Like a one trick pony
Without the trick;
A bag of phoney
Magic.
A two man town
Without the sense
To vault them
Over fences.
A three act show
Without a crowd,
Or first encore
Allowed.
An increased demand
Without supply,
A live wet land
To dry.
A system strained,
But without sieves,
And many drains
To live.
A world filled out
Where nothing fits,
And twice the mouth
As tits.
Tuesday, 12 January 2010
YOUR UNLOVABLE FRIEND.
Don’t leave me alone
In a lift with him,
Even though he is your friend,
I’d pick apart
His progress
Before the journey’s end.
And after our
Arrival,
I’d be more than pleased,
To watch him walk,
And try to talk,
With broken bits and pieces.
Don’t run me around
In a room with him,
In case he’s overtaken,
I’d reapply
Reality
Until his world was shaken.
And once he is
Awoken,
You’ll see what he can do,
As he begins
Abandoning
The people he once knew.
Don’t string me along
In a lane with you,
Just because he’s let you down,
I’m not about
To do without
You now he’s not around.
In a lift with him,
Even though he is your friend,
I’d pick apart
His progress
Before the journey’s end.
And after our
Arrival,
I’d be more than pleased,
To watch him walk,
And try to talk,
With broken bits and pieces.
Don’t run me around
In a room with him,
In case he’s overtaken,
I’d reapply
Reality
Until his world was shaken.
And once he is
Awoken,
You’ll see what he can do,
As he begins
Abandoning
The people he once knew.
Don’t string me along
In a lane with you,
Just because he’s let you down,
I’m not about
To do without
You now he’s not around.
YOUR LISTED SYSTEMS.
More a movement than a move:
A displaced crease of cloth
Or minutest skin cell shift.
A hummingbird flinch
Beside a flowered stream.
A crocus strand of saffron
Calling for collection.
The sixty first second change between minutes.
The thinnest shaving made
Of the smallest fall of shade on shape.
The unfinished sight of solar flare
Upon the glass of telescope,
Caught from orbit’s reflection.
The end of one centred aim
Directed constantly at your feet,
And all the more noticeable to me,
The furthest person from you.
A displaced crease of cloth
Or minutest skin cell shift.
A hummingbird flinch
Beside a flowered stream.
A crocus strand of saffron
Calling for collection.
The sixty first second change between minutes.
The thinnest shaving made
Of the smallest fall of shade on shape.
The unfinished sight of solar flare
Upon the glass of telescope,
Caught from orbit’s reflection.
The end of one centred aim
Directed constantly at your feet,
And all the more noticeable to me,
The furthest person from you.
YOU CLEAR.
Could it be I
Could engineer
The business of
Tomorrow gone
Then I would have
Your whole more here,
And it would have
You none.
Could it be I
Could emphasise
The urgency
To everyone
Then I would have
Them all less wise,
And it would be
Well done.
Could it be I
Could eulogise
Your worthiness
To me alone
Then I would have
Told many lies,
And you would not
Have known.
Could engineer
The business of
Tomorrow gone
Then I would have
Your whole more here,
And it would have
You none.
Could it be I
Could emphasise
The urgency
To everyone
Then I would have
Them all less wise,
And it would be
Well done.
Could it be I
Could eulogise
Your worthiness
To me alone
Then I would have
Told many lies,
And you would not
Have known.
YELLOW, SICK ROAD.
Its guide ropes know why we need guiding;
Its surface is dry
Though its pathway much worse for unwinding.
Its sea views need us to receive them;
Young surfers attend,
But the size of the tide doesn’t please them.
Its side roads show more signs of hiding;
They suffuse nearby
With appalled creatures caught in their binding.
It sees through the need to retrieve them;
They’re safer exempt,
And away from the main stock that seeds them.
Its ride grows more tired with the riding;
Though softer applied
Now that more things are losing than finding.
Its surface is dry
Though its pathway much worse for unwinding.
Its sea views need us to receive them;
Young surfers attend,
But the size of the tide doesn’t please them.
Its side roads show more signs of hiding;
They suffuse nearby
With appalled creatures caught in their binding.
It sees through the need to retrieve them;
They’re safer exempt,
And away from the main stock that seeds them.
Its ride grows more tired with the riding;
Though softer applied
Now that more things are losing than finding.
WORST PERSON FLORAL.
I refuse
To be accused
Of smelling strangely
Just because I don’t bathe all day,
And am dismayed
At the parade
Of scented products
Appearing along my way.
It’s because
There’s a cost
To hygienic perfection
That I refuse to relinquish my quota of well being,
And accept
My neglect
Of the finer designs
May be the cause of my eventual undoing.
I’ll admit
That I’d quit
Any role that required
Me to compromise my view of the scene,
I’m not scared,
Quite prepared,
To confront anything
That demands I be something too clean.
So beware,
And take care,
That you don’t over do it
And expect from me something I lack,
As I’ll go,
And you’ll know
That I meant every word,
And there won’t be a scent of my track.
To be accused
Of smelling strangely
Just because I don’t bathe all day,
And am dismayed
At the parade
Of scented products
Appearing along my way.
It’s because
There’s a cost
To hygienic perfection
That I refuse to relinquish my quota of well being,
And accept
My neglect
Of the finer designs
May be the cause of my eventual undoing.
I’ll admit
That I’d quit
Any role that required
Me to compromise my view of the scene,
I’m not scared,
Quite prepared,
To confront anything
That demands I be something too clean.
So beware,
And take care,
That you don’t over do it
And expect from me something I lack,
As I’ll go,
And you’ll know
That I meant every word,
And there won’t be a scent of my track.
WITHER NO MORE.
I wish I was back with my folks,
And flat broke,
And with her.
I wish I was only sixteen,
A virgin,
And with her.
I wish I was still drinking halves,
And cheap halves,
And with her.
I wish I was with the full soul
Of the world,
And with her.
I wish I was still quite a joke,
With a smoke,
And with her.
I wish I was down to the waist,
And embarrassed,
And with her.
I wish I was still paid weekly,
How weakly,
And with her.
I wish I was up to no good,
Like you should,
And with her.
I wish I was barely a man,
Understand?
And with her.
I wish I was with my last
And first love,
And with her.
And flat broke,
And with her.
I wish I was only sixteen,
A virgin,
And with her.
I wish I was still drinking halves,
And cheap halves,
And with her.
I wish I was with the full soul
Of the world,
And with her.
I wish I was still quite a joke,
With a smoke,
And with her.
I wish I was down to the waist,
And embarrassed,
And with her.
I wish I was still paid weekly,
How weakly,
And with her.
I wish I was up to no good,
Like you should,
And with her.
I wish I was barely a man,
Understand?
And with her.
I wish I was with my last
And first love,
And with her.
WINNING WON’T COUNT.
The sun split open the surface of the field,
Whose fibre spilt its veins;
Hope, contemptible as always, called to their feet
Those needy of the rain.
The suffered left their shapes convinced,
And no one cared a bit,
Though some un-selfish issuer rescinded,
But still would not commit.
Sleep forwarded itself to mail and order,
Took up by slope and simp;
The brandishing of news was offered over;
Past those holding older stamps.
Be gone; be long gone, before the morning twists,
By order of nail crucifiers’ say;
And as overtime began to grow of this
All labour went that way.
Wherefore the tiny some considered none,
And from the mass of other things
It went a larger process had begun,
Forgotten forged again.
Performance hollowly resisted the attention,
Until their stare left your case,
And nothing else of theirs’ to mention
Was worth switching to in place.
Gone but not surrendered out of steps,
Or the invisible rise inside you,
If you didn’t let them overflow your debts
Then no hopers were denied you.
Whose fibre spilt its veins;
Hope, contemptible as always, called to their feet
Those needy of the rain.
The suffered left their shapes convinced,
And no one cared a bit,
Though some un-selfish issuer rescinded,
But still would not commit.
Sleep forwarded itself to mail and order,
Took up by slope and simp;
The brandishing of news was offered over;
Past those holding older stamps.
Be gone; be long gone, before the morning twists,
By order of nail crucifiers’ say;
And as overtime began to grow of this
All labour went that way.
Wherefore the tiny some considered none,
And from the mass of other things
It went a larger process had begun,
Forgotten forged again.
Performance hollowly resisted the attention,
Until their stare left your case,
And nothing else of theirs’ to mention
Was worth switching to in place.
Gone but not surrendered out of steps,
Or the invisible rise inside you,
If you didn’t let them overflow your debts
Then no hopers were denied you.
WIND BLOWN WOLD.
Roll me a thingarette
And I’ll smoke it where I wish,
Not where no one knows its name anymore,
Or frowns upon it or
Can’t bring themselves to receive it.
Wonder what its tax revenue is though,
And where that figure will come from
Once the morons have banned it
Completely; them I suppose, all
Covered in fragrance.
Something’s got to kill me,
So if this kills me then it kills me;
Better than living an artificial
Extension kind of existence
And catching some unmoveable strain
In a hospital that hasn’t got any investment.
Should I go on because I’m staying here,
As I’m wanted for crimes
Against flooring,
And a flooding of findings
Is breaking the door in,
With flags and flames,
And boots and soil,
And boiling up my blood.
You’ll be needing me
For exhibition pieces
If you continue like this;
Excuse me,
But I’m not going out like that,
I’m still enjoying myself.
And I’ll smoke it where I wish,
Not where no one knows its name anymore,
Or frowns upon it or
Can’t bring themselves to receive it.
Wonder what its tax revenue is though,
And where that figure will come from
Once the morons have banned it
Completely; them I suppose, all
Covered in fragrance.
Something’s got to kill me,
So if this kills me then it kills me;
Better than living an artificial
Extension kind of existence
And catching some unmoveable strain
In a hospital that hasn’t got any investment.
Should I go on because I’m staying here,
As I’m wanted for crimes
Against flooring,
And a flooding of findings
Is breaking the door in,
With flags and flames,
And boots and soil,
And boiling up my blood.
