Category Archives: Sean Lavery

Eleventh of December #2

Small spooks feel
the pace a little
stronger than the
Whistle all you like.
Follow the same
well-worn paths.
Things will remain
elusive to you.
Greater things.
Somewhere –
in the middle distance.
Shake-off the trappings.
Those shrill songs,
maddening in their monotony.
Lay down with the moon.
Turn back and walk,
away from the fray.
Into the shards of
tomorrow and the day.

RIP Pete

Goodnight Pete Shelley.
A Punk original.
Without the surface sheen.
The light may have gone.
But the pulsebeat,
Carries on.

Winter Wonderland

Daylight dreaming, yesterday.
A place of fallen leaves.
Take the train to Cricklewood.
Graffiti out of Kentish Town:
A night on my mind.
Neither cold nor warm.
Just a windblown
kind of day.
Grey tones interspersed
by news of Winter Wonderland.
A snowless, autumnal experience.

Broken November

In this broken November.
The raw and the ragged
are out on the street.
A penny for the one
without any shoes.
Whose lantern eyes are
all blood and black tar.
They speak of nights,
long past remembering.
And the hours of darkness,
that never have an end.


that pickled vintage,
always on the ropes.
A sea change
of course.
until it hits you,
right between the eyes


To be an uninvited guest.
A stranger in your own land.
Undocumented and overlooked.
Passing invisibly
through the teaming throng.
Waiting at the light for a break,
with people screaming silently.
Breathing in exhaust pollution.
On a dreamtime journey –
upstream and against the tide.

I’m So Hollow

I don’t talk.
I speak with a headlong
rush into the silence.
Pregnant and embarrassing.
Full of half-forgotten threads.
Awkward eye movements.
Sounds that hope to be words,
but fail at the first syllable.

I don’t talk.
I speak to fill the void,
you have left.
Whirring like an
empty reel of tape.
Magnetic in its brilliance.
Crackling and fantastic.
But hollow all the same.