“This Boy’s Life”

Sat in front of the telly with a wide smile on
These new talking animals introduced him to fun
Cartoon after cartoon flash by in five minute episodes
He sees excitement coloured in his slow dull world
Ignored and bored he needed a friend that wasn’t to be found
Told that they went away, he knew that they were buried in the ground
Mums in the kitchen, Dads still out at work
God knows what’s happening outside but it doesn’t sound good
Little wonder he disappeared to a land far away
When there was nothing but trouble during another grey day…

Safe with his secrets behind locked bedroom doors
Pretending to perform at the Hollywood Bowls
In his mind he was backstage being interviewed by the press
The costumes all gathered and pinned to shocking effect
He normally hates his reflection, but loved the need to change it
Turning the drab on it’s head and so no longer feeling the reject
A broken second-hand microphone fashioned as his best weapon
A moonwalk, a purple scarf, a pointy golden bra for protection
Lasts for a while before he’s called down and then his heart drops
Pity his dream ends when the door opens and the button is ‘stop’…

He’s confused so he tells on the girls and hides from the boys
He retreats to the comfort of dead pets and Star Wars toys
He doesn’t quite understand the need for tongues and ‘quickies’
What does a ‘good shag’ do and what is a hickey?
Teenagers his age are already kissing their cousins
Babies having babies just to parade as the newest single mother
His imagination was running away in the wrong direction, off to a stranger place
He wondered if there was another reason why The Professionals made his heart race
His sister showed concern and so listened at closed doors for the tell tale signs
Searched for words like ‘feathers’ when he spoke and worried that his shoes were always shined
She flipped through his records to get an idea of what he thought he wanted to be?
Listened against the wall and when he sings along is he Neil or is he Dusty?

He’s 'artistic', 'creative', 'sensitive' and "good to his Mum"
So does this make him strange, weird or just a good son?
Being good is bad here and so the bad is everywhere
The morals are forgotten for instinct and the "We couldn’t care"
Why does he say please when the others snatch without consideration?
He feels the winds of change are trying to blow away these faces of destruction
And again he hears that fascinating place calling for him from another county
A place where people think before they speak and where they all want to be something…

Now long gone and stronger for staying away until he’s born again
His days improved as he could see further than his front garden gate
But he’s not forgotten his old bedroom and uplifted by his younger self
So he sends an e-mail to his family every weekend just before he goes out
This boy’s life spent practising is finally unleashed onto the world
With his constant smile, flashing eyes and a denim uniform
Dancing with the foam crowd under many coloured lights
He still loves his own company but he’s never alone at nights
Broken the predicted route of many generations, he has escaped
Those clipped wings now spread eagled the width of a king size bed
He’s an adult now and is happy in the reality of life, work and fun
He’ll never forget this boy’s life and yes, he’s still good to his Mum.






© 2008 Steven Pottle

"Last Birthday Card"

We are having a party
I wish I could have invited you
There will be too much drink, not enough food and all kinds of music
I wish you were there to hear what I have found or downloaded
I think you’d have liked them
And we might of even had a dance together once the others had gone home

It’s going to be my birthday party
I wish I could have contacted you
You know what will happen before the first guest arrives-
I know you’d join in with me acting stupid and showing off
When really we would both be overwhelmed by friendship and well thought out presents

We had a great party
I wish that you could have been there
I think that you’d have loved the atmosphere
As I always wanted you to have been seen by everyone
Lots of old friends, some new strangers and the few that are always around
We might of even had a quiet five minutes to catch on everything that’s been going on…

But I couldn’t find you
And I sent out the messengers
You must be somewhere far, far away
I’d have loved you to be around to be able to celebrate just one day out of life
So I sit here days after the party and I find the last birthday card that you had sent me…
And it read: “Just one day out of life, it would be so nice”.







