Grey dawns and routine yawns

The beeping from the rubbish truck mingles with the sound of my boiling kettle

Caffeine to wake the senses

While the radio plays the soft trumpets of Primal Scream


Here’s to the rubbish collectors and early risers


The 7am tooth brushers

The make-up applying bus riders

The silent line of oaps at the chemist

The street sweepers and office cleaners


The overworked class

By the end of the day it’s all done

Trudging home to fester in front of a flickering TV

Grabbing my attention like a moth to a flame


Aldi or Lidl? That’s my choice for booze and discount food

Buying paint stripping kidney rotting juice

On Friday afternoons

The integral part to that fleetingly glorious night of the week


 © Jack Nugent




Sand blows atop the dunes.

My lover’s voice is lost in the wind;

The vast stars shine above us,

A lizard scuttles by.


The waves of our love soak the endless sands;

A spark in the night.


Hand in hand we criss-crossed with nocturnal creature’s footprints.


We slept under rugs in a nomad’s tent.

Curled close,

The moon turned the sand cold;

The fire lost its use.


We searched each other’s bodies for warmth,

And found it in the desert silence.

Watching the sun return;

The morning rays shone love.


Years later,

In times of solace

That night keeps me warm.


© Jack Nugent

Les Cafés

Two cafes, side by side

One red, one blue

Or should I say

One white

One brown

A sign of the politics

A sign of the times.


La rouge

Run by a gaunt white women

Looking like Marine Le Pen

All I got was a disparaging ‘oui’

Then immediately gave a warm respectful “Bonjour Monsieur et Madame” to an old couple who just walked in, to join all the other old white folk.


Maybe it’s my age

Maybe it’s my face

Maybe I lack grace

I felt awkward and antsy

I tried to be warm I tried to be friendly


As the crème of the coffee disappeared

Acceptably unacceptable insults came into my head

Putain. Catin. Merde. Salope.

Feeling like a dollop


I paid Le Pen without a word

As nobody, I walked out those doors

And turned


Le bleu

To a greeting I had not had before

“Bonjour “I said

To the balding Arabic man

“Hello, please sit down, what would you like?” in perfect English he replied


His customers joked and drank funny coloured booze behind him

Coffee he had but croissants none;

But bade me eat one in his establishment

“Enjoy the pastry in my café”


I sat down to a view of wintery bare poplar trees

Protruding like knobbly fingers from the ground

I imagined them curling into a fist and punching the red café up and down town

Turning to dust, the red fronted café.


 © Jack Nugent


I stand in an open field with the sun on my face

My arms are outstretched towards the sky

The wind moves lazily about my knees, stirring the long grass

A single white rose grows at my feet

It encompasses all my dreams and fears


 © Jack Nugent

Endless Possibilities

The endless drawl of planes above, mathematically guided to their destinations
Bound in an endless loop cleaving the sky in transitory bliss
A hiss of engines, a whine of wind
How long will we glide too far off lands searching for something that’s inside us
We mistakenly forgot that the power lies with us
That can lead to beautiful moments of endless tranquilities

We create screaming demons and baneful angels
Silhouetting as unknown shadows in the deep recesses of our minds
Occasionally masquerading as devilish nightmares and delicate fantasies
Invading our thoughts complicating our beautiful psychologies
Distorting and intrinsically fragmenting into echoes of the servile self
Crescendoing cacophonies of emotion spill seamlessly
Our identities pervade it, losing out on all sensibility.

We are kings, we are queens, and we are saints and sinners
The realist and the surrealist, the good and the bad, the clever and the naïve
The compassionate and the jealous, the ambitious and the competitive
The sensitive and the hurtful, the part and the whole
Yourself and ourselves, simultaneously.

 © Jack Nugent

The Beginning of Something

I am still at a loss for words as to how you’ve caused me such wonder

In such a little spell;

Maybe your feminine magic has been weaved so well,

That I fall into your arms and could indefinitely dwell;

Nestled in your wholesome bosom listening to the rhythm in your chest,

All day I could rest this way until the sun sets in the west, at our bodies behest.

Your chestnut curls adorn the bed and whorl the worries from my head;

There is a bond in fondness

And all I know is I am bloody fond of you.


© Jack Nugent