My Poetry


Moon Visit

…and the music plays, and notes become words and words become soniferous joy beyond all, even in the quiet places between all the noise and the fullness of Time which tick tocks fatly, wholesome and round in space circling moons and stars, flying, defying its size through the vacuum, not feeling the cold until finally Time chimes midnight…and the owl hoots its tattoo, and the mouse reappears from inside the clock with a large piece of cheese it stole from the waning moon…




I have made their pictures digital now,

So, when my laptop is left,

Images of my parents and childhood

Spring into technicolour life.


Slideshowing, sweeping across my screen,

Backlit. Places and people.

So many strangers,

Places I don’t know.


Who are they, looking at me in twinsets and pearls?

The man in the boat with Mum?

She’s laughing, that familiar head thrown back smile

I can almost hear it. Her wavy hair whipped by the wind.


He, with his jumper and strong jaw

Looking straight at camera. Like an old school movie star.

Did my Dad take the photo or someone else?

Who is he?


Out at sea, my Dad didn’t travel well.

Only the horizon in view

No life jackets.

Laughing, confidently.




When I went home

it was to the hills.


Rumbling and tumbling

green and brown.


A quilt of texture

heather and gorse.


Wild grasses blowing

The ashes of my father.


To the westerly wind

Long Mynd.


In glinting evening light

a kestrel overhead eyes prey.


Dipping and rising with the thermal

the very tops of the world.




Everything is Fine

‘Fuck the world!’

Bad scientist say,

I’m sweet.

Big Corp pays.

I can lie…

in my bed and sleep,

dreaming of dollars

and deceit.

I don’t care,

if the pollinators drop

from the sky

on the crops

paralysed and dead

in the fields.

I don’t give a…

My moneys in my pocket.

My life rocks.

One small lie

Neonics are harmless.

Everything is fine.


White Vans


The white vans

Travel relentlessly around, 

My suburban kingdom.

Carrying packages of want

And need for all the people,

Trapped in their houses.


The white vans

With drivers endlessly

On rounds, late and hasty.

Chucking boxes in porches

And playing knock-door-run

With expectant consumers.


The white vans

Filled with cardboard and greed.

Laptop warriors fulfilling their need.

Trapped in a circle of buy-


buy-more indulgent insatiability.


The white vans

Chariots of materialism.

Driven by zero-hour contracts.

Who can’t afford a single thing,

Inside their glory hole of




Hands Before Eyes

Hands before eyes

Into bag

Spilit carton

Yoghurt cherry delight

Under nails

Stained sleeves

Pink glorious

Not what you need


Hands before eyes

Into pocket

A lid loose on Lypsyl

A greasy unwelcome

Not on lips

On fingertips

Curious digits

Take more care

Hands before eyes

Adventures fair


I don’t write about my daughters


I don’t write about my daughters,

They’re curious and bright.

They inspire my poems.

They make dark days light.

They stop me slipping into

A world of self-reverie.


I don’t write about my daughters,

Their stars shine, fires ignite.

They’re fresh and new,

The world is in their sights.

What they may do is

Amazing to me

But, Oh my gosh,

I wouldn’t want to be,

The person who tries to stop

Their juggernaut of might.


I don’t write about my daughters,

How proud I am,

Of their successes.

Creative magical creatures,

I can’t believe they grew in me.

Independent fierce impressive.

My daughters, my loves, my totality.



The Song of the Broken Heart


Deep inside the crevices of the broken heart,

there is cracked glass and darkness.

Not a single chink of light,

just the bass thumping, jumping, a tattoo.

The rhythm of the broken heart.


In the mirror, the face skewed in despair.

Looks at eyes filled, red-ringed.

Mascara leaves slug trails,

Along rosacea skin, mouth wet,

nose dribbling. A low-pitched wail, the chord

The music of the broken heart.


The sudden empty bed.

Turning whirring, mind tickling sleep.

Drifting in and out, but the cacophony

of acoustic twangs, strum and tinker

the ache, the insomnia.

The twang, the chord, the bass.

The song of the broken heart.




Mind swirls fill the air above,

your head puffs, whilst thinking of salad,

in clouds and water

precipitating pit pat splosh!

Below, up turned umbrellas

ready to catch the drips like

saucers full of milk.

Cats try to return the umbrellas to hemispherical

correctness because they hate

up turned umbrellas and cucumbers most.

We’ve all seen the social media clips –

The cat’s fur, up ended on tip toes, back arched,

escaping their nemesis – sideways.

The cucumber - the worst kind of foe.



She turned the record over,

the familiar clunk fuzz as the needle

tip toes across the grooves.

Vinyl, jet black spinning,

absorbing light like a black hole.

No dancing or she’ll scratch it,

the floorboards bouncing –

It’s too late for Purple Rain.