You’ll be needing me
For exhibition pieces
If you continue like this;
Excuse me,
But I’m not going out like that,
I’m still enjoying myself.
WHO COULD WE BE?
Before tomorrow I’d like to impart
All the stringents from the start:
You kick me off and I cannot stop,
I’ll slake your thirst ‘til gone o’clock,
For it’s far too late for mortal souls
To canvass at saloons alone,
But where can chance affect its throw
If not with us and all we know.
The empathy has long since relieved
Itself of all it once believed,
So raise yourself up to the bar
Before your glass has strayed too far.
I’ve got the urge to ride the role,
And toil inside its alcohol,
Until the sun lights our behaviour
Or highlights someone else’s favour.
Forgive my language and bless my soul
For the last embrace was my own goal,
And I’ll try to anticipate your needs
As flesh upon your body breeds.
All the stringents from the start:
You kick me off and I cannot stop,
I’ll slake your thirst ‘til gone o’clock,
For it’s far too late for mortal souls
To canvass at saloons alone,
But where can chance affect its throw
If not with us and all we know.
The empathy has long since relieved
Itself of all it once believed,
So raise yourself up to the bar
Before your glass has strayed too far.
I’ve got the urge to ride the role,
And toil inside its alcohol,
Until the sun lights our behaviour
Or highlights someone else’s favour.
Forgive my language and bless my soul
For the last embrace was my own goal,
And I’ll try to anticipate your needs
As flesh upon your body breeds.
WHERE HOUSE.
It was all clear iconic lines
From Swedish superstores,
And lesser object climes;
Unable to collect dust,
Or allowed to thrust,
And stuffed with trophies won from wars.
Irregular rooms and confines
Protruding from the doors,
Announcing pastimes;
Effacing older lust,
Creating new mistrust,
And roughed up a lot like before.
A large back garden of little design
Raked down towards a shore,
Unwilling to climb back;
Not able to adjust,
Improved but less robust;
A tuft of left land to anchor her.
From Swedish superstores,
And lesser object climes;
Unable to collect dust,
Or allowed to thrust,
And stuffed with trophies won from wars.
Irregular rooms and confines
Protruding from the doors,
Announcing pastimes;
Effacing older lust,
Creating new mistrust,
And roughed up a lot like before.
A large back garden of little design
Raked down towards a shore,
Unwilling to climb back;
Not able to adjust,
Improved but less robust;
A tuft of left land to anchor her.
WHAT MATTERS YOU MAKE.
The mantle of the furthest faller
Fell to you,
As the previous incumbent jumped under hoops,
Not through.
Unable to continue with the inundated
Truth
That somebody, somewhere, had something
Less to lose.
He allowed everybody else’s worst selves to rise
To the surface,
And go about their business as with some kind
Of urgence.
And we oblivious to the weights bourn by stainless
Steel servants,
Or the accumulated effects choice has on
Their fervour.
Fell to you,
As the previous incumbent jumped under hoops,
Not through.
Unable to continue with the inundated
Truth
That somebody, somewhere, had something
Less to lose.
He allowed everybody else’s worst selves to rise
To the surface,
And go about their business as with some kind
Of urgence.
And we oblivious to the weights bourn by stainless
Steel servants,
Or the accumulated effects choice has on
Their fervour.
WHARFAGE DUE.
The future was lightened down river
To allow it to flow more freely
In and out of the reaches,
And restore more easily its features,
That were only minded really
By the aged and the weary
Who had long ago given up the wait,
And far away gone home to stay
In their dug outs underneath,
Debating up stream courses followed.
Told till the last of their eyes
Fell their coins and bequeathed to the
Knowing of others less fallen;
Though grieved they may be,
And lost without knowledge of
What the most oft
Desired words guarantee:
To keep well and warm and around
For the coming of less cabled
Concerns than at present seem certain.
Alongside and as laden and unloaded,
For all that hard labour can bear,
In the current and stirred circumstance.
Tied by boatmen of good heart
To be landed and bonded and kept
Without rent or complaint from a
Landlord who never comes near anymore,
Whilst the cartage is arranged for the
Next equinox, and prepaid so the haulier
Cannot come to blame another’s dead gaze.
To allow it to flow more freely
In and out of the reaches,
And restore more easily its features,
That were only minded really
By the aged and the weary
Who had long ago given up the wait,
And far away gone home to stay
In their dug outs underneath,
Debating up stream courses followed.
Told till the last of their eyes
Fell their coins and bequeathed to the
Knowing of others less fallen;
Though grieved they may be,
And lost without knowledge of
What the most oft
Desired words guarantee:
To keep well and warm and around
For the coming of less cabled
Concerns than at present seem certain.
Alongside and as laden and unloaded,
For all that hard labour can bear,
In the current and stirred circumstance.
Tied by boatmen of good heart
To be landed and bonded and kept
Without rent or complaint from a
Landlord who never comes near anymore,
Whilst the cartage is arranged for the
Next equinox, and prepaid so the haulier
Cannot come to blame another’s dead gaze.
WENT ON A GOVERNMENT DIET AND LOST TWENTY FIVE YEAR.
In the end we had
No one to meet,
For our friends had
Turned from the street.
Funny pictures
Painted in red,
Of the strictures
Inside her head.
No one is grouping,
No one a loner,
No one is trooping
Their colour.
Show me a dole queue,
Show me a thatcher,
Can we hold onto
Our stature?
Beautify me
With objects of wealth,
Then deny me
All but my health.
Put me to work
For ten bob a week,
There’s no choice lad,
The land sprang a leak.
No one is noble,
No one a hero,
No one is able
To hear you.
Show me a miner,
Show me a major,
Can we define a
New labour?
Patch it up quickly
Before all our eyes,
Snatch a sure victory
Out of blue skies.
We don’t learn fast,
We never did,
I guess we have earned mass
Where we have been hid.
No one is singing,
No one arranging,
No one is wringing
The change in.
Show me a saviour,
Show me a martyr;
We should have been braver
To start with.
No one to meet,
For our friends had
Turned from the street.
Funny pictures
Painted in red,
Of the strictures
Inside her head.
No one is grouping,
No one a loner,
No one is trooping
Their colour.
Show me a dole queue,
Show me a thatcher,
Can we hold onto
Our stature?
Beautify me
With objects of wealth,
Then deny me
All but my health.
Put me to work
For ten bob a week,
There’s no choice lad,
The land sprang a leak.
No one is noble,
No one a hero,
No one is able
To hear you.
Show me a miner,
Show me a major,
Can we define a
New labour?
Patch it up quickly
Before all our eyes,
Snatch a sure victory
Out of blue skies.
We don’t learn fast,
We never did,
I guess we have earned mass
Where we have been hid.
No one is singing,
No one arranging,
No one is wringing
The change in.
Show me a saviour,
Show me a martyr;
We should have been braver
To start with.
WAR CHEST BURST.
He had a right tight grip
On the script
Though a slight fright
Slipped from his lips,
And the bright night
Dripped pith and pips
As he moaned.
And his breath left
Grains in the air
That the weathermen
Rained everywhere,
Until death threats
Drained medicare
To its bones.
On the script
Though a slight fright
Slipped from his lips,
And the bright night
Dripped pith and pips
As he moaned.
And his breath left
Grains in the air
That the weathermen
Rained everywhere,
Until death threats
Drained medicare
To its bones.
WALKING YOUR PARK.
In the beginning it was simple:
There was for granted
Having and hold,
Giving and joy;
Being there was everything.
Now I am taller it is less so:
Sun and the rain fall
On me before they
Cover you within the shadow of my face.
Here in the outward ocean, today,
Where the big water
Mocks the ice burg,
It’s quite disturbed;
Lifting rafts a little higher.
Where does this truce thing get us, baby?
This world is not wide
Enough to accept a word
As small and insecure as this peace.
No chance of being out of time tonight,
With you and Toby and wind breaker too,
For now is seamlessly
Only another day
Weeping ourselves sick,
And watching the water trickling down
The window screened world.
There was for granted
Having and hold,
Giving and joy;
Being there was everything.
Now I am taller it is less so:
Sun and the rain fall
On me before they
Cover you within the shadow of my face.
Here in the outward ocean, today,
Where the big water
Mocks the ice burg,
It’s quite disturbed;
Lifting rafts a little higher.
Where does this truce thing get us, baby?
This world is not wide
Enough to accept a word
As small and insecure as this peace.
No chance of being out of time tonight,
With you and Toby and wind breaker too,
For now is seamlessly
Only another day
Weeping ourselves sick,
And watching the water trickling down
The window screened world.
VOCATION.
Drift a bit,
Take liberties;
Lift the lids
Off idiots.
Hibernate
In summer time,
Recuperate
At cost.
Float a while
On blown lilos,
Drink a lot
But slowly.
Make the most
Of broken bones,
And be steady
On your seat.
Raise the roof,
And sink the boat,
And imports
There within;
Clear customs,
Extol facts,
Sweep the field
For stories.
Frosted uses
Fill the bar,
Therefore
We’ll remain.
Lie a weekend,
Stand a day,
Then sit before
Perspiring.
Stay until
The night runs out
Then learn to
Hold retirement.
Someday soon
You’ll wake again,
And walk again,
And start again;
One day against
The wind you’ll find
Is all you need
Of frailty.
Take liberties;
Lift the lids
Off idiots.
Hibernate
In summer time,
Recuperate
At cost.
Float a while
On blown lilos,
Drink a lot
But slowly.
Make the most
Of broken bones,
And be steady
On your seat.
Raise the roof,
And sink the boat,
And imports
There within;
Clear customs,
Extol facts,
Sweep the field
For stories.
Frosted uses
Fill the bar,
Therefore
We’ll remain.
Lie a weekend,
Stand a day,
Then sit before
Perspiring.
Stay until
The night runs out
Then learn to
Hold retirement.
Someday soon
You’ll wake again,
And walk again,
And start again;
One day against
The wind you’ll find
Is all you need
Of frailty.
