax back into your alienation
pour a drink
raise it to your soul
laugh.

Black-Listed Magazine - Acceptance

Black-Listed Magazine have paid me the honour of featuring three of my poems in their latest update. It's a great magazine with plenty of rough hewn passion and disgust, so check it out!

My poems featured are ones on this very blog: Every Day in the Office, Hot Drive and Desperate Days.

Torture

Working in an office full of women is any man’s hell

the sense of humours are too different

you have to throw endless caution to the wind

and the worse thing is that you can’t stare

scrub that

the worst thing is that my desk faces the filing cabinet

all day I’m subjected to temptation

there’s bending over

relentless wiggling

this could truly be any man’s heaven

but there’s constantly female eyes watching me from behind

“That Benny’s a real pervert” they’d whisper

“He was looking down the back of your low slung trousers” they’d tell

I can afford the quickest of glimpses

from the very corner of my straining eye

but the frustration kills me

it’s worse than nothing at all

I need to move desks.

Gutter Eloquence Magazine - Acceptance

I bring good news that the mercurial Jack T Marlowe has accepted my poem 'Free Coffee' for issue 21 of his great online zine Gutter Eloquence. Check it out as you may well love it.

Chores

I tell her that I’ll take the rubbish out later

for now there’s football and wine

I go to get some cheese

she blocks my way

yells that later is too late

I’ll disturb the neighbours

like they never make noise

fucking all hours

what I wouldn’t do to go down there whilst he’s out

I begin to get a semi

realise I’m in the middle of an argument and lose it

damn

I tell her “Ok! Ok! I’ll take rubbish out”

she walks off victoriously

I go straight to the fridge

grab the cheese and head back to the TV

this is the life

wine, cheese and sport

if only that blonde from downstairs was here too

I hear footsteps go to the kitchen

the silence of exasperation is deafening

she storms in demanding to know why I lied

I tell her it can wait

I won’t wake the neighbours

she can’t judge me by her own noisy standards

look how many plates you crack or chip compared to me

that last statement dives like a whale

a long list of forgotten chores is read off to me

I tune out after a while as there’s an important free kick in the game

she’s staring at me expectantly

if I don’t give a decent answer now then I’m sleeping on the sofa

but what’s she been saying?

That damn sofa is too small for me

I look out the window for hope

I find it

the blonde from downstairs is putting out her rubbish

“Ok! Ok! I was wrong. I’ll put the rubbish out” I say

right answer

she walks off victoriously

I rush to the bins

chat to the blonde

she’s split up with that dick who fucks her

my semi returns.

Forbidden Lover

It’s 2 a.m and I’m on my way to see my forbidden lover she pounds the dirty backstreets of my mind does things that most girls would slap me for asking but her looks will never soothe my ego that’s why she remains a drunken rendezvous usually it would take me an hour to stumble this far but the sexual energy cuts through the drink I’m making good time does she cry herself to sleep when I leave or is that just my arrogance talking? perhaps it's her using me as an idiot with a hard cock because I’m certainly that we could be very happy together she makes me feel like a degenerate the only girl who’s managed that but this is a small town what would my friends say? I mean, she’s beautiful when she comes that screwed up face flushing imperfect breasts heaving completely lost to the passion no wonder I come so hard with her my insecurities may mean I’m lonely forever but who wants to compromise? she certainly doesn't she's got me - a real prince! these thoughts have done little to slow me down before I know it she’s answering the door wearing nothing but a t-shirt I press the palm of my hand against her pussy my middle finger lying perfectly in between her lips she gasps and arches her head back for now I'm hers.