The doves are crying and
Nikki is mast…ing in the

Hot…lob with a zine.

She should replace it,

but it reminds her of her teens.

She binned all the mixtapes,

boyfriends made.

Mostly melted or squirming

like worms pulled from

cassette tapes ejected out of

car stereos too fast.



You’re my Bitch – Or an Ode to Depression

Like the sun you're always there.
Like a friend with a gun, you just don't care.
Like the worst pun or an unholy nun,
You're a bitch and a dare.

You're the stream that turns to flood.
You're the thoughts that make my mind mud.
You're the babbling brook in my head.
You're a bitch and a tear.

I stilled you
I calmed you
I took you down
With Prozac and talking
And time after time.

You have taken the years
And the years and the years
And my tears and the years
With your chatter in my head

But now, you're not on the list
So you're not getting in
You're wearing trainers, you're obviously pissed.
You're my bitch now. You won't be missed.

You're my bitch.

© J.Langan  2017

Wonder Woman

I want to be Wonder Woman
I know I can’t
I cannot summon
The power of the Gods

I want to be Super Sonic
I know I can’t
I’m not bionic
I have no mods

I want to be strong like Kong
I know I can’t
I haven’t been to the Gym for so long
I’m not wrong

I am a strong woman
I am more than human
I am filled with wonder
That no one can pull asunder
My mind is supersonic
My rhyme harmonic
Who needs the power of the Gods?
I hear they are all sods.
I have the power of me
You see
© J.Langan  01/2018

 Giggle me

Giggle me timbers
A pirate’s life for me
Off to the high seas
With a slap of my knee
Or is that panto?
Am I buttons or the prince?
A girl in boys clothing
A missing link

© J.Langan  2010


Mood inhibitors
Vitriol collaborators
Smoothing contaminators
Shiny bright
But not new
Old and worm like
A brass statue touched much
Sunlight shows the hue
Mood inhibitors
Cold facilitators
Take you through

© J.Langan  2010


I am he
He is you
You is he
I am lost
Lost are you
You is lost
Lost is too
He is I
I is she
She is it
It is me
All is lost
Lost it too

© J.Langan  2011

A small poem for Lola

Soft  soft  go
Float float no
Giggle giggle blow
And then the sink burped

© J.Langan  2010

Holding back the rain

I am holding back the rain
My hands are to my face
I am holding back the thunder
The tears are all in place
            I am waiting for the pressure
                        To take me underneath

I am holding back the sun
            My hands shade my eyes
                        I am holding back my feelings
                                    I stroke my arm inside
                                                I am waiting for the rage
                                                            To take me underneath

I am holding back the storm
            My hands can’t stop it now
                        I am holding back the shame
                                    Release all the screams and how
                                                I am waiting for the peace
                                                            To take me underneath

© J.Langan  2010-02-20

My Joy

My joy is in my words
My joy is in the page
The expression it can give me
The expression that I gave

My joy is in my words
My joy is on the page
Transported to another place
Transported to a feeling that you slaved

My joy is in my words
My joy is on the page
The love I feel for comfort
The love that’s in your face
Is all need forever
My heart I gave

© J.Langan  2010-01

My Toes are Stout

My eyes are tired
My legs are fat
My belly wobbles
And my boobs lie flat

My arms are bingo winged
My bum sticks out
My fingers arthritic
And my toes are stout

My hair is grey
My nails crack
My cellulite has cellulite
And my stretch marks are stacked

My hips have rhythm
My back has fat
My jowls jiggle and scowl
And my knees snap

The gyms a distant memory
Dancing is a chore
A night on the town
Something I don’t do anymore

My humour buttons
Gone missing
I am grumpy through and through
I wish I was like new.

© J.Langan  Jan/Feb 2010

Tickity Tock Clock

Time moves us, tick tock
The clock doesn’t stop
Taxes and death no matter
Time moves us, my skins getting thin
My clock, biological or not?
Stops or what
Time moves us, my hair is grey
I can’t just say, I’m grumpy and hot
Or what
Time moves me, my children are grown
My seeds are sown
My future is gone and the past
Is all I have left. a bit deaf

© J.Langan  2009-04-29

The Visit (1)

The Visit ….happened
Only this time she was here to stay
Lets face it
She wasn’t going to go away
In mind. In spirit.
The dust settled
And grew and grew
Covering us from head to toe
Like ashes off the funeral fire
God it was dire

She’s moving in
She’s taking over
There is no smell of clover
But cloying false sentiment
So fake, makes hate

No brushing away of excess slough
No combing
Its off the cuff
Not allowed
To show the love we found
All must notice
All must see
The visitor is here to be

© J.Langan 1989 - 1991

The Hill of Shame

Pink and blue
Satin and silk
Here I am at my mother’s milk
Full of pain, full of guilt
Full of fear, full of tears
How I wish I was young again.

