poet russ cavanagh

Wind visits this late evening to sweep leaves across another disorderly autumn Time now to let those few dear to me know I’m going, though words come hard and never seem enough Perhaps to sleep, perchance to dream -huh!- a better answer, while steel rain washes city slate under the ageing moon's unspoken baptism We are all precariat, for sure     CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh  

Dirty old man, lucky old man; she must be younger than any daughter you may once or more have had. Now self-conscious, you read my face from a corner of your eye, from along a crowded bar. “Time to go,” I see you mouth, before she follows in her most dutiful manner, gazing straight ahead. Dirty old man, sad old man, holding on to insecurity so tight for as long as you can. Just wait until the day you become too infirm, in any sense of that word. CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh

Edinburgh; a city in love with yourself, if rather bitter underneath. Festival city; celebrating all but your own, once each year. Edina’s midden; perhaps so, yet still special for me, your outcast spawn. “See you soon,” I say. “See you, son,” says you. CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh

oohs and aahs, our public entertained, we followers of Bacchus pursuing all that's vain; back in a time when nothing could go wrong; wizards, sprites, magicians, and days forever long; lost souls acting out scenes beyond real life; before our sorrow, our trouble, my now ex-wife       CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh  

I sit still disputing summer's demise Canute-like by the shore, beneath banks of billowing cloud behind which a September sun stoops in surrender to the season. My t-shirt and shorts sound a stoic cadenza, likely inviting a bout of influenza, while around me pass countless goats in coats that they bought from Marks+Spencer ® CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh

Slayed that dragon yet? How? By hiding whenever and wherever? Well this beast lives on, right here, cursed into eternity to remember how love once filled both my eyes and yours. Happy now?         CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh  

Every Western nation under vice-like occupation of parasitic settlers not who or what they claim to be; Their wars a blood sacrifice to the god of this world, whose feud trails back beyond some thousands of years; Prophets killed, Messiah murdered - holy blood spilt by these devils, now a curse on their children; And having hollowed out their host, this deity and his demons turn full-face to confront you and me. Matthew 27:25 - KJV CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh

Warning signals from a face no longer aglow, your streams of nonsense, your endless lies, just bounce off me. No longer music to my ears, we're over. Irrecoverably so. Consider yourself unplugged. For I won't take any more, will not listen to you, my totally radio ex-girlfriend. And even though I might wonder quite when you lost your appeal, how we stopped turning each other on, please know it's truly, madly, deeply fine with me.   Also published at Paragraph Planet . CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh

Out on the promenade, a small boy stood patiently, if clearly bored, close to his parents as they talked to a wider group of adults. Looking about idly, wondering what to do, he spotted my odd socks. He then stared up at me, wonder written across his face. With a friendly frown and a conspiratorial wink, I placed a finger to my pursed lips, letting him know how one day he too might be free.  CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh See the story as it appears on the Paragraph Planet literary site .  

Whether lips now kissing others, or souls since laid to rest, I count familiar hearts whom I may never touch again. Left to linger under a metal rain, one washing over my skyline, I weep for every love, each face no longer mine. And as I wait for sunrise this bloodless morning set in another bloody year, dull lightbulbs snap on behind high windows, as a radio manufactures the day's headlines for those still believing.     CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh  

i wake up from my armchair still drunk but silent in a cool summer night to see my once-upon-a friend and his woman sat opposite looking at me with concern etched over their faces | next i wander in a white infinity curve landscape always ahead as they follow me leaving piles of yellow coins i do not want to find later in the back seats of several stationary convertibles | then you appear most beautiful woman i knew all those years and we are afloat on a raft of a mattress together and utterly alone in our very own intimate darkness where i can only marvel as your red hair shines and your sleeping face smiles in the light of a warm narrow beam that streams from behind pulled heavy curtains | sweet Lord Jesus give me more and tell me what it means ... CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh Acts 2:17 - KJV 

My mechanical clock says five-thirty-seven as I raise the blind on this light summer morning, Across the street a gull asserts its weight over a magpie and three jackdaws, all of them foraging fruitlessly for their breakfast on a damp patch of pavement next to an overflowing bin. Chased by the gull, mister magpie complies and moves on, as magpies tend to do, while the playful jackdaws seem game for a spot of teasing - for they are used to dealing with bullies. But eventually the third jackdaw gives up and struts away in search of more fertile ground. From behind my open window I ponder which of these different personalities I most identify with (probably that last jackdaw, or maybe the magpie). While I drift through such thoughts a car hisses by and elsewhere gulls cry out in unison like a gaggle of distressed children. Eventually the kettle comes to boil, snapping me back into focus. Black coffee, oatcakes and thick-cut orange marmalade. It's going to be a fine day today here on S...