Another 40 Years

I’m quietly reflecting with a Guinness

black, Dublin velvet in the corner of a pub booth

the rain is hammering down outside

shading the day with a miserable hue

work is a good half day away

I’m in Heaven

a group of old men hold court in the next booth

they’re talking of landlords past

Tommy Mochran was always dapper

but then they all were back then

I look at the bar to find the current landlord

this chainpub has no landlord

just a succession of business graduates

with no time to have beers waiting for the regulars

they’re too busy working out profit margins

these old men seem ridiculously happy

too old to work

too young to worry about death

they look forward to each day

they’re much like me when I was 18

this resemblance fills me with hope

maybe one day I’ll recapture that exuberance

the last decade’s worn it away

perhaps due to unrealistic expectation

did these old men have similar worries?

it’s easy to say they were from a more simple time

but I’m sure they wanted to put more than bread on the table

they wanted to nail that centrefold to it as well

I’ll find out the answer one day

but first I have to pay my dues

rushing out into the rain

to face life head on

for another 40 years.

Every Day in the Office

This office surrounds me with mediocrity

conversations are banal at best

I sink into my chair and try to fight the boredom

I take on some filing and lose

I look out the window at the office across the road

see endless reflections of myself

soul after soul at similar desks

clutching on to nothing

they never dreamt of this as a kid

a gang of three boys and a girl go past

they’re carrying crates of beer

lucky, young, free bastards

that girl will be crying by the end of the day

even the best male friend can break a girl's heart

the girls in this office are full of anxiety

all think they’re too fat

I’d fuck every single one of them

apart from the bitch of a boss

I do have some morals

lunchtime comes and there’s a stay of execution

there’s nowhere to go except the supermarket

the trolley collectors look blissfully happy

who argues with you over a trolley?

I sit in my car and eat my sandwiches

I’m surrounded by doppelgangers

all wondering where it went wrong

brushing the crumbs from their seats

I get back to the office

those damn kids are probably drunk now

that girl’s discovering what lies ahead from men

I’m sorting out the photocopier

I win the heartbreak stakes by a shade.

The Creep

I sat in the empty carriage of a late night train
fighting against the drink to stay awake
the world was flying by outside
but I appeared to be going nowhere
trapped in the present
no company but for a flickering light
compared to some relationships it was heaven
then the creep walked in
he had the hair of a newborn
but the wrinkles and desperation of experience
he sat down opposite me
I made a point at looking at the empty seats around us

“Where you heading to, young man?” he asked
“There’s only one stop.” I fired back
“I meant after that.
“The bridge.”
“The bridge?”
“Yeah the bridge by the station. I live under it”

the creep looked concerned
I noticed dried spittle in the corner of his mouth
probably caused by medication

“On a night like this?! No, I insist you come back to mine. It’s real warm.” he offered.

I began to wonder if it was just dried spittle

“Do you like jazz?” he asked

I do like jazz as a matter of fact

“It’s not bad” I said vaguely

he began reeling off names of musicians I’d never heard of

“Never heard of them” I replied
“Well come back to mine and I’ll educate you” he suggested

I ignored him and his offer of tutoring

“I’ve got good wine. It’s come all the way from France” he explained.

I looked out the window
the train was passing a small town
everyone there was probably asleep
lucky bastards
I noticed the creep wasn’t wearing a coat
just a tatty, tanned shirt and some ill-fitting trousers
it was November
some time passed

“You ever been curious about men?” he finally asked
“Only when they’re staring at my girlfriend.” I answered

I noticed some fear in his eyes 
he didn’t have many years left
but he wasn’t ready to go
not whilst there was so much to take.

“I bet you’ve got the perfect helmet.” he guessed

He was right
nice shape with a real smooth finish.

