To follow is too late

Once upon a time
there was no time,
only you;
it’s when the talking stops
and I am left to think
about the size of the night
in the small numbers of the clock when
I miss the radio the most,
the audience of one,
the place for homeless thoughts
and mis-shaped, guilty love.

I have no more reach left in me
so I take myself to bed
because no one else will;
there I close my day
with you in the picture on the shelf,
the remains of someone else,
knowing the hole in my heart
is where you forever are.

© D. Archer. October 2013.

As the moon pulls the tide

In the tunnel
between the cheap radio signal
and the windscreen’s respite from the rain
I hear you talking like an auctioneer,
singing your song in the first person
of a new love that
of all others will erase.

You stockpile your metaphors and memories
in fear and apprehension
for lover too soon fades into friend,
just as the moon pulls the tides from the beach
we are all waiting for something,
be it beginning,
the end.

© David Archer. June 2013

I find myself lost again

You sit in my one remaining photograph
unburdened eyelids closed
to the coming coloured weather
and I as with all the world behind you
find myself lost again,
drowning in life’s undertow,
blindly never thinking
until you went
you would ever
really go.

© David Archer. May 2013

Why must we cut down a tree to count the years it lived

I write to stave off the reality
that somewhere between sex and death
what prevails is the un-erased;

I exist as an orphan to time served
and as ironic as the bird
that has come to love its cage.

© D. Archer. January 2013.

To dream is a wonderful thing

OK, now I have no idea if this is going to work but in the spirit of reckless New Year challenges I have made an attempt at a You Tube Video. Thankfully, I have a face for radio so its just an audio track with some Adobe After Effects malarky going on in the background.

Any comments would be welcome especially if you cant view or hear the video on your device. Depending on the response, more or less will follow.



Learning how to forget

Rain falls like my expectations,
black crow in the clearing waits
to feed on hope
that dare raise its head;
all the coloured birds are gone
and another day slips out reach
just as yesterday met its end.

We never talk about the silence,
the uninvited distance,
the clinging pain that taunts me to
“learn how to forget”;
bitter nicotine leaves my cold split lips
as I stand alone
staring at the stars
outnumbered only by the tears I shed.

© D. Archer. January 2013


I stand in the shadow of a towering goodbye
with a sin in my head I cultivated a fire;
the pills, dated for convenience
in the cabinet holed for a heart
stretch out in their foil covered graves,
all the days of the week,
all the dose the same.

In the frost reflected glass
I see your fragile outline fading,
I sit in a circle of one
and to yesterdays same crowd
announce my faults and failings;
I listen to the mocking silence,
the phone reluctant to ring and
in the pennyless minute
I’ll hold my own hand
for as long as I can
until I slip into the calming black
that comes to cover
all remembered things.

© D. Archer. December 2012

The Times

I love you because it’s today
(and for other reasons, I forget),
love me in your own way
and tomorrow we’ll fill in the rest;
I love you because it’s today
(and for other reasons, I forget),
remember me when it rains
and quietly, stubbornly, accept;
I love you because it’s today
(and for other reasons, I forget).

© D. Archer. December 2012