If’s and when’s and maybe’s & all the words that fuck me up.

I sit here dreaming in the furniture of my youth.
Happy dreams that established me.
Playing out in the warm wide sun.
Soldiers trekking through the garden known.
I’m older now but wish I could
Open the door and return back there.
Those happy days without end or sight
Of deadlines which haunt me now and bind my mind.

I see myself as once I was
Smile alight on a tender face
Knowing none of the bullshit which haunts me now.
Running amok with innocent imagination on fire
And the rockery a battlefield of happy toys.
I’d climb on windows and escape the mess
Of Lego strewn on bloodied floor
Walls of Hadrian crossed the room
And days were spent in battles grown.

Then came desktops and cassette radios all climbed by men in suits
Uniforms of war and guns of fun
Stretched high and thrust upon the shelves of books.
I’d spend my days in conquest or happy defeat
Knowing that tomorrow I would do the same.
No need for doubt, no need for pain,
No need to care what mankind did or died outside.

Freedom is the word which recalls my youth
Playing football in the local park or street
Climbing trees and laughing loud, reading books and making plans
I’m older now, but I escape to then, I return to the past to find myself.
He who’s lost in this frightening grown up world
One of death and hate & fear and sin
Not like the world in which I began.

A child stays fresh, his mind alive
Fighting dragons and playing games, being cops and stealing space
All these things & more I held so dear.
The if’s and buts and when’s or maybe’s
They were never words when I was young.
I owned the world & I was king
I was someone special, alive, unique
I was as big as my ego wished itself to be.
Could life ever be like that again?

~ aka: A Lament For The Old Days
*one song, one programme, was all it needed to send me into a spin today.

© ed simkins

The day I took a life.

The needle bleeds.

Pulsing arm reacts and screams.

I feel its numbness. A warm honey fills my mind.

The visions roll.

I see the end of life. Rejoice.

Slowth of thought. I smile at the initial memory of that night.

The golden tube. A tunnel formed of love.

Like sex which smiled, though substance danced.

I pricked myself. Though perhaps she’d stabbed my arm.

I cared no more. My slumber undermined her hot advance.

I slid towards the floor. My brain pulsated, a steady rhythmic drum within the party of my mind.

I could not dance. Nor stand erect as she applied herself to sensual play.

I laughed at her, though my lips curtailed themselves in still & forlorn sensation.

I stared at it. The needle which plagued my arm with pain. Or pleasure. Or maybe post-dramatic penalties of play.

I laughed again – within my skull – at the jest & wit of which I wrote.

The night passed by.

By early morning I had woke.

& dreams of sexual violence & naked ambition with the neighbour’s daughter had turned to peace.

I arose with eyes of sunken solitude. & smiled a weary sigh.

The girl beside me was alone & naked, her perfect body dead.

I kissed her lips & combed her hair, admired her slender form.

I withdrew the needle & wiped off blood, I placed within her hand.

& stumbled home my friends too quick, with secret never told.

That girl had died, my spirit too & thoughts were never shared.

& so tonight I tell the world, my lust for her had killed.

A dedication spent that night, high & sold to hell,

But silent death was her’s instead & never did she tell.

~ a night of needles & strange intoxication. Or was it just giving blood?

© ed simkins

Sitting On the Bottom of the Pool

there i watch my friends tumble, fall, a dereliction of a friendship past.

the children play and sing and scream, laughter explodes in bubbles blown

the water splashed and crystal clear, the perfect time to escape it all.

diving taught and bellies red, funny howls as the world goes by.

people from a distant place, those who know my childish youth,

they point and judge and recall a time, recount a broken party held

olden’s question and forget the past, an empty room where memory fades.

& all the time i sit and wonder, why i left her grave alone.

my tears merged as water surrounds. but though my love exists no more,

my children play, they dance and smile and fart and burp!

and ridiculous accents sing in waterfalls of heat.

i look at them and see a future unknown,

i wish for wealth of love or joy or famous words & actions made in happy world

they look at me, an uncle dude, a climbing frame who twirls them round.

we sit and hug and hold on kindly, we walk and laugh, we talk and think

in moments when we sit on down, the world is peaceful, a king with crown,

the pain of life is a quiet shore

and the darkness fades as the light pours forth.

~ my mind stops thinking when my nephews play

(c) Ed Simkins

The Girl In The Garden

Her naked body cold and tall, inexperienced limbs and forgotten lies. A generalization of a beauty born.

I want to kiss you!

For young girl stands in the garden watching. Hair flowing. Clothes abandoned.

I love you!

From the window I watch her and my arms are thrown around. My mind imagines biting. Her waist is small. A screaming, squeamish, wriggling delight!

She teases by standing there! Untouched. Unavailable.

Gentle shades of evening lost, the goose bumps multiply and my desire grows.

I wish to warm her. Soothe her. Hold her.

This Girl in the garden approaches & her eyes are wild with lust. Her wishful frame sleeks slowly towards. My body shakes. My stomach flies.

I never meant to fall for this girl! – This rapacious, self-confident gem of cupidity.

Her youthful body formed from immaculate rays of evening’s star, illuminating my garden with a deed yet undone.

For i WILL hold her! I WILL kiss & taste & bite & love. Caresses’ thrown will glide across.

Yet this Girl will never smile, never break, never show the flow of pleasure which cascades within.

& even though this naked girl will cover me in blanket hugs and soft, thin lips

No connection be made, no fusion sold – this defenceless, bare skinned wonder stares!

For though prepared to tease and please and break my will, & be a buoyant guarantee of ecstasy

Her name’s unknown, her body tight, her disrobed flesh my sin tonight!

& as the moon fights throw the night, this bare, graceful, elegant girl, will remain entranced & resting still

Held deep & soft & warm & firm, within the arms of mine, her’s master’s love.

(c) Ed Simkins

~ On looking through my window as the night descends in the garden

Books To A Red Kiss

Scarlet child played with dreams and books and frozen words

with pictures of innocence that I thought absurd

I misplaced her book and combed her hair

& within the library of silence I took her hand with care

she smiled with knowledge and danced with glee

an empty floor she shared with me

twas but a joy to find such succulent dreams

within a world of broken & blooded scenes

& in those moments in which she touched my hand

we roamed together across her fertile land

her skin inviting, our secrets formed

her mouth exciting, her body warmed

& as she smiled and her soft hair encroached

i whispered in her ear and softly hoped

wrapped in love and naked beneath

i found in her my new belief

a secret scarlet girl of words

an event that Nabokov would call absurd.

& henceforth now dear friend i ask of thee

to tell to none this fantasy.

– Shush.