© 2008 Steven Pottle

“He-Man”

Up and down the country from the North to the South
In every loud grunting gym to the libraries silent mouth
There is a whole train of thinking, an unquestioned school of thought
Of what really makes a man and what is his worth

Is this opinion concrete evidence or up to the elbow in complete shit
So do you move through life on instinct or do you question everything
There is a certain strength, a gritty earth tasting dirty nails male
Then there’s his creative light footed, tight bodied talkative self
Do they live peacefully together or are they constantly locked at the horns
Which one braved the face of hate and which one pulled the face in the first place
Which one is the stronger and which one is the survivor
Who’s the one to walk every mile and who admits defeat and hides to cry
Can you explain to me what makes someone a man?

Is it the evocative poems that we sit and write together late at night
Or is it the quick of my spit when my hands need to grip tight
Is it the muscled fist clutching the heavy spanner
Or is it the open palm that gently offers a flower?
Are my feelings buried through the fear of the unknown
These feelings hidden under until they explode
Have I an open heart to express my every turn
An open heart that will always get hurt
Am I intrigued of what lays beyond the cars body
Or will I be the one hiding under the hood
Am I scared of the changes
Or does the change do me good
Do I hide myself in the cubicle
Or am I proud at the urinals
Will I be the master of my house
Or will I let another her control me
So did my sisters damage me by dressing me up in their clothes
Or did they show me how to really treat a beautiful young girl?

But today as I walk just a few steps behind a female
I’m riddled with guilt feelings of potential rape
Not because of anything that I would ever do
But that I’m always aware of the evil that men have done before me-
These men of snarling hordes
The male entertainment bores
Their banging of the pub doors
His face pushed to the floors
Leading each other into another endless war
Only to push the button for the end of the world…

So what makes me a real man?
And which one am I?
I cannot think
As the sudden thump sound of a football still makes my heart sink.








© 2008 Steven Pottle

“Still Born”

Does the daylight come and find you
And does that signify the beginning of a life?

Is the sunshine already there
Do you move or wait for something to arrive?

So if light never finds me
Am I finished before I’ve even started?

Or if the sun never shines on me
Am I the new addition or am I the dearly departed?







© 2008 Steven Pottle

“Who You Are Now”

Running from something that happened some 16 years ago
You can never quite get one day away from who you used to be
Letting them catch up whenever your barriers are down
Why don’t you ever stop sprinting, just accept them and walk through these seconds together
Stop counting the hours or wishing that everything will be better in the future
It’s always in the past or future with you
What about who you are now?

I know that there must be better days ahead
But how will you know when you are up if you’ve never ever been down?
I know that this must be really hurting your head
So try to appreciate that at least you feel something and understand where that hurt is coming from
And right in this very moment there are people who love what stands before them
Why can’t you be one of them?
We can all see who you are now.

In this second we reckon that you should be aware of
Every smell, every drop, every touch, every silent blink
Not complicating a tired mind with what should have been, what will never be
Unless you start to feel every moment like it’s never gonna happen again…
And you know what?
It’s never gonna happen again
So why don’t you live with who you are now?






“This is not sober thought
Or a lesson quickly taught
This is wanting to not wish my life away
This is just living in this minute, today”.





© 2008 Steven Pottle

“Bee Keeping”

Heavy with pollen, wings of sudden
Movement slowed to a nothing
I watched your little body stop
I witnessed the life leaving you
I could see a spirit looking down at me
He could be seen by anyone now that he was flying again
But no one wanted to see him…

Why are the tiny things forgotten about?
I know there are bigger problems all through the universe
But if you forget about the barely seen
Then the barely seen will soon become the no more here
And those quiet little ripples will end in great waves of destruction for everyone…

The honey no more
Quick falling to the floor
The buzzing of time
That awakes the people
But it may be just too late.





© 2008 Steven Pottle

“Heaven On Earth”

So if heaven exists then does it ever appear here on Earth
Does something from above ever descend to mend these men
Does the feeling ever reach out and creep around these streets
Will angels shine bright over moss roofs and bird shit lampposts
Will they fly over and smooth out all of these complicated rough roads
Will the light ever find us here leaning up against this wall
The place where all the bad and dog piss falls
As nobody here wants to believe in anything other than celebrity and T.V.
But the convenience of his existence during heartache and loss is overwhelming
And you hope that he’s alive the next time you sit and cry
So could we ever find a God who will sit comfortably in our lives?