“Look, I’m tired, old man. But if you go two carriages that way, there’s a boy in there. Real curious. Has a saxophone with him too. Very jazzy.” I lied

the old man stood up and looked up the carriages
he stroked his chin
some of the dried spittle (or worse) flaked off

“But I didn’t see anyone. I looked. I looked in all the carriages…” he pondered
“He was asleep when I saw him. Slumped down. Easily missed” I replied
“Wait here. I’ll be back in a minute. Wait right here”

he eagerly shuffled out of the carriage
I got up and went two carriages down in the opposite direction
eventually the creep returned
he looked angry

“Why did you lie to me?! I thought we were friends!” he bellowed
“He’s gone? Are you sure? Maybe he got off at the last station?” I said
“There’s only one stop. You know that! You fucking know that!”

the poor fucker began to cry
He really wanted to devour me
or anyone, to be honest
he wanted to suck the very marrow from the bones of my soul
just like me and any girl I’ve ever met
we weren’t that different really
tears trickled down his face
they followed the crazy roadmap of broken capillaries covering his skin
each one told a story of how the creep had given up on shame a long time ago
he held up his shaking, pleading hands

“The cancer took away my erections! It doesn’t mean I don’t get turned on” he screamed

is this really all we have to look forward to?
Desperation?
Disease?
Impotence?
I let out a long deep sigh.

“You give me ten minutes and I’ll meet you under the bridge at the station.” I offered.
“Oh yes, young man! I’ll pop to the shop and get some wine! I know a shop nearby! They’re very discrete!” he triumphantly bellowed.

The train stopped and we both got off

“Ten minutes. No later. And no kissing.” I warned.

The creep hurried off
stumbling as he went
I got in a taxi and went straight to my girlfriend’s
she had everything I wanted
that poor son of a bitch is probably still waiting under the bridge
getting older and older.

Forgotten Woman

She is the forgotten woman stranded on the sexual sidelines her demeanour keeps her there crafted by bitchiness and bullying it stops her feeling human the only release is to pleasure herself dreaming of what it’s like to let go to feel a writhing, twisting body on top filling her with passion passion she longs to reciprocate if only society would accept her just for one day as a living, breathing, horny being she’d overcome that hurdle of doubt be able to tell men to fuck her like every woman should bring life to her soul instead of tears to her eyes she needs to deny her design for life stop masturbating let the frustration begin to kill her then snare a man any man they’re all easy then this tragedy will end and many more will begin.

Would be lovers

Here we are, young would be lovers
between underground platforms
the smell of brake dust heavy in the air
busy footsteps of the city long faded into silence
even with the fluorescent lighting revealing her flaws
she’s the most beautiful girl I’ll ever meet
it’s as if she’s been plucked from my subconscious
to satisfy every urge I’ve ever had
there’s hesitation in our eyes
hearts wrestling with guilt
trying to forget about faithful lovers back at home
but resisting this carnal passion would be a crime
our tongues entwine
hands run up and down each others bodies
a dress rehearsal of what’s to come
we break off to an awkward silence
her boyfriend weighing heavy upon her mind
for once in her life she has no answers
she desperately looks in my eyes for guidance
sees nothing but tears in the morning
I finally get a glimpse of her true soul
it’s straining at the seams as we depart
her southbound
me northbound.

End of a Friendship

Masculinity's breathing down my neck
no man wants to be a girl's best friend
only their best fuck
that's why I've cut our friendship
she can't acknowledge my y chromosome
this blindness makes me angry
makes a mockery of my arrogance
she's bawling in my face for answers
the drink always did loosen her emotions
I cut through my lust and turn vicious
blame all the shortcomings on her
the trust I once bestowed in her eyes has gone
replaced by fear and sorrow
she tries to hug me
but I've got to prove I'm a man
I push her away
smash my glass into the bar
the last vestiges of bourbon slip from the shards
trickle onto the dirty floor
and evaporate
just like our friendship.

Hot Drive

The sun beats down on my aging Citroen
sapping what's left of my spirit
on this goddamn drive to work
to an industrial estate hell
which even Satan would wince at.

The misery is punctuated only by girls

stripped to the bare minimum by the heat

revealing tanned flesh in all its glory

for a moment I forget about my in-tray

until I see my supervisor getting out of her Ford

a carriage straight from the underworld

paid for by misery and spite

and driven on pure arrogance.

I can see her legs

withered, veined and a sickly shade of death

the same fate that awaits my soul

I turn the car round and head home.