Dissecting a space, Words by Alan Whitfield

The spaces pull,
Under my skin.
No surface itches,
Drawn to the light.

Inside the whale,
Shafts of white.

A nasal breech,
stale bleach,
Industrial fridge murder.

Christmas rush hush,
long gone.
Blaming lame public,
Purchase pessimism.

And you will stay no more,
No carpet floor.
A black corner.
No longer warm.


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A poem of my new found dislike of flying.

I’m not sure when i decided i didn’t like flying. I think the boredom makes me think too much about it. The sea, however off the coast of the U.K looked beautiful. Also flying over southend pier (Britan’s longest pier) was a moment to savour the sheer length of it. A strange set of circumstances…


Blue cheese ripple.
Layered black island.
Is there direction.

Outer heat flares,
Cold hands moisten.
When did it happen,
This alien fear.

Grim tin can,
Led by men.
No clean air.

All gone now.
Looking like linen,
Too there and back.
Covering many stories.


Librium; Spoken word by Alan Whitfield


I  think outwardly did we compete

the lines got blurred or maybe imprinted to sand

washed away or back of a hand

I don’t care were we put them

your sculptured controversy

leaving me alone an on looking adversary

this is wrong but I don’t feel it

you slipped by on a technicality of crazy

leaving me the Librium pawn

like the stale stench of gutted key side fish

left looking not really sure who’s head you was cooking

It doesn’t matter now

it’s the mirror where I see your vision

telling me what!


in clear view the unrolling of a role model

my hindrance your pain


A Poem By Alan Whitfield; Viva Arriva

Viva Arriva…


Lines in rows

the green worm

cuts the air

steady with care


on the concrete

the vultures gather

saliva red drips

prays for slaying


entering the heart

glazed stern faces

fixed on places

string never embracing


the conducted raises

shyness strikes vision

voluntary narcoleptic condition

the worm stops


fresh feed align

crumbs build dams

rappers released relinquished

times have changed


foam wears thin

fray plastic skin

incoming tide prices

making margins further


Beaching fear felt

vultures make numbers

lines grow stronger

inflation nation wonder

Poem By Alan Whitfield. Today i met a man

Today I met a man


Today I met a man.
I didn’t know him,
where he come from,
or who he was.


He told me a tale.
On an epic scale
that focused my mind’s eye to my heart.


It started off with an engine.
Like the parachutes
he talked of, the story unfolded
Bring two sides distant
close from apart


I listened,
I watched,
Hung on every breath
like a ravine


As the story resides
I got a warm feeling inside.
That distance is never
as far as it seems…

A poem: The Unexpected gallery

A poem Todays experience: The Unexpected gallery

The unexpected Gallery

The curiosity is turned on,
Without faltering step,
I stride.
admire on entry.
A visual vacuum before me
in… connected

what is before me
HIV positive,
printed on fabric,
shouting loud.
yes my conscious
like a 1985 ventilate

The eyes they talk to me.
In a corridor of black
printed words confuses

A great pretender
by a real intender

A Poem: Room 3

A light so bright black would shine,
lodged in the corner.
A science awaits the oncoming, calculate time
Ridged! Out stretched trolley hold

Smelling clean the untouched uniform is tied.
A pen mark, a line.
Skin splits…
Like a conductor keeping time.

Time ticks slow…
Eyes scatter the space leaving the subject alone.
Burning hair greats the pneumatic scream.
Oblivious a smile?

Glue and staples and a stitch in time.
Lungs exfoliating air
As if it was me lay there.

By Alan Whitfield 2012