Friday, 13 November 2020






Never stop dreaming, blow soft on embers,

dream with me and we will remember

those promises we both have spoken

and how some spells cannot be broken.

Veil yourselves with darkest night,

cloak yourselves in stinging spite,

show no fear, shed no tears,

raise shields of hide; shoulder spears.

Stand fast before all tempests fouling,

resist all shock-eyed potent growling:

come false shapes, come sly guises,

for tonight, my friends, Angel rises.


You are never far from my heart,

hearing cries of ‘why down there?’

If I could reply, I’d say, how high?

From here, blocking out world

shrieking frenzied rage, 

shatter hand with storms and plague,

splintered thrice-fold in horror screaming

here lies an apt place to start dreaming.


And as you began to die,

he began to live. Paths crossed

under blind unfeeling stars,

You held each other once, maybe twice:

battleships rising;

setting different courses

following separate trails together entirely:

yours predetermined, lashed and bound

for thunderblack bleak midwinter solstice

and is it fair to swop blonde wig for hair

You might have sung,

among pews long

on faithful catchers of canker catechisms 

as we both,

be-spelled in crystal moment,

watch him grab a football

to kick goal for Amen.


He grew tall, strong

and you’re long gone my dear friend.

Sobbing as pallid they palled

your coffin, cold shouldered it,

some words: I couldn’t be bothered.


Those tears, well,

they were real enough,

drawn with pails deep

in driven nails;

nights of shattered sleep,

dreams so heavy

they drown us in pillows

rot us wretched;

root out weeping willows.


Angel kisses for we two,

for there were many present

soaking, soaking up the air,

vapours of silver truth lies

inside flick-book quickmirrors.

That decade nails us

to imperfect symmetry,

you looking back at my looking forward

in ticking minutes still,

stylus scratching centrifugal holes,

spinning plates on fastened wheels,

bold flight, racing fast upon treadmills diverse,

paint on future canvas the pasts rehearsed.


We will be free of them, we can be free,

if only you will dream with me,

stand scarred upon these Cornish cliffs

with force of iron to seal the rift.

Steel tooth cogs that grind and grind,

steal our bones and steal our minds,

make breadcrumbs out of our intent,

feast hooded rooks ‘til hunger’s spent.

This time we face them with iron glint,

with hearts of oak, with mouths of flint,

fatal traps we spring our own devising,

when the chill sun sets on Angel rising.