Saturday, August 24, 2019


During those hours at work I can
Generally be found making talk on the
Checkout.  I flirt occasionally, chat
To almost everyone who comes my
Way.  It’s different down this way,
The people, with more money
Seem somehow friendlier, I guess
More satisfied with their lives.  I
Stand and wait not caring who it is
That comes for this is my job and
For a few months here all seems
Well.  We’ve got town’s most
Ineffectual shop lifting casualty
Whose so far been caught every
Single time.  I’ve met all kinds of
People, most rich but as yet none
A writer but should that really surprise?

For this life of mine is meant to be
Like this; hardly anyone gets signed
To faber & faber, so a life on the bottom
Rung of the poetry world is all I aspire
To and therefore a life of being eternally
Poor knowing these royalties will never
Stretch far enough to quit my job
And just go for it.  If work stays like
This though maybe life won’t be so bad
As I can always drink whenever I want
Whilst the smoke is ready to be supplied
And of course there will always remain
The magic of the word.


Wednesday night and I'm sat in a garden by way of a change
A garden I one day dream of being my own
And whilst the sun is setting I find myself happy at last
It ain't 40 degrees and the breeze means I ain't going to get heat stroke today
And for that I'm truly grateful
But then there is always the thought, the damn dreadful though
That this time next week I'll be back at home
Lost in the madness that captivates Brighton town


I sit here on this Friday night
With the option of going to the pub
Meet with some work colleagues and
Stare at some girls for fun, or I
Could sit here nursing a most glorious
Bottle of the finest port, got today
Only three quid fifty, and sit here
Writing these words.  Shit, if I
Pick one it’ll seem like I’m still in
The game whilst the other might
Just mean I’m out, that I really do
Love poetry more than girls, and
Will never get that visceral rush
Of how a new love feels each
Time they come around...

This port tastes real good
Real good indeed as I choke on this
My second glass of said stuff but
I know I’ve been out the game for
So long that if I sit here drinking for
Maybe ten minutes more we’ll
See again whether I’ll prove
Myself wrong once more...

Tonight I was going to sit here
And drink, smoke and write a poem
About my Nan and loneliness
But that it appears will have to wait
Until another day.  It’s time to go
Roll one, hell make it three, get a
Drink and have some fun, who
Knows the wild times may have
Returned again...


It’s 6.27am and I’m out of my fucking mind
The smoke has worn off already and nausea is all that remains
So what to do but smoke another
Get even more unhinged, disengaged and ultimately alone
For that is the life that has been laid out for me
To simply be left alone, mad yet bored, forever more.


Saturday night
Home alone, my life almost back to normal
After that brief flirtation
When most things were fine
But the drinking was oh so brutal
Now I sit
With a full bottle
In my kitchen
Which, tonight,
Shall remain untouched
As last night
Was a forgotten one
Lost in a haze of
Bars and drinks
And smokes on
Street corners as
Strangers walked on by.

Tuesday, August 20, 2019

twenty years ago now

i still remember the
way you smelled,
fresh out of the

in my arms

the way your
kisses tasted

the way your tongue
would slip into
my soul

hard to believe
that was over
twenty years
ago now

you're on the other
side of the world

probably been a
good twenty years
since i have crossed
your mind

you flash in mine
around three each

right before i
pretend to go
to sleep

and dream about
what could have
but as a hopeless romantic

here comes the
goddess playing

i want to believe
she's what i have
been chasing my
entire life

she's unwilling
to show her cards
just yet

i'd love to play
it cool

but as a hopeless

i'm bound to fuck
this up at some

but for now

it's a game of just
how long can i fake
patience and avoid
saying the wrong
thing, yet again
by the end of the week

all the women
are interested
with forever

i try to live
like i might
be dead by
the end of 
the week

none of us
are very
everything is going to be alright

she's my little spanish
angel that kisses me
goodnight in my

lies to me

tells me everything
is going to be alright

that all these miles
between us will soon
cease to exist

i gently caress her
cheek and hope that
this old soul still has
a little life left in it
the chaos is my normal

from the outside

my life is one
near disaster
after another

from the inside

the chaos is
my normal

it's the good shit
i have a problem

i'm too late to the
game to learn new
tricks and overcome
all my shortcomings
no longer worth their time

every best friend
i have ever had
has decided at
some point i
was no longer
worth their time

and as much as
my ego wants to
believe i am not
the problem

i know that isn't
what the truth
really is

regardless, as
the years pass

i know it's more
likely i am headed
for that sunset

indifferent and
pretending to be
J.J. Campbell

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