© 2008 Steven Pottle

"My Indian Summer"

Here with me
Down in the depths in the worst of messes
Look at me
Drawn to the dagger black and dark of hearts
Speak to me
I'm unable to see the dawn that brings with her a new day
Feel for me
I thought bird song was a horrible noise that was out of my control…

Talk to me
He tells me all about the things he sees and it isn't all badness
Words for me
He convinces that just over the horizon there is a future waiting patiently
Hold onto me
Just one touch blows away the cobwebs and makes the limbs feel real
Care for me
An embrace that lasts the whole night long and well into tomorrow…

Returned to me
I was afraid I'd be alone and that you wouldn't ever come back to the house
Stand with me
I was about to give up the ghost of myself and slumber into an endless rest
So I turn to you
Your warm breeze that whispers to the sky and asks for constant sunshine
Praise to you
I thank you for keeping me safe through the worst of the Autumns
Love for you
What would I have done without the warmth from my Indian Summer.






(For Matthew...thank you.)

© 2008 Steven Pottle

“His And Hers”

A kiss trembles down the nape of her neck
The skin was soft and the breath was fresh
Hand to hand, pulse to pulse
The waterfalls prepare for what is next

Any movement here will please her
Twisting into place for his arrival
She’s wide eyed and laughing
Smug with her own actions again

Another cup of her
Swills round his thirty mouth
Never spit, he always swallows
A full belly- all hairy and dead common

He breaks into the back of her
Swift, quick but gentle with it
Touching velvet walls
He stays inside to enjoy the view

Their bed keeps heated
Hot rocks for another extended 12 inch remix!
She dances herself stupid on it
He holds her down before she gets too high

The blankets crumpled as the bodies double
Hour after hour of skin thrown around the room
They both fall together in jerked back breath
Another kiss trembles down the nape of her neck

All is still, all is quiet, all is open
Fingers caress with the touch of sudden silk
He keeps her warm with a pulled over quilt
She stares up into the ceiling…

She can’t quite explain
She couldn’t even begin to
But a sun shines in his eyes in the middle of the night
And on his shoulders she can see the greatest sky.








© 2008 Steven Pottle

“Fine Power”

Like the dust that silently and very gently falls through a ray of sunlight
Particles that disappear quietly and too quick
In our view for a matter of slow seconds

We never see where they decide to fall or if they know where they’ll land
But for a moment they bring a speck of beauty into the room

There is nothing more pleasant, yet destroying, than our memories
With flashes of streets, pubs and clubs
The guilt of what could have been
Of what should have been…

The light still holds me transfixed, perplexed and so I’m shackled to a fading star
Watching the drop from daylight into night time
And they will never let me go until I am dust too.





© 2008 Steven Pottle

"Polaroid"

I loved you in an instant
Fingerprinted on your image
You slid into my life with your sudden appearance
Waved you into the wind

So that you could stay with me forever
Or so I thought…

You were there in the draw when I discovered my Mother’s secret lovers
It was my own fault as I really shouldn’t have been snooping around
How could I face her at dinner once I seen what goes on down there
I shouldn’t have worried as she still loved me undeniably
And she refuses to let the past interrupt what we have these days

You were right by my side that night when drink opened my eyes
My school mates messing around with under age drinking
We must of wasted a whole film on acting like idiots
Despite the fact that I shall hold those images precious today
Especially as those friends have now all moved away

Then there was that special second with my second birthday present
We took a photograph of them quick before they spazzed out and ran off to be mental in their kennel
Once they slept beside me under childhood blankets
And then on teenage never-made beds
But then they suddenly had to leave…
I still hold dear that white framed square

You were also there to witness all of my sisters terrible dresses
They were shades of Orange, flared, nasty and itchy
We still look at them and take the piss regularly
It’s with these pictures that I remind them of their long gone innocence
Bless their little souls that they have had to grow old
Everyone moves and changes, but having said that- they still have that same taste in clothes

The teddies cuddled
Toy hoovers pushed
And a hand made 1977 union jack hat
These have all disappeared
But they live on in you…

Today I now have a whole box of old and another of new-
That’s when I heard about the news of what they are doing with you
You won’t be coming back after this batch have been used
You won’t be growing up with me anymore

So I have to be careful of when we go out and about
That I don’t waste you, but that you get used
As everyone still loves you
And will always remember because of you
You were probably their first photograph
So we have to say goodbye to all that instant slide, wave and hide
But you will always be warm under my arm
Placed directly somewhere near to my heart…

We’ve all enjoyed the ride
Goodbye Polaroid.