The pagan spell worked its charm on the sea of ice cream faces now turned away from boat burning and other abominations to board late home-bound trains that will carry their home-bound bodies mostly fuelled by a day of battered fish, soggy chips and diluted beers. These pugilistic Scots will re-tread well-worn arguments, thereby tormenting tired eyes towards salty tears and ultimately into submission. And any of their children, those not yet asleep, those keeping schtum, might just turn face outwards to witness a much higher God displaying the merry dance of his northern lights on this coastal summer night. CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh Psalm 19:1 - KJV

I've acquired a small dark demon who wears two distinct faces. With one, he will flitter, flutter, not quite flatter, obsequious in his manner. The other conceals a malignant mischievous smile redolent of a lower order. Don't think I dislike this wicked little weevil; au contraire, he's my reminder to abstain from all appearance of evil. I'll even show him these words, prepared to see him wroth, describing how I wish he'd just get lost.   CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh 1 Thessalonians 5:22 - KJV

Slapped senseless day one then swaddled in sleep, do you know who, what, why, when or where you dream?      Come many, come many, come many, come one to a realm that sits beyond hell unseen, where snakes shake hands dipped in pockets of poison.      And under the milk sky a brass band play tacit, and even a poet forgets to write.      To understand how truth sits above our received wisdom, see the prince of the power of the air spin his lie over this earth.      He knows your days here number no more than a breath. CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh 2 Corinthians 4:4 - KJV

don't let your childhood define you. hard, i know. what wasn't your fault wasn't your fault. try to let it go. we're here to learn, to fail, to get up again. don't let your childhood define you. let Jesus lift your pain.     CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh 2 Corinthians 5:17 - KJV

subdued ambience spatters my window under an overcast sky 21:25 and Brahms plays on a radio bought elsewhere by a much younger man now long lost to me those others met along the way who like me too took their solitude neat oh it's the wait that I can't stand   CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh Romans 12:12 - KJV 

ink over paper dots on screens 0 in this w0rld is quite what it screams   CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh John 17:15 - KJV

   A child when last we spoke, your middle age now nears still silent to me.   I think of you most days, particularly in this cold darkness. Poison certainly was her preferred choice. CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh Romans 12:19 - KJV

One special day we stood together alone on Cromer Beach, where December sun bathed skin stung by wind from a familiar bloody sea. Side of fresh salmon - Kir Royale the apéritif - stylish in every respect - waiting back at the cottage to bless another occasion of friendship thicker than water. Yet in many years to follow, neither card nor present exchanged; for now beyond reach, I know not how to find you. (for Keith)       CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh Psalm 34:18 - KJV

there's only one sun there's only one moon and under each everything was done by snakes busy busy with whispered spell so your eyes never open so your eyes only dream for in laced sleep you will not see never know what was taken was you       CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh Revelation 12:9 - KJV

jenni the weepy sheep would cry herself to sleep because she lived up a hill where her side was too steep every day she would hope for a somewhat gentler slope as all her poorly knees really couldn't cope  the strain was quite enough to make her huff and puff and after several months she really felt quite rough  then one day from afar came the farmer in his car he shouted, "come now jenni, time for the abattoir."     CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh

another early morning my unease lifts  slow wisps of thought across unlit walls mask dark cities unfinished repairing to another dawn as a lone car hisses past outside in prelude to the coming opera itself a minor variation on a set theme where vanity vies for attention with ego ...fried or boiled ...or coddled ...or poached good morning     CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh  

each episode plays out across the street as loud young braves in short-sleeved shirts enact rites of passage for prospective lovers (un)suitably in uniform in yet another evening in another velvet autumn in another distant town alone in my unlit room squeezing the last from a cheap red not stopping to wonder what became of us our symphony played out the stage finale dismantled but the truth my loveliness is quite simply that you should never have fu*king told her     CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh Proverbs 6:32-33 - KJV

I found out how Adam felt gifted with such natural pleasure! Warm rain on my bare back as you took me inside out in the wild. Remember smiling hello to that old birdwatcher who appeared, panting and ruddy, even as we closed our very last button? Does he ever frown, I wonder, back upon that day? And what about you? My Eve?     CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh

Train to the city today for a rare fix of business. At an original Italian cafe in an aptly traditional quarter, fish teas are served onto modest tables for a very reasonable price. The food was good, as always, while the coffee didn't disappoint. Imperfect people ate around me; patrons each finding time out from some daily toil or eternal turmoil most likely more real than otherwise. Autumn sunlight spilled through large windows televising pavement scenes - actions playing live without end. From a radio, Bob Marley wailed "let's get together and feel all right". Hunger now abated, making ready for the off, I echoed my host's warm farewell and echoed his gratitude. Appearing to meet me at the door, my own reflection gave confirmation that I'm not so very different.       CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh John 13:34 - KJV

key right round double-click the door exit the stair and outside i go turn right for trouble left holds more hope avoiding that guy stood smoking dope cross over junction smile past two cops then quickly round a few of the shops run into church ladies who'd test my wit or more like hoping to roast me on a spit dodging around avoiding strange looks soon i’m back home with bread cheese and books my privacy button is first thing i press when living alone with no unwanted guests     CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh Psalm 1:1 - KJV

Tony couldn’t play pedal steel but he was a policeman who checked permits others required back then A wandering Spanish cock despite beautiful wife and home he revelled in the glamour of our music-making He’d disappear after gigs for a private performance with some lucky tourist sweating under his spell A pleasant yet despicable man I still think about his wife   CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh Matthew 5:27-28 - KJV 

i often sit thinking atop the stairs drawing on a rolled cigarette tonight a door hangs open despite this disappointing summer my light streams out from a bathroom as a cheap red awaits in an untidy room oh I fixed the stair light eventually but habit can be such a powerful thing    CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh

A to E to B to F# (a.k.a. Gb ) to C# (a.k.a. Db ) to G# (a.k.a. Ab ) to D# (a.k.a. Eb ) to A# (a.k.a. Bb ) to F to C to G to D and then back to A(men)     CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh

Cruising the reds I encountered a lady holding a bottle whilst clearly undecided over what would be her Friday night second. I suggested a current choix of mine, a quality quaff of Merlot discounted to a fiver. Expressing gratitude she went with my suggestion. The sample already in her grip was, she declared with haught, a favourite of her husband's and came in at "... £19 a bottle". "You did well to marry him," I could only reply.   CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh Hebrews 13:5 - KJV

I'm sat on a chair at a folding table in a near empty flat this autumn night, typing into a laptop and waiting to move what little furniture I have left. In my head just now I counted nineteen - a lifetime spanning three times as many years - discounting a couple of places I lived in a mere few months. Running on empty, like waking alone in an unfamiliar bed.    CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh 1 Corinthians 3:16 - KJV

I peered at a word sprayed in bright red where cobble met tarmac; couldn’t read what it said.  Butcher, baker, locksmith: all looked most perplexed to view such garish writing - this strange, elusive text.  One by one the public on bended knee they went; but none of us could figure just what the pavement.         CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh  

He told class how he'd put his dead cat on a tin tray wired to the electric. The idea was to jump-start it into the next of nine lives. Vets were unheard of among us poorer folks way back then. But not, apparently, Mary Shelley.   CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh

i stood before myself as a child sat apart not fully connected but not entirely without awareness of self i felt delight again wondering innocent upon each discovery punctuating aloneness in a way back when this child's neglect remained unwritten how stained and worn we become through time shaped by episodes and scars forgotten CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh John 3:3-17 - KJV

I drove the truck into my suburbia to get more beers. Sat patiently at an empty junction in the night, I waited for the light to turn from green to red. Ah! Stoned again   CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh Ephesians 5:18 - KJV

It’s not a way out she wants but a snug cul-de-sac in which to consummate her unhappiness, and my loneliness.  Achieving what? An illicit distraction for her, before parting too soon, perhaps again and again, as and when?  Me left alone with a trace still warm, still fragrant, in this place that is not her marriage bed     CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh Proverbs 6:32-33 - KJV

... the sunday 09:05 collects its first congregation with heads hung over not so smart screens doling out dopamine desires from a thick wifi soup in this irradiated tin can aimed approximately at a city where i will meet: the catholic mother grieving her dead child; the pugilistic vishnu draped in poverty, wrapped in wrath; the road sweeper who will confide incredible conspiracies to anyone with ears to hear; the stooped grey gent inclined towards misunderstanding; the addicted youth with tears of blood in her eyes ... -each falling short of the grand illusion- ... and the woman who said, "I was saved by someone like you" I will add these testimonies to others shared quietly on that city's street where later a final chariot will conduct its evening service to drive me back home at the end of another blessed day     CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh Mark 16:15 - KJV