VESTAL EVENTS.
1) You cannot make intolerant people equal,
Or the ignorant
Gallant.
For the world consists of beguiled idiots
Who are under read
And well fed
By gullible fools who
Follow them.
Secreting their views with increasing ease,
And reciting the news whilst squeezing
The proof;
Push them to the background before they spill
The milk of human mindlessness
All over your
Baby face.
2) You cannot make the irregular consistent,
Or the speculative
Listen.
As the world is awash with what did not flush
From the obese sat
Above,
Still full of themselves and
Their produce.
And who feature in absolving issues
Whilst un-dissolved tissue
Blocks the system.
Perfuse the backwards facing toilets
Of the mid lands
Before their shelves
Give you too much information.
3) You cannot show the sightless where to sit,
Or make the itinerant
Situate.
Because the world is constructed of unshown things,
And the less travelled they are
The better,
And protecting your balance
Is important.
Name the void that swallows your fellow man,
And then do all that you can
To cover it.
Stay in the moment a little longer than you thought,
And it will reward you with much more
Experience;
More than you ever brought to it.
Or the ignorant
Gallant.
For the world consists of beguiled idiots
Who are under read
And well fed
By gullible fools who
Follow them.
Secreting their views with increasing ease,
And reciting the news whilst squeezing
The proof;
Push them to the background before they spill
The milk of human mindlessness
All over your
Baby face.
2) You cannot make the irregular consistent,
Or the speculative
Listen.
As the world is awash with what did not flush
From the obese sat
Above,
Still full of themselves and
Their produce.
And who feature in absolving issues
Whilst un-dissolved tissue
Blocks the system.
Perfuse the backwards facing toilets
Of the mid lands
Before their shelves
Give you too much information.
3) You cannot show the sightless where to sit,
Or make the itinerant
Situate.
Because the world is constructed of unshown things,
And the less travelled they are
The better,
And protecting your balance
Is important.
Name the void that swallows your fellow man,
And then do all that you can
To cover it.
Stay in the moment a little longer than you thought,
And it will reward you with much more
Experience;
More than you ever brought to it.
VENUS.
Before I fail I wish to lie again
In memory of what no more remains,
And through the eyes of day reveal the truth
That falls before the night aligns it new.
But morning has dismissed the point of me,
Descended from more worthy alchemy,
And I have long forsaken any claim
To lit upon the world you once arranged.
In memory of what no more remains,
And through the eyes of day reveal the truth
That falls before the night aligns it new.
But morning has dismissed the point of me,
Descended from more worthy alchemy,
And I have long forsaken any claim
To lit upon the world you once arranged.
UPENDING.
Funny lines at right angles
Pointed towards a car key chain
For moving motor vehicles,
But only an untried replica
Was left inside the house
Along for her.
So I walked out without wheels,
And stumbled, due to tendons,
Through the night mind fields;
Running to a sterile bar
Without a fog of smoke around,
Served up with holy water.
Few hours leave of haze arrived
But strangely without someone;
Dogs everywhere arise, untie,
Or maybe come to notice
The process in the head is tired,
And slower than the boat race.
Fare weathered now I take to leave,
But leaving only suits her,
And its dress is ill conceived.
Beyond her sight I can not care,
And will ensure I try on first
New whereabouts I dare.
Pointed towards a car key chain
For moving motor vehicles,
But only an untried replica
Was left inside the house
Along for her.
So I walked out without wheels,
And stumbled, due to tendons,
Through the night mind fields;
Running to a sterile bar
Without a fog of smoke around,
Served up with holy water.
Few hours leave of haze arrived
But strangely without someone;
Dogs everywhere arise, untie,
Or maybe come to notice
The process in the head is tired,
And slower than the boat race.
Fare weathered now I take to leave,
But leaving only suits her,
And its dress is ill conceived.
Beyond her sight I can not care,
And will ensure I try on first
New whereabouts I dare.
UP ON TOMORROW MORNING.
Upon tomorrow morning
As clouds release again,
And the ground receives the same,
The whole world will know your name.
The vision of revealing
Will fuse itself together,
And loosen weather.
Upon another morning
The day will hold you high
With accents in your eyes
Accepted from the sky.
The focus of the moment
Will frame unlike the recent,
And like the treatment.
Upon a further morning
The air will breathe instead;
The process race ahead
To the recent river bed.
The words will have their instant,
And make it last a life time,
And other time lines.
Upon a dozen mornings
The sling shots will be gone,
And their communion,
And you will be as one.
The open invitation
Will still the rage of ancients,
And make arrangements.
Up on that risen morning
The furtive will have fled,
The natives will be dead
And our skins will all have shed.
The compounds of the wise men
Will fall as down the rain fell,
As dawn today fell.
What of tomorrow morning,
Rising and imploring;
Who cares when the bed
Is as soft as you.
As clouds release again,
And the ground receives the same,
The whole world will know your name.
The vision of revealing
Will fuse itself together,
And loosen weather.
Upon another morning
The day will hold you high
With accents in your eyes
Accepted from the sky.
The focus of the moment
Will frame unlike the recent,
And like the treatment.
Upon a further morning
The air will breathe instead;
The process race ahead
To the recent river bed.
The words will have their instant,
And make it last a life time,
And other time lines.
Upon a dozen mornings
The sling shots will be gone,
And their communion,
And you will be as one.
The open invitation
Will still the rage of ancients,
And make arrangements.
Up on that risen morning
The furtive will have fled,
The natives will be dead
And our skins will all have shed.
The compounds of the wise men
Will fall as down the rain fell,
As dawn today fell.
What of tomorrow morning,
Rising and imploring;
Who cares when the bed
Is as soft as you.
UNTIL THE ALL IS CLEAR.
Has the sky survived?
Does it weep in time
With a nursery rhyme?
Is the ocean calm?
Could it finally have learned
How to encompass the entire world at last?
There was a hole
In-between mind and soul,
Something to teach
Breathing into the breach.
There was a glimpse
Of coverings.
Pain is a thing
That is only skin deep,
But what if your skin’s deep.
Is the onshore due
For a coat of paint
On its rusty plains?
Is the fire light,
Or too nocturnal to deny
Mankind’s flailing hands and natures own demands?
There was a mouth
In-between north and south,
Swallowing whole
Any latitude known.
There was the sound
Of distant crowds.
Planes are a thing
That are all in the mind,
But what if your mind’s gone.
Does it weep in time
With a nursery rhyme?
Is the ocean calm?
Could it finally have learned
How to encompass the entire world at last?
There was a hole
In-between mind and soul,
Something to teach
Breathing into the breach.
There was a glimpse
Of coverings.
Pain is a thing
That is only skin deep,
But what if your skin’s deep.
Is the onshore due
For a coat of paint
On its rusty plains?
Is the fire light,
Or too nocturnal to deny
Mankind’s flailing hands and natures own demands?
There was a mouth
In-between north and south,
Swallowing whole
Any latitude known.
There was the sound
Of distant crowds.
Planes are a thing
That are all in the mind,
But what if your mind’s gone.
TWO NIGHT SWANS.
Two swans in Aldam dock;
Around midnight,
Over port side,
Under moonlight.
White froth in bottled water;
Beside blue keel,
By Swedish steel,
In charmed circle.
Central for many years;
Informal things,
One heart making,
Two tapering.
Draping as labour rests;
And us here late
Between the dates,
With dispatched weight.
Freighted and alone,
Yet quite unveiled,
We watch them sail
Beyond the terminal.
Around midnight,
Over port side,
Under moonlight.
White froth in bottled water;
Beside blue keel,
By Swedish steel,
In charmed circle.
Central for many years;
Informal things,
One heart making,
Two tapering.
Draping as labour rests;
And us here late
Between the dates,
With dispatched weight.
Freighted and alone,
Yet quite unveiled,
We watch them sail
Beyond the terminal.
TWELVE STEP RECOVERY.
There was one day left before the fall
Into the church with you,
And three friends worth of alcohol
To ritually abuse.
With the four whores of the apocalypse,
And five crates of lager top,
We sexed up all the local strips
Until our carriage dropped.
The seven deadly sins were used,
But eight of us were in this,
So a cat o’ nine tails was produced
And given to the sinless.
Now how often do the times surprise
Whilst eleventh hour heading;
At twelve thirty someone breathed a sigh,
We’d overshot the wedding.
Into the church with you,
And three friends worth of alcohol
To ritually abuse.
With the four whores of the apocalypse,
And five crates of lager top,
We sexed up all the local strips
Until our carriage dropped.
The seven deadly sins were used,
But eight of us were in this,
So a cat o’ nine tails was produced
And given to the sinless.
Now how often do the times surprise
Whilst eleventh hour heading;
At twelve thirty someone breathed a sigh,
We’d overshot the wedding.
TOURING.
Reams of bereavement over all.
Pictures of people upon the wall.
Splinters and shrapnel all over me,
Constant reminders of ecstasy;
Feel, zeal, underneath,
Too many animals in your teeth.
You are such a funny girl,
And it doesn’t take much
Time at all, to recall,
Just who you were, and now you are.
Scandal, re-handle and testify.
Mole hills of candles to clarify.
Etching an incident in your mind,
Finding reality hard to find;
Fall, tall, land with haste,
Full of impression too rent of taste.
Fatal as nature can be.
Filling while I choke on you.
Willing to get through,
And shrouds to be enticed.
Pictures of people upon the wall.
Splinters and shrapnel all over me,
Constant reminders of ecstasy;
Feel, zeal, underneath,
Too many animals in your teeth.
You are such a funny girl,
And it doesn’t take much
Time at all, to recall,
Just who you were, and now you are.
Scandal, re-handle and testify.
Mole hills of candles to clarify.
Etching an incident in your mind,
Finding reality hard to find;
Fall, tall, land with haste,
Full of impression too rent of taste.
Fatal as nature can be.
Filling while I choke on you.
Willing to get through,
And shrouds to be enticed.
TONGUE.
