Thursday, November 2, 2017


My heartbreak is exhausting as
I sit alone, missing her, wanting her
Craving her touch, her smile
Her warm sweet brogue of a voice
It is too much for me to handle
When all I want is to see her
Hug her, tell her I’ll do whatever
She wants as long as I can see her
Because I miss her more than
I could ever know or confess too
As my eyes grow heavy, all I want
Is to be with her but her silence is
Deafening and with every passing
Moment my heart breaks just a
Little bit more as I sit, on the verge
Of crying tears of an old man
Who knows that this life is hard
And it seems will be spent alone. 


With life going well for the first time
In a while it’s odd now that I can’t think
Of anything to write
No bad neighbours at which to channel my rage
Against as when life is this good
It’s hard to be the angry old man
Who sits in his room describing a life
That is hard to comprehend
But no not here as the days move on
Peacefully and at last I get it that
No great art can be made from a position
Of happiness so what shall I do

The other night I went out to try and
Rediscover my old self, got drunk
But this time it wasn’t just about the drink
As a young gorgeous girl was becoming
Attracted and I couldn’t really believe it
So maybe I’ll have to change my tone
And get used to writing from a positive
Perspective as this life is pretty easy
As I sit here now, writing with my heater
On, yes a heater to keep me warm
As life becomes easier but will it mean
I lose my soul and eventually run
Out of words to describe this life
As it moves off towards a pleasant
Middle-aged existence maybe just a
Little more like yours.


London I gave you my soul
my life and all my damn cash
all in a bid to stay where I grew up
but then when it all ran out
you shat me out to down here
on the south-coast  where I know
no one and sat in my room
waiting for death;

Once all my money had gone
you gave up on me and flushed me
away leaving me down here just
bored and alone in this soulless
excuse of a town; I was then desperate
to escape, to return to the old
town but that simply possible
right now.

London has changed, that is for sure
a rich persons' paradise it now is
without any sense of soul or rebellion
the things that made it my home
and now, down here, the tidal wave
has begun, drowning us in hipster
shit, craft beards and tattoos are
simply everywhere.

They come from the north, the city
of plenty just up the road where it don't
matter how you make your money
just make sure it loads as the rents
are enough to drive a sane person mad
whilst the drinks are enough to drive a
mad person to the grave
and the tube is somehow more expensive
than all the taxi fares down here.

Brighton you are dying a death of a
million cuts, as the quick march to gentrify
comes at a time when most of us can't
afford a beer; You are driving out anything
of interest which is the reason I landed here
I came seeking a cheaper more interesting
life down here by the sea, away from the
muggers, the bankers, the super-elite
who are all basically the same, ever
desperate for money to maintain their
champagne lifestyle which is slowly
creeping in down here.

This town used to be my kinda place but
now we have people thinking of it as a
cocktail, a dirty martini for pity's sake,
which just makes me more determined to
just plain escape and never more so than
when I come home, to a country where I
must confess I struggle with the language,
but at least here the booze is cheap,
the people friendly and unpretentious
and the sense of community is second to none
so I sit in my room dreaming of what my life
could be like back at home, away from those
who bring me down, leaving me just wanting
to go home sweet home. 


Once we were through she was gone
Gone from the street that we lived on either side of
Gone from my life and that made me glad
As she was one I’d nearly fallen for until
It became apparent that we just couldn’t work it out
We had similar vices, the drinking and the drugging
We loved it all and when we parted she
Told me she wanted to stop drinking
Something it’s apparently impossible to do with me in the equation

Then one day I was stoned, walking through town
When from out of nowhere she was there, almost
Right in front of me, so close we almost bumped in to each
Other but fortunately I noticed her presence before
Her mind realised what was going on and I turned and dashed off
In the opposite direction, worrying how she would react
If she spotted me

Then the next night I was sat in my new local
At the bar and happy with how my weekend was developing when
Suddenly there she was again; walking into the bar with
Her new man.  This time I knew she saw me but it appears
She chose to ignore me as her new man ordered drinks and food
And I just sat and remained as I felt her eyes
Drill through to my very soul until I finished my drink
Got up and walked out, off to drink somewhere else.


An abstract mess of a painting hangs by its frame
From the upturned leg of my desk
One to stare at and another that’ll never get used
Not here not in this home
Too small this room is for me to really stretch out
So I remain sat in my armchair either scrawling on a pad
Or if the power is on typing freestyle on yet another borrowed laptop
This room is crammed; records, books, films and even a couple
Of cheap pieces of furniture such as this chair on which I sit
And that thing there, the worlds’ most uncomfortable bed
But they’ll have to do for as long as I stay here in this room
Three months from now until then before the whole drama begins again
I guess I’ll work something out
I usually have to.


I sit and watch the waves
The gentle surf lapping against the shore
And it makes my mind turn to bliss
To have it back as my view

Now when I sit it’s by my window
And when the traffic calms or late at night
The calm and pleasant sound it brings
Remind me of the very best slow Beach Boys songs

But for me, despite living so close,
I don’t really like the beach where it is
I prefer the beach in my mind
Where there is sand and quiet

The days get lost smoking down by the surf
Getting high near water but without
The fatal mistake of Dennis Wilson
And please just remember you can’t surf

Bradford Middleton

Helpless I do not know if good intentions prevail among the elected, among the appointed, leaving me apprehensive that the fate ...