© 2008 Steven Pottle

“Feel”

The shades of light are a difficult omen
You feel love and your heart is open
He is full of promise, plans and X-Ray glasses
What happens if Winter appears in the middle of August?

The phrases of a beautiful night
May give way to the on-coming hearse
And these early days can only delay
They will make falling such a painful birth
What’s in his palm?
And what’s it’s worth?
You’re usually pulled out screaming with such terrible burns

It doesn’t always have to be like that
This time you may be surprised…
Just three little words said without guilt, fear or loathing
And what makes him different is that these words are always spoken

Give him a chance and love could be real
Making you happy that you finally feel.






© 2008 Steven Pottle

“A Ray Of Son”

If I had a son
I’d call him Patrick
He’d be blue eyed and smile wide
He’d fall about laughing while learning to stand up straight
I’d slowly reveal the world around him and explain about the sky and stars
We’d look to the moon with the lights turned off every night before bedtime
All helping to stretch his imagination way beyond the need for a television education

We’d be best friends, but understand that he is son and I am Dad
He’d get upset at my ‘unfair’ demands, sulk and then agree with me as we both shake hands
Every morning a breakfast together of toast, cereal and real orange juice with bits
All ready for another exciting day of house work, playtime and maybe a chocolate milkshake
We’d explore the garden for tiny creatures scurrying and interesting pebbles to collect in his bucket
And out in the backyard we’d find thick hedges with secret hiding places
And giggle behind our hands as Nan tried desperately to find us

When we are walking he’d ask me endless questions that I hope that I could answer
If not, then we’d find an explanation later in an encyclopaedia or on computer
Counting would be fun with buttons and bottle tops, chalk then a calculator
He wouldn’t want to stop at a hundred as a thousand is too easy peasy
He’d love cartoons and understand their friendship- he gets that from me
He’d sneakily drink milk from the bottle when no one is looking- that’s what I used to do too
I’d love every hair on his head and keep him safe from harm
Protect him forever even when he’s left home and has children of his own
And as the day fades I pray to whoever that I’m so happy that he was made…

But today I sit and wish that he could be around
As it’s probably never going to happen now
I’ll never know how it feels for real
So I hold myself back from tears
Of men that will never exist.







© 2008 Steven Pottle

'My Indian Summer"

Here with me
Down in the depths in the worst of messes
Look at me
Drawn to the dagger black and dark of hearts
Speak to me
I'm unable to see the dawn that brings with her a new day
Feel for me
I thought bird song was a horrible noise that was out of my control…

Talk to me
He tells me all about the things he sees and it isn't all badness
Words for me
He convinces that just over the horizon there is a future waiting patiently
Hold onto me
Just one touch blows away the cobwebs and makes the limbs feel real
Care for me
An embrace that lasts the whole night long and well into tomorrow…

Returned to me
I was afraid I'd be alone and that you wouldn't ever come back to the house
Stand with me
I was about to give up the ghost of myself and slumber into an endless rest
So I turn to you
Your warm breeze that whispers to the sky and asks for constant sunshine
Praise to you
I thank you for keeping me safe through the worst of the Autumns
Love for you
What would I have done without the warmth from my Indian Summer.