On that point we approach the obscure
In the sure and certain hope that it will
Raise erection,
Without objection.
I had to stifle the sound of a
Stiffened nipple
Before its ejection,
Until my head moved on south,
And the whole of my mouth
Came upon
A belly button,
And the hair on my chin
Found something of its kin,
And the tongue in my head
Found a hole for its bed,
With a taste quite like salt
And the warmth of a quilt.
In the sure and certain hope that it will
Raise erection,
Without objection.
I had to stifle the sound of a
Stiffened nipple
Before its ejection,
Until my head moved on south,
And the whole of my mouth
Came upon
A belly button,
And the hair on my chin
Found something of its kin,
And the tongue in my head
Found a hole for its bed,
With a taste quite like salt
And the warmth of a quilt.
TOILS.
String your hand worn tools together,
To symbolise your life’s endeavour,
Then make a loop and wear with passion,
Avoiding anything of fashion.
Don’t overfill your lungs with fumes,
And be careful with adult balloons;
Beware all those who wield turmoil,
And ingratiate themselves with spoils.
Behave yourself until it tickles,
And flirt with anyone who’s fickle;
You’ll lubricate their whether chart
Until they won’t know who they are.
Elucidate until they listen,
And are stoked up enough to whistle,
Then turn them out into the land,
And run before they understand,
That learning all the implications
Of incredible situations
Could help improve the aptitude
For cooking speeches with their food.
So fold your tongue until it perspires,
And mixes juice with their desires;
Don’t make anybody angry ever,
Or labour on their path to heaven.
To symbolise your life’s endeavour,
Then make a loop and wear with passion,
Avoiding anything of fashion.
Don’t overfill your lungs with fumes,
And be careful with adult balloons;
Beware all those who wield turmoil,
And ingratiate themselves with spoils.
Behave yourself until it tickles,
And flirt with anyone who’s fickle;
You’ll lubricate their whether chart
Until they won’t know who they are.
Elucidate until they listen,
And are stoked up enough to whistle,
Then turn them out into the land,
And run before they understand,
That learning all the implications
Of incredible situations
Could help improve the aptitude
For cooking speeches with their food.
So fold your tongue until it perspires,
And mixes juice with their desires;
Don’t make anybody angry ever,
Or labour on their path to heaven.
TIME ON 15th AUGUST 1991.
Time will not comfort me
For what it has not done:
I ripped out my own heart
And consigned the shell to song.
Light begins to atrophy
Before the strongest night;
I removed its mystery
And replaced it with insight.
Taking the sickness was easier than health,
Nowhere left to crawl from shade.
Believing I had removed a spell
I turned and looked away.
Night will never comfort me
Because I sold you there,
I now realise just how much heart
Is too much heart to bear.
So time continues on absolved,
As my chest receives its breath;
Abandoned by its own admissions,
With not even shadows left.
For what it has not done:
I ripped out my own heart
And consigned the shell to song.
Light begins to atrophy
Before the strongest night;
I removed its mystery
And replaced it with insight.
Taking the sickness was easier than health,
Nowhere left to crawl from shade.
Believing I had removed a spell
I turned and looked away.
Night will never comfort me
Because I sold you there,
I now realise just how much heart
Is too much heart to bear.
So time continues on absolved,
As my chest receives its breath;
Abandoned by its own admissions,
With not even shadows left.
TIME CALLED ON MY TOWN.
It’s a nice place to live
But I wouldn’t want to visit
As more residents receive
Than return its benefits,
And a working class career
Has no apprenticeship to practice,
And professionals are rarer
Than the few remaining factories.
There’s a trail of seed on every seat,
Arranged with some abandon,
Unknown perfume around to greet
Whomever it can land on.
A folded chair under an arm
In case some should survive;
A panic switch to an alarm
To use if more arrive.
Older than its yesterdays,
But younger than tomorrows,
Slower than its credit pays,
But quick enough to borrow;
Moving from its latest space
Towards where it must be,
Increasingly behind the race,
But still ahead of me.
Who’s not half as cut as I could be,
But twice as cut as I was,
And the things I am not I should be,
But I’m unable to rally my cause,
For when I split my head open
I crawl to the A&E
Who give me a needle and cotton
As it’s not an emergency.
So check the direction
From whence those shots came,
And be grateful the factions
Are well off their aim,
For the weather is clear
And will be for some time,
And the distance appears
To be less than unkind,
And it wouldn’t be all that hard to explain
How fortunate we are,
And how much fortune in the end
We’ll understand,
For the full stop will be something,
And tending our machine;
More than can be crammed in,
And spun around till clean.
The roof has remained firm,
And the interior the same,
Only the occupants therein
Have changed;
In your seat before you sit,
On your bed before you lie,
In your clothes before you fit
And your grave before you die.
But I wouldn’t want to visit
As more residents receive
Than return its benefits,
And a working class career
Has no apprenticeship to practice,
And professionals are rarer
Than the few remaining factories.
There’s a trail of seed on every seat,
Arranged with some abandon,
Unknown perfume around to greet
Whomever it can land on.
A folded chair under an arm
In case some should survive;
A panic switch to an alarm
To use if more arrive.
Older than its yesterdays,
But younger than tomorrows,
Slower than its credit pays,
But quick enough to borrow;
Moving from its latest space
Towards where it must be,
Increasingly behind the race,
But still ahead of me.
Who’s not half as cut as I could be,
But twice as cut as I was,
And the things I am not I should be,
But I’m unable to rally my cause,
For when I split my head open
I crawl to the A&E
Who give me a needle and cotton
As it’s not an emergency.
So check the direction
From whence those shots came,
And be grateful the factions
Are well off their aim,
For the weather is clear
And will be for some time,
And the distance appears
To be less than unkind,
And it wouldn’t be all that hard to explain
How fortunate we are,
And how much fortune in the end
We’ll understand,
For the full stop will be something,
And tending our machine;
More than can be crammed in,
And spun around till clean.
The roof has remained firm,
And the interior the same,
Only the occupants therein
Have changed;
In your seat before you sit,
On your bed before you lie,
In your clothes before you fit
And your grave before you die.
THINGS TO THINK ABOUT BEFORE YOU GO TO SLEEP,WORK, HOME, SLEEP, WORK, HOME…
The Earth could get hit by a meteorite any minute,
Or a super volcano blow overnight from within it,
Or the weather could gather intensely to smother it,
Or polar ice melt and crack open its covering,
Or infection could cross a biological boundary,
Or the devil could stave theological ground in,
Or a large atom smasher create a black hole,
Or the stock market crumble before you get home,
Or your house be devoured by a radon gas surge,
And you in your trance would not know what occurred.
Or a super volcano blow overnight from within it,
Or the weather could gather intensely to smother it,
Or polar ice melt and crack open its covering,
Or infection could cross a biological boundary,
Or the devil could stave theological ground in,
Or a large atom smasher create a black hole,
Or the stock market crumble before you get home,
Or your house be devoured by a radon gas surge,
And you in your trance would not know what occurred.
THEY SINK TOO MUCH.
We were able
To give them
A stable,
And save sense
From the table
Of the French
Who told fables
To the entrenched
And disabled,
And sentenced
The gullible
To offences
Divisible,
And whose valance
Was aloof,
And substance
The proof,
And lullabies
Labelled
The truth.
To give them
A stable,
And save sense
From the table
Of the French
Who told fables
To the entrenched
And disabled,
And sentenced
The gullible
To offences
Divisible,
And whose valance
Was aloof,
And substance
The proof,
And lullabies
Labelled
The truth.
THE TOOTH STORY.
He went for them rightened
And tightened,
Correction fluid whitened,
And heightened,
But they came out obscene
And ravined,
Working men’s club nicotined,
And morphined.
So he went for them chilling
And grilling,
Oil rigger style drilling,
And filling,
But they ended up aching
And flaking,
Bedrock noise making
Whilst breaking.
So he went for them numbing
And plumbing,
Old fashioned tune humming,
And gumming,
But he ended up painful,
With a drain full,
Rock music disdainful;
Sucking awful.
And tightened,
Correction fluid whitened,
And heightened,
But they came out obscene
And ravined,
Working men’s club nicotined,
And morphined.
So he went for them chilling
And grilling,
Oil rigger style drilling,
And filling,
But they ended up aching
And flaking,
Bedrock noise making
Whilst breaking.
So he went for them numbing
And plumbing,
Old fashioned tune humming,
And gumming,
But he ended up painful,
With a drain full,
Rock music disdainful;
Sucking awful.
THE ROAD MOST TRAVELLED.
I drink and I piss and I drink,
Best drink my own piss then I think.
I eat till I puke then I eat,
And sweep it away from my feet.
I wake then I sleep till I wake,
Best hope that my cycle don’t break.
I dress then disrobe to address,
And pray that my words still impress.
I lie then I rise then a lie,
Pretending I’ve somewhere to fly.
I leave to return to relieve
Myself of the patterns I weave.
I learn to unlearn what I’ve learned,
And remember again who was burned.
I ask that you answer my asking
Without all the tape and the masking.
I roll back the rock of my role,
And run from the mouth of its hole.
I give what I took from our gifts
To the entities sealing our rifts.
I fall then I rise from the fall,
And realise I know nothing at all:
I lived and I died to relive
The actions of those still active.
Best drink my own piss then I think.
I eat till I puke then I eat,
And sweep it away from my feet.
I wake then I sleep till I wake,
Best hope that my cycle don’t break.
I dress then disrobe to address,
And pray that my words still impress.
I lie then I rise then a lie,
Pretending I’ve somewhere to fly.
I leave to return to relieve
Myself of the patterns I weave.
I learn to unlearn what I’ve learned,
And remember again who was burned.
I ask that you answer my asking
Without all the tape and the masking.
I roll back the rock of my role,
And run from the mouth of its hole.
I give what I took from our gifts
To the entities sealing our rifts.
I fall then I rise from the fall,
And realise I know nothing at all:
I lived and I died to relive
The actions of those still active.
