NEVER FORGIVE

I never forgive
and I never forget,
I accept,
that it's a failing.
I don't go railing,
though.
I'm not quick to brawl,
and my once hot head
I have learned to cool.
But cross me and you
are lost to me,
and my revenge
will be the end
of our acquaintance.
But to have traveled
that far you will have
squandered many
a chance of redemption.
And eroded my trust
until such a corrosion
I cannot accept.
And I will not forgive.
And I will not forget.

Reading William Burroughs In Beirut

An old poem from the archives...


Reading William Burroughs In Beirut

Not seven days ago in the UK,

Watching Apocalypse Now,

Mind full of misconception,

Full of fear,

The great brooding unknown,

A black flag,

Blinkered across my eyes.

Reading Heart of Darkness

On the plane,

Kurtz dies

on the descent to Beirut,

The cloud clears,

Sun breaks through,

We sweep in clean and

Skim the heads of

West Beirut swimmers

Eating Wall's Ice Cream

On the Beach.

Reading William Burroughs in Beirut,

Western Lands in my hands

A cool wind on hot palms

Above the smog bound city,

A cold Almaza by my side

And a raggle toothed poet

Wrestling Irish ayes in my ears,

He's looking over my shoulder,

Drives me through streets

Where Wild Boys sit by the roadside,

Sleep in the windows of

Gut ruined churches,

Hot wired and free powered

From spider web junctions,

And every car is a '75 Mercedes.

Aubrey flashes past in a black car

Waving a German flag,

But Dr Benway with

Five Brazilian flags flying -

Beirut's tip for the Final -

Blinds him off the road and

Into a red bereted checkpoint:

Assad-brand for car crash!

Reading William Burroughs in West Beirut,

Cruising in a cracked old Golf,

Top down

Hot sounds:

Sonic Youth

Wet and wild in our ears,

Kim Gordon screaming

- Tell me that you wanna paw me

- Tell me that you can't afford me

To Hizbollah kids in the blown out ruins

Of the glory days.

Can you believe the scene?

The dream,

The adrenalin kick that screams

With the speed of ninety degree turns

On rally cracked roads.

This is life more raw and pure,

The smell of dollars:

A rich storm.

Six souls down

Beirut is still kicking and irresistible,

Energised with surprise.

Reading William Burroughs in Beirut,

14th June 1994.

The Blood Test

THE BLOOD TEST

I was out of sorts before.

8am. Breakfast not allowed.

My virus afflicted inner ear

spinning snide asides.

So when pleasant nurse

turned torturer,

what hope?

Arm pinned taut as

she repeatedly gouged,

stabbed the crook

and stabbed again.

Needle scraping bone.

Drilling for blood where

none could be found.

Is it meant to be this painful?

I grimace.

A stern look.

She stabs again grinding.

Is that her teeth or...

A moment passes.

I pass out.

It can only have been seconds

but enough to dream

I am captive in a car

driven wild and fast.

Around Bristol.

At night.

In the rain.

Wedged between silent captors.

Their captain manic leering

laughing over shoulder

when he should have been steering.

Come back up to find

the nurse, concerned,

leaning over me.

Mr Birnie? Mr Birnie?

Are you ok?

I nod. Swallow. Try to smile.

Oh good. She says.

Lets try the other arm...

ESSEX

A new poem written on the train from Bristol to London on Mon. 9th Nov 2009:

ESSEX

Essex,
Concrete and country
living side by side.

Essex,
The estuary ebbing
to ankle deep
at Shoeburyness.

Essex,
A kick in the balls.
Unwarranted.
Unasked for.
Unexpected.

Essex,
A bloody nose,
the cold bludgeoning
crack.
Blood snot soil and tears.
A kick in the head.
"Want some more?"

Essex,
A massive fist fight
at the disco.
"I'm not having this"
Says my brother,
going to sort it out,
and him only 5ft 2.

Essex,
Digging up contraband
from an industrial dump
to sell to kids at school
for a quid.
Fags and porn.
You won't believe the stuff
you can get in Holland.
Foreign Holland that is,
not Clacton on Sea.

Essex,
Short skirts, high heels
and corn beef legs.
Busty and lusty but
no easier than anyone else.
They just don't give
a fuck what you fink!

Essex,
I love you and I hate you.
You are in my head
and up my arse.

Essex,
Where my dead are buried.

Essex,
Getting an old boy to row
us across to Point Clear Arcade
for 50p.

Essex,
When winter was colder.
Snow drifts as high as the station roof.
Hood up, head down first, backwards
sled-free tobogganing
in the gravel pits.

Essex,
Where the kids from Grays
tried to stop me leaving
the train at East Tilbury.
Me, kicking one in the head
as my English teacher
alighted from the next carriage.

Essex,
First kiss. First fondle.
First finger. First fuck.

Essex,
When West Ham won the cup,
everyone was blowing bubbles.

Essex,
The ever burning flame
over the oil refinery at Coryton
always visible from the 3 bed-bungalow
where my uncle Ted died
and we all lived for two years.
Nine of us.
And two dogs.