(For Matthew...thank you.)
© 2008 Steven Pottle

“Heaven On Earth”

So if heaven exists then does it ever appear here on Earth
Does something from above ever descend to mend these men
Does the feeling ever reach out and creep around these streets
Will angels shine bright over moss roofs and bird shit lampposts
Will they fly over and smooth out all of these complicated rough roads
Will the light ever find us here leaning up against this wall
The place where all the bad and dog piss falls
As nobody here wants to believe in anything other than celebrity and T.V.
But the convenience of his existence during heartache and loss is overwhelming
And you hope that he’s alive the next time you sit and cry
So could we ever find a God who will sit comfortably in our lives?






© 2008 Steven Pottle

“The and It”

Every word and experience sank deep into my being
Penetrating my every question and then my every reaction
Flowing through my blood, hidden there behind my eyes
Making me the man that I am-
The man that I’ve always wanted to be
And I cannot stop the pictures from forming and so they fight in my brain
Bustling and bullying, impatiently waiting and wanting to escape
Along with the words that tango on the tongue
Before I approve, before I choose to let them loose
Confused by these sentences that tingle on my fingertips
Hurried scribbled notes on tatty receipts and on the backs of envelopes
The inky fingers that print the waiting pages
I am the holder and release of my peace and rages
I am the creature of what begins inside-
So here I am; walking the book I write.




© 2008 Steven Pottle

“Hover In Conscious”

…Like the car lights finding a sudden black spot curve just in time
Like a well thought of loved one safe and wrapped in blankets
Like the worm that finally discovered a wet soil escape in the rain
Like being able to touch the ceiling in a room too small
Like all these years that you’ve been alive and you’ve never seen a real live firefly
Like you can never quite catch the Summer arriving-
You just wake one morning and the sun is constantly shining
With those birds that just need to sing
And you wonder what their songs really mean
Like being happy and in love…
I’m drifting off, falling asleep.

Like owning the newest complete home entertainment system
Like the sensations that the cat is feeling while sleeping on the new speakers
Like having no one sitting in front of you in the cinema
Like having Joe Dallesandro over for dinner
Like telling your crap boss exactly what you think of him
Like blowing up your landlords kitchen on the very day that you are leaving
Like having your ankles high above your head, high in the air-
Feeling and being like a kid again
Only now without the pain…
I’m drifting off, falling asleep.

I’m drifting off again
After my exhausting journey
I’m finally sleeping-
Like a hovercraft resting at the waters edge.




© 2008 Steven Pottle

“The Dove”

You may not believe in peace and love
But it’s all that I wear, it’s all that I’ve got…

Bright before my eyes, pumping in my heart and flows in circles around my arms
I’ll always trust in the gentle and sensitive sides
And I don’t consider these to be a sign of weakness
They are the stronger and they stand and fall by each other
While you hide behind your men in their terror uniforms and death turrets

A frown has engraved my face and it’s too late to turn it around
This confused mug has become all that people see when they look at me
So I smile despite the lines as I never wanted to get old before my time
Though your long lies and quick goodbyes have forced us all to grab for the cage and stay inside
I still look to a time when someone may put down their gun in horror and love the pretty petals of simple flowers

You may call me a foolish sissy or the symbol of a tragic romantic
But when the earth is either burnt to a crisp or over flown with sudden rivers
I’ll go under knowing that one day I may breathe again
I like to think that we always hurt the ones that we really love
And so it’s easier for us to say that we hate rather than to proclaim feelings other than those of pain
You can always press the hand of karma and ask for her forgiveness
So I wish you luck for the future as your past returns to meet her…

You may not believe in peace or love
But it’s all that we need, it’s all that we’ve got.




© 2008 Steven Pottle

"Front Of House"

There’s a party happening right now on the other side of the city
There’s people chatting and clapping, stupid dancing and whispers of a little something naughty a bit later
Their atmosphere travels across the neighbouring rooftops and in a while it tumbles and taps at my bedroom window
Begging me to make an appearance and I was already thinking about just turning up
The invite said 5:30 and it’s already 7 o’clock…
I think that this makes me fashionably late
And I haven’t seen everyone together like this for ages.