THE NEXT INVESTITURE.
Let’s be so earnest
With ourselves, if none else,
But if else, then be on,
And if wrong to admit this
Then make your address,
And addressed, then be gone.
For inside the concerns
Are discussed in hushed tones,
But these tones are not ours.
And if so deduced,
Then the walls have been breached,
And if breached then its war.
So forget being earnest,
And for now to the fence,
For the fence is our hope.
But if fallen then all we
Have left is belief,
And belief cannot cope.
And if only we’d listened,
And later we’d heard,
We’d have heard and not fought.
Then we wouldn’t be trapped
By four square enemies,
And our enemies’ thoughts.
For we could have exchanged
Our numbers and words,
For their words and effects.
But we didn’t, so sorry
To have dragged you along,
This long path and the next.
With ourselves, if none else,
But if else, then be on,
And if wrong to admit this
Then make your address,
And addressed, then be gone.
For inside the concerns
Are discussed in hushed tones,
But these tones are not ours.
And if so deduced,
Then the walls have been breached,
And if breached then its war.
So forget being earnest,
And for now to the fence,
For the fence is our hope.
But if fallen then all we
Have left is belief,
And belief cannot cope.
And if only we’d listened,
And later we’d heard,
We’d have heard and not fought.
Then we wouldn’t be trapped
By four square enemies,
And our enemies’ thoughts.
For we could have exchanged
Our numbers and words,
For their words and effects.
But we didn’t, so sorry
To have dragged you along,
This long path and the next.
THE LAST IMPERIALISTS.
When that grand old dog gone down
We saved his service medals,
And bore them for the war parade
That shone on once sun light settled.
Our own objects were outlawed
In case they should coerce us,
So we hid them from our leaders’ eyes
In remembrance of murders.
But the going sun won over
The critics’ indecision,
Who made young men imagine
A land of long division.
And a proud and ancient nation
Was forced by foreign light,
To even the equation,
And insert new insight.
We did so and surrendered
Our mile and pile of pounds,
That down the years defenders
Had fought for on the ground.
And now by their thumb we’re under,
With our units unified,
And it would appear their numbers
On us have multiplied.
We saved his service medals,
And bore them for the war parade
That shone on once sun light settled.
Our own objects were outlawed
In case they should coerce us,
So we hid them from our leaders’ eyes
In remembrance of murders.
But the going sun won over
The critics’ indecision,
Who made young men imagine
A land of long division.
And a proud and ancient nation
Was forced by foreign light,
To even the equation,
And insert new insight.
We did so and surrendered
Our mile and pile of pounds,
That down the years defenders
Had fought for on the ground.
And now by their thumb we’re under,
With our units unified,
And it would appear their numbers
On us have multiplied.
THE HEIGHT OF THE NIGHTMARE RIGHT HERE.
I tricked her
Like a trickster,
With garlic tinged fingers;
Slip us a drip in there love
As it lingers.
For simple rings
With metal tints,
And shop soiled ancillary gems,
Are the next worst thing
To a last drink.
With her apocryphal tale
Now amended to mine,
Announced to all
And sundry;
A cynical tale
Uplifted from time,
And made to fall
On Sunday.
I dreamt she lived unlike my life
So I cancelled her awakening.
She bit her tongue,
But not hard enough,
As it stayed on;
Please try again
So it may come off
And be gone.
For we have to get after them,
And make more than haste,
For the longer we tend to them
The more backs will break.
Like a trickster,
With garlic tinged fingers;
Slip us a drip in there love
As it lingers.
For simple rings
With metal tints,
And shop soiled ancillary gems,
Are the next worst thing
To a last drink.
With her apocryphal tale
Now amended to mine,
Announced to all
And sundry;
A cynical tale
Uplifted from time,
And made to fall
On Sunday.
I dreamt she lived unlike my life
So I cancelled her awakening.
She bit her tongue,
But not hard enough,
As it stayed on;
Please try again
So it may come off
And be gone.
For we have to get after them,
And make more than haste,
For the longer we tend to them
The more backs will break.
THE DAYS OF SPILLED EARTH.
All the way round it was dark,
Although it was day,
As everything entered the night
Or ended that way;
Even the whites of our eyes
Were evening shade
Whilst beneath the route of our feet
The earth bled its clay.
And us there alone with the air
Having ushered up close;
Pressed into our faces
With the passion of all feared most.
Forcing ourselves to knit more,
With four senses invoked,
As sight generated old
Scenes to get stuck in our throats.
A trickle of spit mixed
With a thickness of sweat
Splashed over the edge of our
Dispatch and got our toes wet;
The moment was over and gone
From the minute we met
So let us slip into the pond
And live under its net.
Although it was day,
As everything entered the night
Or ended that way;
Even the whites of our eyes
Were evening shade
Whilst beneath the route of our feet
The earth bled its clay.
And us there alone with the air
Having ushered up close;
Pressed into our faces
With the passion of all feared most.
Forcing ourselves to knit more,
With four senses invoked,
As sight generated old
Scenes to get stuck in our throats.
A trickle of spit mixed
With a thickness of sweat
Splashed over the edge of our
Dispatch and got our toes wet;
The moment was over and gone
From the minute we met
So let us slip into the pond
And live under its net.
THE BEAUTIFUL SURROUNDING PEOPLE.
Mrs. Succour unto Caesar
Will do anything to please you,
Whilst Mr. Comical performer
Can backstab or forewarn you.
Mr. Bad breath shiny head sir
Works sixty hours un-dead sir,
As Mr. Unimportant ambush
Is sitting in his calm plush
Palm chair.
Mr. Sleeping anaconda sir
Performing unknown wonders.
Mr. Dirty old sea captain
Floating his boat once again.
Mr. Little Sicily looker,
Best friend and stray ship booker,
Mr Couldn’t give a fuck sir
Being mellow looking on
As all things come undone.
Whilst Mr. Decorated gentleman,
And Lady Typist sentinel,
And Ms. Personnel repellent,
And her team of resource tellers,
And old Mr. Talking less man,
And Private walking legs man,
Go up North Street
And down.
Will do anything to please you,
Whilst Mr. Comical performer
Can backstab or forewarn you.
Mr. Bad breath shiny head sir
Works sixty hours un-dead sir,
As Mr. Unimportant ambush
Is sitting in his calm plush
Palm chair.
Mr. Sleeping anaconda sir
Performing unknown wonders.
Mr. Dirty old sea captain
Floating his boat once again.
Mr. Little Sicily looker,
Best friend and stray ship booker,
Mr Couldn’t give a fuck sir
Being mellow looking on
As all things come undone.
Whilst Mr. Decorated gentleman,
And Lady Typist sentinel,
And Ms. Personnel repellent,
And her team of resource tellers,
And old Mr. Talking less man,
And Private walking legs man,
Go up North Street
And down.
THE BARMAID’S SISTER.
She had birds nest hair
The colour of jaundice,
And an enormous nose
That bridged beyond this.
A mile wide smile
With a kilometre’s charm,
And seventeen suitors
Tattooed on her arm.
A front door that was always
Open too wide,
With more odd sock draws
Than feet inside.
Six kids somewhere,
Either inside or out,
Another in a home
For the benefit of doubt.
A dog with disease
Of unknown origin,
A cat like creature
That was always foraging.
With power in the house
Turned on 24/5,
But not beyond Friday
As she was barely alive,
Having consumed the contents
Of pub and purse,
And the confused comments
Of the last man there,
Whom she couldn’t convince
Of her salacity,
Seems the only thing pulling
Was poor old gravity.
And as her skin was beginning
To fold like paper
She had to persuade
Adolescents to rape her,
So they ran her out of Dodge
With her crook and sheep
As I closed the curtains
And went back to sleep.
The colour of jaundice,
And an enormous nose
That bridged beyond this.
A mile wide smile
With a kilometre’s charm,
And seventeen suitors
Tattooed on her arm.
A front door that was always
Open too wide,
With more odd sock draws
Than feet inside.
Six kids somewhere,
Either inside or out,
Another in a home
For the benefit of doubt.
A dog with disease
Of unknown origin,
A cat like creature
That was always foraging.
With power in the house
Turned on 24/5,
But not beyond Friday
As she was barely alive,
Having consumed the contents
Of pub and purse,
And the confused comments
Of the last man there,
Whom she couldn’t convince
Of her salacity,
Seems the only thing pulling
Was poor old gravity.
And as her skin was beginning
To fold like paper
She had to persuade
Adolescents to rape her,
So they ran her out of Dodge
With her crook and sheep
As I closed the curtains
And went back to sleep.
TESTIMONY AGAIN.
The futility of humanity
When faced with accusations,
The brutality of qualities
Once laced with acumen.
The ability of lullabies
To wake adrenaline,
Facilitating honey pies
Heart breaking everyone.
The normality of calluses
Upon the seats of learning,
Formalities and fallacies,
Untold feats of yearning.
The fortitude of alcohol
Affecting the endearing,
Reproval of the young we’re told
Is fetched up by the fearing.
Formaldehyde and ether flow
When prohibition calls,
Turn a tide, and swiftly go,
When institutions fall.
And left unaided, without hope,
Societies face the wall;
Mankind on a swinging rope
All wide eyed and enthralled.
When faced with accusations,
The brutality of qualities
Once laced with acumen.
The ability of lullabies
To wake adrenaline,
Facilitating honey pies
Heart breaking everyone.
The normality of calluses
Upon the seats of learning,
Formalities and fallacies,
Untold feats of yearning.
The fortitude of alcohol
Affecting the endearing,
Reproval of the young we’re told
Is fetched up by the fearing.
Formaldehyde and ether flow
When prohibition calls,
Turn a tide, and swiftly go,
When institutions fall.
And left unaided, without hope,
Societies face the wall;
Mankind on a swinging rope
All wide eyed and enthralled.
TARE WEIGHT.
Maybe there’s a tear in the awning,
Something you can’t see in the dark,
Maybe you should wait ‘til the morning,
Hesitate ‘til the morning.