The darkness of this sordid crime
Of lovers gone and dirty shine
Only the love of money made me stay
Only the love of milk and honey
And ambrosia on the hill of shame
How I wish I was young again

Apple sauce and banana skins
Dribble down my Winston’s chin
Dull and greying
Like an old wives saying
Or siren singing
How I wish I was young again

The feel of sealing wax
Slowly dripping upon the tax
Dribble and drabble, blending one
As rates and bills go and come
Get paid and again we go
How I wish I was young again

Parchment skin and wills all done
Feelings felt, thoughts begun
The dust, the shit, the bleeding sun
Make me wish that I was young
How I wish I was young again.

© J.Langan  1991 revised 2010

Tattooed Lady

Tattooed lady
Pierced tongue
Mohawk straight
Wearing lace
Not so young
As first look
A lot of make up took
Lady long time

Tattooed lady
Beginning to fade
No grace just haste
She doesn’t get laid
Accept an occasional
Circus freak Fuck
Alone in her one roomed flat
With her lace and her cat

Tattooed lady
Spent her life
Being different to that
She didn’t want
Trouble and strife
A wife’s life
How different is this
To blue rinse old lady
Alone in her flat
With her lace and her cat?

© J.Langan 2009-04-29

Plastic Mac Suicide

Plastic mac suicide
What do you know?
Why did she jump?
Nobody knows

Plastic mac suicide
What do you know?
It ran down the mac
In runnels so slow

Plastic mac suicide
What do you know?
It couldn’t be bloodier
If she’d slit her wrists…so…

Plastic mac suicide
Smack on the floor
Her body was mutilated
Her mind was a mess
She was more herself then
Than she was when she left

 © J.Langan 1992-3


I turn to you in tenderness, you turn in passion
I offer everything, you feel nothing
You play with me, I hope for love
And when you’ve pulled me apart, you let go.

Oblivion is beautiful
If you can only find it
It’s a place where minds are numb
And emotion is forgotten.

And now that much time has passed
I like to think that I am wiser
But all I really am
Is a skin filled with blood, bones and water.

© J.Langan 1990

No Mercy

There are no more poems in me
They were there but now have; gone
They were there; when
My hair, flowed
My moods and boobs, swung
My head, ached
Late nights were, great
My body was, lean
My tongue, wagged
My lips and hips, kissed
My body, yearned
I popped and couldn’t eat, cake
I had a stash, got mashed
And I showed
No Mercy

There are no more poems in me
I definitely wanna eat, cake
My tongue is, schtum
My moods and boobs swing
Out of control
My head still, aches
I pop pain killers
Indigestion tablets
And self medicate
My body is comfortable
And my hair knows
No Mercy
© J.Langan 2008

Moto Heart

Moto moments
Miniscule happenings
Small stuff
Clogging up the
Big cogs
Small blocks
Making shapes and
Big bluff

Tick tock
Bump bump
Thump thump
Hello heart
I never noticed you
‘Till you stopped.

© J.Langan  January 2010

At the bottom of a black bin, fat tin
Burning so hot, so hot no flames, to tame
Burning all the same, mixed and shredded.

Like the old, crumbling outside, tired bones, inside
Passing through purple curtains
But the swan song is sung, and the mourning has begun.

Not so, canned and packed, sour meat bleeding
Ceremony discontinued like a soap opera slot
Sucked out, pressed in, sent off

At the bottom of a black bin, fat tin
No bones, blood and muscle unformed
Not born
No coffins that small
No room for headstones, or grief
The valley of death out of reach.

© J.Langan  1990 – revised 2010


Bitter twisted an orange shake.
A cocktail or a vicious turn
For the worse
Is what he called me.

Cynical removed vodka without the bite
For life, cold as ice
Like a frosted over slice of strife
Is what he called me.

Knife in the gizzard a gruesome drink
Which left me over the kitchen sink
Your puke, you have no brain
Is what he called me.

He was like sweet cheap champagne
You think it’s nice, the bubbles drip
He slaps your face, calls you bitch
Is the last thing he called me.
© J.Langan  1990 – revised 2010


When I was fifteen, I cut my own hair

I wore make up and didn’t care

When I was fifteen,
I stole, the heart
Of a boy, who was a man
Eighteen but a boy.
When I was fifteen, I knew my escape
Plan, I had to cram
I had to pass my exams
It was London for me
When I was 15 I knew everything
And nothing, my ambition was clear
It was black and white
The world and my Mum
Didn’t know
I was amazing, me
When I was fifteen

My girl is fifteen
She has cut her own hair
Wears make up, and doesn’t care
Whose heart she breaks
Before she escapes
Far away from me
She plans and crams
Ready for her exams
The world is grey, but she is clear
The world is just waiting
For her to be amazing
My girl is fifteen
Better than me

 © J.Langan  2017

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