Ready in no time and I’m walking through the city back roads
It’s strange but wonderful how everything seems different tonight-
The buildings sideways and above, and the shops all around look another colour
I guess you see something new all of the time
Also the people that pass by me all look like strangers-
Maybe I don’t really know everybody like they say I do
The sky looks different too-
It looks like rain and sunshine mixed together…
So the light is low and bright white and so nothing can be hidden
Each crack and crumble exposed for the world to see
This evening the old city looks completely new to me.

I’m turning down familiar streets that I’ve turned down a million times before
But tonight they are shining and seem to be so beautifully clean
The house is getting closer and I’m getting that feeling in my belly
And so the laughter, fears, tears and butterflies all fight for front of house…
Only a footstep from the front door and I can hear a mixture of funnies, cheers and mumbled voices and glasses being dropped or chinked
I stand and wait for a couple of minutes and I listen
The music is all of my favourites including some hard to find remixes
And I suddenly realise that this party is for me.

Inside their smiles and welcomes are overwhelming and people hugging just too tightly with a warmth that was unexpected but kind of funny
Everyone is here and some that I haven’t seen for years so he must of sent out his cyber spies across all of those friend networking sites
I can’t believe this is all for me and I’m just lost for words as the music comes to a sudden stand still…

“The glasses were raised slowly to the air and speeches that touched my every hair
As the tears welled up and were close to falling I stood and looked into every single face
That’s when I saw that they couldn’t see me and they were just starring into space
I now knew that I had already been here earlier and had just come back for one last look around before I said goodbye…
I smiled helplessly and I foolishly waved as they wished me all the best
And I turned around to look into what I thought was the setting sun, but it was nothing more than the light at the end of my time…”






© 2007 Steven Pottle

“The Train Tracks”

A midnight train slips quickly through the countryside
Bleeding it’s way all along and onwards
Past famous landmarks and known map symbols
Fast cutting trees in seconds
And turning whole cities into blurs and suddens
Creating a way of slicing the moment
But finding small time to stop off now and again-
To let the passengers work or visit.





© 2007 Steven Pottle

"Love Notes"

A love for me
Doesn't have to be remembered every February 14th
It can be celebrated any day you want

A love song to me
Doesn't have to be Number One for Sixteen bloody weeks!!!
It may be the song hanging around a Number Hundred and Three

A lover for me
Doesn't need pearl white smiles and a movie star address
They might be an amateur with walls that wobble

A loving feeling for me
Doesn't have to be the hot strum of a Spanish guitar
It could be the tiny ting of the quiet triangle

A love for me
Doesn't need to be explained or complicated
It could be a feeling that feels just like being in love.






© 2007 Steven Pottle

“Quick, The Dock Leaves!”

Pen inked hands full of reminders and signals
Remember that there are no signposts deep in the jungle
The little nicks on each and every finger that indicate either fighting or trying
And his jeans are too long so they twiddle into every puddle, all of the shit and leaf muddles

Again he falls with bow and arrow taking the aim in spite of the pain and sorrow
As he thuds to the floor, he screams for more as he knows that it’ll all be worth it
Despite all the tears and the horror, he may stumble upon the finding and honour
He’d risk his life and mind because he once knew of love before

You can repair him with medicine so natural that it jumps from the breast
A little heart help required to see him through the worst of his deaths
That tiny bright light that always pulls him through the darkest of paths
A warm hand that reaches beyond the call of duty to soothe and show beauty

Standing tall on the front line with his hand clenched on the left of his chest
His eyes tight shut, hope is his only protection against what ever happens next…
There must be someone, somewhere and so he chances everything to declare:

“They say that the best things in life are free,
So here I am: good for nothing…
Come and find me"





© 2007 Steven Pottle

"Bank"

Sit by the riverside
All film scene and wide
Drawing a love heart in the dust
The stick broke before I could finish it
So I just have to tell you that I love you

Go down to the pebbles
They are there to be pelted
Only then to be flushed away by the boats
You were left empty handed
So I gave you some of mine

Sit by the waterside
Nature is so much greater than me
I was pushed into existing
So I make the most of a situation
By making the best of a life
And I think that you should know that I love you.