Essex,
Me and Lawrence Preston
walking to the station from school.
Him getting roughed up
because his dad is from Trinidad
and his mum from round here
so his skin is a half way blend.
Naive, I asked,
"What was that about?"
"Dunno." He lied.

Essex,
The Basildon Peace Festival 1986.
Me, kissing a girl who
looked a bit like Fergie.
The Princess. Not Sir Alex.

Essex,
Brian Patten reading at the Towngate Theatre,
before the Tory council shut it down.
Me, too shy to talk to him

in the bar
at half time.

Essex,
Getting blown in the library
at Thurrock Technical College.
Not handing in the crucial essay
because the pages
were stuck together.

Essex,

Playing cul-de-sac cricket

in the street.

The curb at the end of the street: four.

Over old Maggie's fence:

six and out and you had

to knock and ask for the ball back.

Essex,
Tits first, she said,
putting down her chips.

Essex,
Colchester nil
Brentford nil.
One miserable January Saturday
in nineteen seventy several.
Freezing on the terrace.
Boredom. Bovril at half time.
When we got home,
the dog had died.

Essex,
The next time you tell
an Essex girl joke.
Remember this,
one great aunt
two grandmothers
one mother
ten aunts
three sisters
six cousins
and two nieces.
And me and Billy Bragg
might just come round
and do you.

Essex,
Twenty years in the West
and I am still an ex-pat.

Essex,
I am never going back.

Essex.

Beam Me Up!

A bit of fun which my 10yr old daughter rates as my finest moment!

BEAM ME UP!

Beam me up now Scotty
Beam me up right now
Beam me up and out of here
Beam me up and how
Don't beam me up tomorrow
Beam me up tonight
Beam me up Man! Beam me up
And then I'll be alright

Beam me up from trouble
Beam me up from fear
Beam me up from Sunday night
Get me out of here!
Beam me up from '73
Beam me up from time
Beam me up and out of danger
And then I'll be just fine

Beam me up from this power cut
Beam me up tonight
Beam me up here in the dark
Don't wait for candle light
Beam me up Man! Beam me up
Beam me up you fool!
Beam me up time's running out
I DON'T want to go to School!

The Devil

A reworking of a Flash Fiction piece I wrote a while back recast as a poem written in the style of a folk song "round". The FF piece is at the end for comparison.

THE DEVIL

The Devil stepped from the train

The Devil stepped from the train
Whispered my name

The Devil stepped from the train
Whispered my name
Blocked my way

The Devil stepped from the train
Whispered my name
Blocked my way
Offered me gold

The Devil stepped from the train
Whispered my name
Blocked my way
Offered me gold
And to never grow old

The Devil stepped from the train
Whispered my name
Blocked my way
Offered me gold
And to never grow old
Celebrity, fame, everything, everything

The Devil stepped from the train
Whispered my name
Blocked my way
Offered me gold
And to never grow old
Celebrity, fame, everything, everything
I looked the Devil in the eye

The Devil stepped from the train
Whispered my name
Blocked my way
Offered me gold
And to never grow old
Celebrity, fame, everything, everything
I looked the Devil in the eye,
Politely declined

The Devil stepped from the train
Whispered my name
Blocked my way
Offered me gold
And to never grow old
Celebrity, fame, everything, everything
I looked the Devil in the eye,
Politely declined
Hurried away

The Devil stepped from the train
Whispered my name
Blocked my way
Offered me gold
And to never grow old
Celebrity, fame, everything, everything
I looked the Devil in the eye,
Politely declined
Hurried away
Cursed all the day

The Devil stepped from the train
Whispered my name
Blocked my way
Offered me gold
And to never grow old
Celebrity, fame, everything, everything
I looked the Devil in the eye,
Politely declined
Hurried away
Cursed all the day
And wished I had NOT!

The Devil stepped from the train
Whispered my name
Blocked my way
Offered me gold
And to never grow old
Celebrity, fame, everything, everything
I looked the Devil in the eye,
Politely declined
Hurried away
Cursed all the day
And wished I had NOT!
O Man, She was HOT!

The Devil stepped from the train



And here the Flash Fiction piece from December 2008:


The Devil

I saw the Devil step from the train. I looked away. Thought I was wrong, but no.

The Devil stepped from the train and walked straight towards me. Blocked my path. Stared me in the eye. Whispered in my ear promising me wild times and parties and gold. Everything, everything, everything.

I said "No". Turned around. Walked away.

Couldn't help looking back though.

Man. She was HOT!

Poet In A Box

I climbed out of that black box
Now ten good years back,
From enclosed within its ranks
when my mind shut down blank.
No key did I need to seal its door,
But in ten good years since
I have not sought out its shore.

Oh yes, inside me resides that
I do not permit out.
Locked in, no show down,
No crisis, no doubt.

With gritted teeth I state here
My conviction that,
That man from my long past
Is not coming back.
I state through gritted teeth,
That is,
To the best of my belief.