When the sun is equal to nothing,
Then you know it’s time to resume,
Throwing out your memories clothing,
Your enemies clothing.
Maybe there’s a spot of emotion
Looking rather dry on its own,
People say there are fish in the ocean,
Maybe you should wish for the ocean.
When the moon is whole in the evening,
Then you can retake your position,
Make your aim to be unbelieving,
Be seen to be leaving.
Maybe there’s a rent in the fabric,
Something only slightly revealed,
Should be you’ve worked wonderful magic,
Misunderstood magic.
When there is nothing left of the daytime,
When it’s all begun to release,
That’s the time to find a new playtime,
Remind you it’s playtime.
Maybe there’s a drop in the weather,
Maybe it has risen as well,
Maybe we can garden forever,
Be pardoned together.
Something you can’t see in the dark,
Maybe you should wait ‘til the morning,
Hesitate ‘til the morning.
When the sun is equal to nothing,
Then you know it’s time to resume,
Throwing out your memories clothing,
Your enemies clothing.
Maybe there’s a spot of emotion
Looking rather dry on its own,
People say there are fish in the ocean,
Maybe you should wish for the ocean.
When the moon is whole in the evening,
Then you can retake your position,
Make your aim to be unbelieving,
Be seen to be leaving.
Maybe there’s a rent in the fabric,
Something only slightly revealed,
Should be you’ve worked wonderful magic,
Misunderstood magic.
When there is nothing left of the daytime,
When it’s all begun to release,
That’s the time to find a new playtime,
Remind you it’s playtime.
Maybe there’s a drop in the weather,
Maybe it has risen as well,
Maybe we can garden forever,
Be pardoned together.
TALKING WITHOUT EASE.
It’s difficult
Not to talk in metaphor,
Or allegory anymore.
And typical
When you communicate
Your words arrive too late.
And obvious
That when it is your turn
There’s no one to infer.
And all because
The best were up there first,
And covered every verse.
An eternity;
For every second
You refrain from being sickened.
As certainty
And doubtfulness
Still divide your interest.
It’s ultimate
That you will remain seated,
And never be repeated,
And unfortunate
That they’ve already heard
The least important words.
Not to talk in metaphor,
Or allegory anymore.
And typical
When you communicate
Your words arrive too late.
And obvious
That when it is your turn
There’s no one to infer.
And all because
The best were up there first,
And covered every verse.
An eternity;
For every second
You refrain from being sickened.
As certainty
And doubtfulness
Still divide your interest.
It’s ultimate
That you will remain seated,
And never be repeated,
And unfortunate
That they’ve already heard
The least important words.
Monday, 11 January 2010
TALE.
For all good men and true to tell
The tale of history
Requires investigation of
The Christian mystery;
For it says right here, before the bible,
People worshipped pan,
Until the saintly brethren
Re-christened him Satan.
And sheltered by the window ledge of time
We’ve been deceived,
Instead of dancing round the trees
They’ve had us sweeping leaves;
For penance is, as everybody knows,
Our legacy,
Inherited for crimes against
The whole theology.
But as the story teller sells it
We shall all be saved,
By offering our ears to them
Throughout our lonely days.
And hoping nothing bad occurs
Before we’ve sent our prayers
To some ones’ fairy tale idea
Of some old man upstairs.
Or of his son about his way,
And all the things he brought us,
Raising people from their beds,
And making wine from water.
Don’t get me wrong for saying this,
I’m not an atheist,
But I’d rather hear my stories
From an apostle who’s not pissed.
The tale of history
Requires investigation of
The Christian mystery;
For it says right here, before the bible,
People worshipped pan,
Until the saintly brethren
Re-christened him Satan.
And sheltered by the window ledge of time
We’ve been deceived,
Instead of dancing round the trees
They’ve had us sweeping leaves;
For penance is, as everybody knows,
Our legacy,
Inherited for crimes against
The whole theology.
But as the story teller sells it
We shall all be saved,
By offering our ears to them
Throughout our lonely days.
And hoping nothing bad occurs
Before we’ve sent our prayers
To some ones’ fairy tale idea
Of some old man upstairs.
Or of his son about his way,
And all the things he brought us,
Raising people from their beds,
And making wine from water.
Don’t get me wrong for saying this,
I’m not an atheist,
But I’d rather hear my stories
From an apostle who’s not pissed.
SWISS ASSISTED SUICIDE.
A voluntary euthanasia class
For aspiring suicides;
Sign up for the golden path,
Check out, all, inside:
If you’re drifting from existence,
With tethers still restrained,
Then slip us your resistance,
And we’ll remove the chains.
Or when morning’s uninvited,
And afternoon’s a bore,
When night has you indicted,
Call in and tell us all.
Or if there are too many fellows,
Or maidens in your boat,
Call in; we’ll make it mellow,
And keep the ship afloat.
You see our sponsor is the government,
Whose criteria we’ve met,
With tender care and temperance,
And fulfilment of targets.
They’ve commissioned our premise,
With open arms and legs,
And collect our refuse from us,
Recycling the dregs.
For we’re keeping unemployment low,
Recruiting for the dead,
And if not sure you want to go
Then work for us instead.
For aspiring suicides;
Sign up for the golden path,
Check out, all, inside:
If you’re drifting from existence,
With tethers still restrained,
Then slip us your resistance,
And we’ll remove the chains.
Or when morning’s uninvited,
And afternoon’s a bore,
When night has you indicted,
Call in and tell us all.
Or if there are too many fellows,
Or maidens in your boat,
Call in; we’ll make it mellow,
And keep the ship afloat.
You see our sponsor is the government,
Whose criteria we’ve met,
With tender care and temperance,
And fulfilment of targets.
They’ve commissioned our premise,
With open arms and legs,
And collect our refuse from us,
Recycling the dregs.
For we’re keeping unemployment low,
Recruiting for the dead,
And if not sure you want to go
Then work for us instead.
SURVIVING THE SAID.
Fundamentalists react to their somewhat
Compacted ideas until they are blown up by their
Sullen actions. Unbeknown to themselves
They are only mimicking the motions
Of the observed.
When stationary the reserved are often
To be seen mumbling absurdities at each
Other and applying themselves to the
Problems of the never present.
Unfortunately the two lines run
Adjacent from a central point until
They close ranks and encircle the players
Within, who, to no avail, insist upon
Their informal realities, whilst the
Circle is the antithesis of this.
They tend to overlook the alternatives and
Continue debating the apparently
Unattainable.
All this is absolute bollocks compared
To the features of your countenance;
The slant of your eyes and curl of your
Mouth – fuck the rhetorical, theoretical and theological –
Embrace the physical, unread the book, listen to
The sound of muscles moving, straining against
Their restraints, doing their thing.
Long may it survive instead.
Compacted ideas until they are blown up by their
Sullen actions. Unbeknown to themselves
They are only mimicking the motions
Of the observed.
When stationary the reserved are often
To be seen mumbling absurdities at each
Other and applying themselves to the
Problems of the never present.
Unfortunately the two lines run
Adjacent from a central point until
They close ranks and encircle the players
Within, who, to no avail, insist upon
Their informal realities, whilst the
Circle is the antithesis of this.
They tend to overlook the alternatives and
Continue debating the apparently
Unattainable.
All this is absolute bollocks compared
To the features of your countenance;
The slant of your eyes and curl of your
Mouth – fuck the rhetorical, theoretical and theological –
Embrace the physical, unread the book, listen to
The sound of muscles moving, straining against
Their restraints, doing their thing.
Long may it survive instead.
STILL EXIGENT.
Her distress was arrested more easily
Than she thought possible,
Although during it, possibilities
Deceived her evenly.
Her beauty was rooted there eagerly,
But through despair
Diluted sure until it brought
Her to unbearable.
She allied herself with cries
To rekindle, although they
Serviced other ends,
And found no rise around her.
Able to be nearer fool than wise,
She cared to take with none,
Until took over and
Left with a little more than found.
Than she thought possible,
Although during it, possibilities
Deceived her evenly.
Her beauty was rooted there eagerly,
But through despair
Diluted sure until it brought
Her to unbearable.
She allied herself with cries
To rekindle, although they
Serviced other ends,
And found no rise around her.
Able to be nearer fool than wise,
She cared to take with none,
Until took over and
Left with a little more than found.
STANDING ON THE WINDOW.
I’m sat at the breakfast table,
Only it’s midnight,
And the blinds are up,
And I can see my reflection
In the window pane;
The vines outside
Are dancing with the wind,
And leaning steeply,
Passing through my reflection and
Lashing at my shirt,
And that’s probably just.
I’m sat at the breakfast table,
And it’s breakfast time,
And the blinds are up.
The window is full of the day
And the garden side.
The high bird house
Has sitting tenants
That are pulling at ugly things
About where the heart of my
Reflection would have been last night,
And I can see the justice in that too.
By the time the sun climbs
Directly above
I’m not there anymore to see it,
And there’s glass all over the kitchen,
With a piece of me through every fragment,
And I’m not returning to correct it.
The course of my aim is settled,
Unlike the lines of my reflection
In the wind.
Only it’s midnight,
And the blinds are up,
And I can see my reflection
In the window pane;
The vines outside
Are dancing with the wind,
And leaning steeply,
Passing through my reflection and
Lashing at my shirt,
And that’s probably just.
I’m sat at the breakfast table,
And it’s breakfast time,
And the blinds are up.
The window is full of the day
And the garden side.
The high bird house
Has sitting tenants
That are pulling at ugly things
About where the heart of my
Reflection would have been last night,
And I can see the justice in that too.
By the time the sun climbs
Directly above
I’m not there anymore to see it,
And there’s glass all over the kitchen,
With a piece of me through every fragment,
And I’m not returning to correct it.
The course of my aim is settled,
Unlike the lines of my reflection
In the wind.
SQUEEZE BELLY ALLEY.
More a blade of grass
Than a tree
Designed
To salivate for sin.