© 2007 Steven Pottle

“The Sky At Night”

When the moon is high and it's allowed to shine bright
The highway of the stars are silver in their light
The sky is sometimes clear considering this is rainy Norfolk
But mostly there is just too much light pollution
And so you never get to see the wishes that dart across the night
Which means that we’ll never get to see the big one that’s heading our way…

Inside my house I am hidden in dimmer switches-
I feel that I am cocooned
I know that under a 100 watt you can see the whole of the room
And so I am exposed to what ever wants to get me

So I retire this sofa to go upstairs
I know that love is up there already safe in sleep
"Please cradle me baby in arms and palms"
As good love finally finds these streets calm
And another lullaby says goodbye to the stars in the sky at night.





© 2007 Steven Pottle

“Adios Kansas”

A hand falls by the waist side
Police approach the pavement wide
Cats run for the safety of a parked car
And underneath they hide

A heart failed to keep up the beats
Uniformed feet move in close to the scene
Tapping at a blood stained jumper
Seeing if something still moves under

But he watched his world crumble
The planets humbled
As Hollywood was projected onto the moon
So no more screams from these streets
No more sounds of sudden feet
My best friend has left me all too soon

Now please carry his soul to a nicer place-
One of unbroken sunshine
One with endless funnies
And he’ll feel free to jump into the water there
The sea will be light blue and see through
Just like the sky…

Hope he’ll make some great mates
Hope he’s finally found his Emerald City
Maybe one day I will see him again-
So now I’m looking for my tornado.






© 2007 Steven Pottle

“Betamax”

You make me feel the 6 foot man that I am
You make me 9 inches more than I first appear
You are the plans for successful building
You are the foundations that shakes the fear.

You are my twin
You are my best friend
You are a stranger
You are safe and you are danger…

You are the pixilated parts in censorship-
And that mini-second exciting pornographic flick
You are watching patiently for more
You are rewind and you are pause.






© 2007 Steven Pottle

“Here On Earth”

My sisters used to dance the dance of freedom
But then husbands came along and made them forty year old cleaners

They don’t understand the children that they used to be
And tonight at this party they don’t want to move with anyone
So I try to pull them to their shy, tired feet and remind them of their teenage beat
“Because the parties end suddenly
With your hair speckled Grey
Losing another weekend to illness and decay
You’ll look behind and wonder where the road was taking you-
You’ve always hated the phone, but one day it will no longer ring”

With cake in one hand and champagne glass in the other
I shudder to a halt and consider my own years being alive
My Mum used to say, “Fight with who you need to and love whoever needs you”
She is choice wise with her words that still laugh through the best Rum and Coke parties around
Dad was always so moo hearted, but he still stands strong before all my sisters- even the one’s that aren’t naturally his
He breathes a sigh of relief to their streets of terrible fenced in history

Like a weed trying to survive through concrete
It can still grow without raindrops or sunshine
And when the buildings begin to fall
The strangers start to jump
And the undergrounds explode
There at the end is that weed pushing forward while being pleased with it’s root beginnings...

I want to be the one that survives a death before my time
I could be a someone that stretches beyond a dark sky
I would love to be something other than just another birth
I want to be alive with minutes, people and feelings while living here on earth.





© 2007 Steven Pottle

"Half Full"

The tingle of a touch
That ripples through the hairs on an arm
Those smooth arms now resemble chicken skin
They giggle and smile
A shudder of anticipation

They know how they feel
But they enjoy the pretending
The flashing hundred thoughts
They excite, take flight and switch in mid air
Leaving them all silly for a second

Who’s eyes were first?
Those blue pupils slid upwards so quickly-
Knowing that confrontation says everything
We agree silently with a wink or light twinkle
Raise an eyebrow to close all questions

Together we see in the night
And the dark gets involved and gently leans against the window
As the street lamps outside path off into the future
I turn back to you with serene, silent happiness…
Bringing tonight to a close and all hopes have overflowed.






© 2007 Steven Pottle

“Shadow People”

You deal with the innards of machines
I love and hate the human emotions
You may think you see me out of the corner of your eye-
The part where the blood and the lashes lay

But I move in a different speed
So are you faster or slower than me?





© 2007 Steven Pottle