More than you toothless
Or me full
Of teeth
To whistle in the wind.
Between two lips
You look at me,
And stay
Like that.
You think you’re getting broader
Than you were before,
But you’re more a giraffe
Than an elephant,
I keep telling you,
To apparent applause.
You’re not over weight,
Just afraid of dissipating,
Or putting up extensions,
Or branching out
In more than
Three dimensions,
Well four if you don’t take much time.
There’s nowhere you can’t go:
No Yorkshire bars or
Snickle ways you can’t fit through,
No Cornish alleys or
Fertile valleys you can’t go down,
No manhole covers
Or latent lovers you couldn’t fall into,
Just me you can’t impress
You fat bastard.
Than a tree
Designed
To salivate for sin.
More than you toothless
Or me full
Of teeth
To whistle in the wind.
Between two lips
You look at me,
And stay
Like that.
You think you’re getting broader
Than you were before,
But you’re more a giraffe
Than an elephant,
I keep telling you,
To apparent applause.
You’re not over weight,
Just afraid of dissipating,
Or putting up extensions,
Or branching out
In more than
Three dimensions,
Well four if you don’t take much time.
There’s nowhere you can’t go:
No Yorkshire bars or
Snickle ways you can’t fit through,
No Cornish alleys or
Fertile valleys you can’t go down,
No manhole covers
Or latent lovers you couldn’t fall into,
Just me you can’t impress
You fat bastard.
SOMETHING TO BE LEAVING.
Get me a button,
Get me a board,
Get me a sequence of switches.
Wire up a glutton,
Wire up a hoard,
Wire up a round world of riches.
Pass me the package,
Pass me the phone,
Pass me the president’s number.
Tie up the message,
Tie up the tone,
Tie up the eternal incumbent.
Find me a minute,
Find me a day,
Find me a view of salvation.
Shut up the synod,
Shut up their prey,
Shut up and await your damnation.
Carry me onwards,
Carry me high,
Carry my garland before me.
Fix up asunder,
Fix up the sky,
Fix up in the manner of morphine.
Remember me always,
Remember me still,
Remember the things I did for you.
Nail up the doorways,
Nail up my will,
Nail up your Kings I implore you.
Get me a board,
Get me a sequence of switches.
Wire up a glutton,
Wire up a hoard,
Wire up a round world of riches.
Pass me the package,
Pass me the phone,
Pass me the president’s number.
Tie up the message,
Tie up the tone,
Tie up the eternal incumbent.
Find me a minute,
Find me a day,
Find me a view of salvation.
Shut up the synod,
Shut up their prey,
Shut up and await your damnation.
Carry me onwards,
Carry me high,
Carry my garland before me.
Fix up asunder,
Fix up the sky,
Fix up in the manner of morphine.
Remember me always,
Remember me still,
Remember the things I did for you.
Nail up the doorways,
Nail up my will,
Nail up your Kings I implore you.
SOMEONE TOLD, SOMEONE KNEW, SOMEONE SWALLOWED, SOMEONE TRUE.
All women are wide
When they walk as a bride,
And marry outside
Of their dreams;
So don’t wed in white,
Go in black, and at night,
When it’s less of a fright
Than it seems.
And if compliments fall
Then gather them all
So you can recall
Them when older,
But if none have been brought
Don’t feel overwrought
Use the ones that you bought
From that soldier.
The one with one leg,
Who you couldn’t beg,
So purchased instead
And dived into,
And was so overwhelmed
How you almost withheld
All your flesh till it fell
Like midwinter.
And who promised you then
You would never again
Need to bargain yourself
For consent,
But who left the next day,
Leaving you where you lay,
With his peg to convey
His comments.
It was covered in rhymes
That were hardly in time,
Although one underlined
Was a verse:
“Beg, steal or borrow,
What you need for tomorrow,
And never dishonour
Your purse”
And you’ve lived by these words
Ever since, and reversed,
All the fears you rehearsed
In your youth,
And you’re still overweight,
And the hours getting late,
But your dreams are about
To come true.
When they walk as a bride,
And marry outside
Of their dreams;
So don’t wed in white,
Go in black, and at night,
When it’s less of a fright
Than it seems.
And if compliments fall
Then gather them all
So you can recall
Them when older,
But if none have been brought
Don’t feel overwrought
Use the ones that you bought
From that soldier.
The one with one leg,
Who you couldn’t beg,
So purchased instead
And dived into,
And was so overwhelmed
How you almost withheld
All your flesh till it fell
Like midwinter.
And who promised you then
You would never again
Need to bargain yourself
For consent,
But who left the next day,
Leaving you where you lay,
With his peg to convey
His comments.
It was covered in rhymes
That were hardly in time,
Although one underlined
Was a verse:
“Beg, steal or borrow,
What you need for tomorrow,
And never dishonour
Your purse”
And you’ve lived by these words
Ever since, and reversed,
All the fears you rehearsed
In your youth,
And you’re still overweight,
And the hours getting late,
But your dreams are about
To come true.
SMOKE ME OUT.
I was pursued for fifteen years
By the exhailings of the day,
Until my journey brought me here,
The place I where textures play.
I felt my way towards a space
A fraction left of even,
And comforted, and without taste,
Resigned myself from reason.
My searching had become much more,
And rest became my keep,
Until the day tracked down my shore
And lit kindling at my feet.
The smoke escaped beneath my shoes
Until it stirred my dreaming,
I woke and could not take the news,
and fled anxiously steaming.
The day reached down and took my scent,
And gave it to an unknown hound;
The beast took off a pace hell bent
To find my underground.
You see I had absconded long ways,
With bandaged blistered soles;
The fire had unintentionally razed
My habit from parole.
By the exhailings of the day,
Until my journey brought me here,
The place I where textures play.
I felt my way towards a space
A fraction left of even,
And comforted, and without taste,
Resigned myself from reason.
My searching had become much more,
And rest became my keep,
Until the day tracked down my shore
And lit kindling at my feet.
The smoke escaped beneath my shoes
Until it stirred my dreaming,
I woke and could not take the news,
and fled anxiously steaming.
The day reached down and took my scent,
And gave it to an unknown hound;
The beast took off a pace hell bent
To find my underground.
You see I had absconded long ways,
With bandaged blistered soles;
The fire had unintentionally razed
My habit from parole.
SENTIMENTAL SENTINAL.
Instead of floating gracefully we fell,
But with our names known by informers well
Enough to intervene in our decent,
We came to safely land;
Enabling us to go into ourselves anew,
As steady as the solid state of things unused,
Then sold emotionally to
The attrition of reproach.
And such worst case situations call for
All the more attention to reward
Us in these days of less compassion
Felt unless made shamed.
But with our names known by informers well
Enough to intervene in our decent,
We came to safely land;
Enabling us to go into ourselves anew,
As steady as the solid state of things unused,
Then sold emotionally to
The attrition of reproach.
And such worst case situations call for
All the more attention to reward
Us in these days of less compassion
Felt unless made shamed.
SENT TO HAUNT.
In case I fall asleep tonight
I’ll paint my eyelids blue,
Then if you wander by my site
You’ll see me watching you.
I’ve sat outside upon my stoop,
Before a million flowers,
Certain that we’ll share this route,
Again, if the gods allow us.
I can recall a fleeting glimpse
Of someone who looked similar,
Though that was thirty years since,
And somehow unfamiliar.
Gone sixty now and grown into
These steps outside my door,
I can’t remember much of you,
But still I’ll wait some more.
I’ll paint my eyelids blue,
Then if you wander by my site
You’ll see me watching you.
I’ve sat outside upon my stoop,
Before a million flowers,
Certain that we’ll share this route,
Again, if the gods allow us.
I can recall a fleeting glimpse
Of someone who looked similar,
Though that was thirty years since,
And somehow unfamiliar.
Gone sixty now and grown into
These steps outside my door,
I can’t remember much of you,
But still I’ll wait some more.
SEEN AND HEARD AND MURDERED.
You heard them
In your head room,
They asked to be undone;
One afternoon
They came to you,
And used their little tongues.
You saw them
In the bathroom,
Where they did not belong,
And never knew
What other tunes
Their voices could have sung.
You led them
To the bedroom,
And killed them one by one,
And two by two
You had removed
Their arms and legs and lungs.
You wrapped them
In the back room,
To keep them from the sun,
They looked brand new
In their cocoons,
Without their red shirts on.
In your head room,
They asked to be undone;
One afternoon
They came to you,
And used their little tongues.
You saw them
In the bathroom,
Where they did not belong,
And never knew
What other tunes
Their voices could have sung.
You led them
To the bedroom,
And killed them one by one,
And two by two
You had removed
Their arms and legs and lungs.
You wrapped them
In the back room,
To keep them from the sun,
They looked brand new
In their cocoons,
Without their red shirts on.
SEARCH AND RESEARCH.
There is still that great leap yet to take,
The next step forward met to make.
The mind leading its hind quarters
Where they’ve not been exported
Or ever imagined
They would.
Still that tightrope to cross over,
That undiminished desire to go there;
Though height sails beyond view
With its purpose removed
It will all soon be well
Understood.
It remains in the contract of agreement,
Awaiting the arrival of new tenants;
Although they may be unsure
As to where they are going
They know they will get
There in time.
And once there they will be like us all:
Amazed they’ve not been there before,
As conditions will be familiar,
And remarkably similar,
To everything they
Left behind.
And again blended in with the mist
Time will pass along with its preface,
And they’ll settle for this for awhile
Until someone discovers a sign
That points on beyond
Their idyll.
And it will start once again with a stride,
And a walk to the edge of the wild;
Fortunes raised and accounted,
And steady rides mounted,
And on it will travel
Uphill.
The next step forward met to make.
The mind leading its hind quarters
Where they’ve not been exported
Or ever imagined
They would.
Still that tightrope to cross over,
That undiminished desire to go there;
Though height sails beyond view
With its purpose removed
It will all soon be well
Understood.
It remains in the contract of agreement,
Awaiting the arrival of new tenants;
Although they may be unsure
As to where they are going
They know they will get
There in time.
And once there they will be like us all:
Amazed they’ve not been there before,
As conditions will be familiar,
And remarkably similar,
To everything they
Left behind.
And again blended in with the mist
Time will pass along with its preface,
And they’ll settle for this for awhile
Until someone discovers a sign
That points on beyond
Their idyll.
And it will start once again with a stride,
And a walk to the edge of the wild;
Fortunes raised and accounted,
And steady rides mounted,
And on it will travel
Uphill.
SALARY DISREGARDING PLAN.
There are no more heroes anymore,
Only euros.
No fledglings to democratize,
Only economies
To bind.
No people
Capable
Of uniting under their
Own flag,
Only cripples
Ably
Reciting their rites
Instead,
Whilst rigging hearts
And minds and
Soles
In which
To hide
Their own:
Either down
Common holes,
Or up
Greasy poles;
Seeking
Excuses,
And decrying abuses,
Whilst extending
Their own
Outstretched arms.
Only euros.
No fledglings to democratize,
Only economies
To bind.
No people
Capable
Of uniting under their
Own flag,
Only cripples
Ably
Reciting their rites
Instead,
Whilst rigging hearts
And minds and
Soles
In which
To hide
Their own:
Either down
Common holes,
Or up
Greasy poles;
Seeking
Excuses,
And decrying abuses,
Whilst extending
Their own
Outstretched arms.
SACRED SECRETS.
Fingers in motion
From mole men at play,
Who don’t have their sight
So must feel their way,
And follow the rabbit,
And find it today,
Regardless of what it might say.
You’ll see them on mountains,
But hills they prefer,
Especially the ones
That are covered in curls;
With holes in the middle,
Like oysters and pearls,
Awaiting the will of the world.
To find it and turn it,
And keep it aroused,
Until nearly sated,
And raised like eyebrows,
And then when it’s humbled
It may just allow
A stone from its glorious crown.
Those devilish mole men
Know more than most do,
And keep their hands tidy,
And fingernails groomed,
And when no one is looking
They make to renew
The balance that eyesight assumes.
From mole men at play,
Who don’t have their sight
So must feel their way,
And follow the rabbit,
And find it today,
Regardless of what it might say.
You’ll see them on mountains,
But hills they prefer,
Especially the ones
That are covered in curls;
With holes in the middle,
Like oysters and pearls,
Awaiting the will of the world.
To find it and turn it,
And keep it aroused,
Until nearly sated,
And raised like eyebrows,
And then when it’s humbled
It may just allow
A stone from its glorious crown.
Those devilish mole men
Know more than most do,
And keep their hands tidy,
And fingernails groomed,
And when no one is looking
They make to renew
The balance that eyesight assumes.
ROOT SALE.
Suffer the little children to what?
Something less than they already have?
As much as retched people possess?
More than vacant spaces consume?
Worse than the universe’s vacuum?
Muster the fallen angels forgotten;
Somehow with the will of faith less grand,
Impossible without greater hoards,
Unable to rely on older gods
Without the strength of ancient goods.
Further the bigger picture to where?
Broader than the lines of face and time?
Narrower than no one’s ark can be?
Higher than young flighted words can call?
Lower than the tumoured speaker falls?
Offer the little children a choice:
Somewhat more than fair options have offered,
Practically what we always took as even.
Rational and reasonably possible.
More expansive than the current curriculum.
Something less than they already have?
As much as retched people possess?
More than vacant spaces consume?
Worse than the universe’s vacuum?
Muster the fallen angels forgotten;
Somehow with the will of faith less grand,
Impossible without greater hoards,
Unable to rely on older gods
Without the strength of ancient goods.
Further the bigger picture to where?
Broader than the lines of face and time?
Narrower than no one’s ark can be?
Higher than young flighted words can call?
Lower than the tumoured speaker falls?
Offer the little children a choice:
Somewhat more than fair options have offered,
Practically what we always took as even.
Rational and reasonably possible.
More expansive than the current curriculum.
RISKY BUSINESSMEN.
Reducing the risk
By taking the biscuit
On offer.
Producing a list,
The definitive version
Moreover.
Extruding the wish,
And sought after vision
Of others.
Alluding to this,
The meetings condition
Their cover.
Approving the kiss,
As taught by tradition
And lovers.
Removing the mist,
As answers and guests
Are passed over.
By taking the biscuit
On offer.
Producing a list,
The definitive version
Moreover.
Extruding the wish,
And sought after vision
Of others.
Alluding to this,
The meetings condition
Their cover.
Approving the kiss,
As taught by tradition
And lovers.
Removing the mist,
As answers and guests
Are passed over.
RIGHT QUICK.
Dip my wick
In a quick trick.
Lick a lip
For a hip trip.
Bide my say
For a day lay.
Play my bride
From the inside.
Round the bend
To the end friend.
Defend the hound
Now it’s found sound.
Fly to sea
If you free me.
Flee the sky
If you lie by.
Up the down
With a town clown.
Brown my name
With the fame game.
Home again
With the gone men.
When in Rome
Leave a long length.
In a quick trick.
Lick a lip
For a hip trip.
Bide my say
For a day lay.
Play my bride
From the inside.
Round the bend
To the end friend.
Defend the hound
Now it’s found sound.
Fly to sea
If you free me.
Flee the sky
If you lie by.
Up the down
With a town clown.
Brown my name
With the fame game.
Home again
With the gone men.
When in Rome
Leave a long length.
RICHARD III.
Richard the third
Was far less absurd
Than his murderers,
And usurpers,
The Tudors,
And Shakespeare’s hunch,
About his offence,
Was more bent
Than the sentence
Invented;
As much propaganda,
As hidden agenda,
To defend their
Descendents
Ascension:
Henry the Eighth,
And Liz underneath;
Who couldn’t bequeath
An heir, or at least
Someone else,
And so lost in the end,
The crown to Scotland,
To Dutch and Germans,
Old Victorians
And England.
So fare well Mr. Fawkes,
For the only good cause
Is the holy white rose,
The winner of wars,
And the return of the Kingdom of York.
Was far less absurd
Than his murderers,
And usurpers,
The Tudors,
And Shakespeare’s hunch,
About his offence,
Was more bent
Than the sentence
Invented;
As much propaganda,
As hidden agenda,
To defend their
Descendents
Ascension:
Henry the Eighth,
And Liz underneath;
Who couldn’t bequeath
An heir, or at least
Someone else,
And so lost in the end,
The crown to Scotland,
To Dutch and Germans,
Old Victorians
And England.
So fare well Mr. Fawkes,
For the only good cause
Is the holy white rose,
The winner of wars,
And the return of the Kingdom of York.
RESTING IN PEACE.
Baby heard a record;
Someone in disguise, with their eyes,
And she looked at me,
And we laughed till tea.
She went out the next day;
Someone caught her eye, and decried.
She came back in tears,
And fell in my arms,
Until she was calm.
Then we, slept,
On again, in our own
Place.
Baby won’t go out now:
She’s scared to look around, at the crowd,
And I’m quite upset,
Our time is not quiet yet.
So I returned to reason,
And asked her to awake, early on.
We walked by the sea,
And talked till the sky
Advised it was time.
Then we, slept,
On again, in our own
Place.
Now we’re diplomatic,
As we don’t talk to you, till we must,
And then only once,
And that’s when you’ve gone.
And there’s no fucking wonder,
Is there, anyhow, anyway.
And we’ve well agreed,
To stay in the space
That’s run at our pace,
And to sleep again,
In our own
Place.
Someone in disguise, with their eyes,
And she looked at me,
And we laughed till tea.
She went out the next day;
Someone caught her eye, and decried.
She came back in tears,
And fell in my arms,
Until she was calm.
Then we, slept,
On again, in our own
Place.
Baby won’t go out now:
She’s scared to look around, at the crowd,
And I’m quite upset,
Our time is not quiet yet.
So I returned to reason,
And asked her to awake, early on.
We walked by the sea,
And talked till the sky
Advised it was time.
Then we, slept,
On again, in our own
Place.
Now we’re diplomatic,
As we don’t talk to you, till we must,
And then only once,
And that’s when you’ve gone.
And there’s no fucking wonder,
Is there, anyhow, anyway.
And we’ve well agreed,
To stay in the space
That’s run at our pace,
And to sleep again,
In our own
Place.
REQUITED.
When it’s loud no longer,
And the crowd has dispersed,
You must not linger
For it would be too perverse;
As the pace of your hunger
Will only get worse,
And from your toes to your fingers
Will double its thirst,
And something that’s younger,
And not fully versed,
Will release this anger,
And its tidal surge;
So go whilst the dangers
Have yet to converge,
And be still a stranger
To him or to her.
And the crowd has dispersed,
You must not linger
For it would be too perverse;
As the pace of your hunger
Will only get worse,
And from your toes to your fingers
Will double its thirst,
And something that’s younger,
And not fully versed,
Will release this anger,
And its tidal surge;
So go whilst the dangers
Have yet to converge,
And be still a stranger
To him or to her.
RE BOUND.
The couch on my back
That I cannot get off
Is not due to malaise
Or a cough,
Or a dose of the worst,
Or an inflicted curse,
Or a sudden and unexpected
Act of attainder,
But to the memory that remains of her.
My legs have imprinted
Their place in the sun,
And have lost their last two step
As they’ve merged into one;
As the sofa enfolds,
As a blanket’s unrolled,
As I slowly allow me to
Acknowledge the news,
And the fact that with fabric I’ve fused.
And the weeks have begun
To resemble days
Without separate sheets
Of brocade,
And of course I’m aware
Of feelings impaired,
Of the unnatural texture
And closeness of linen,
But right now it feels better than women.
That I cannot get off
Is not due to malaise
Or a cough,
Or a dose of the worst,
Or an inflicted curse,
Or a sudden and unexpected
Act of attainder,
But to the memory that remains of her.
My legs have imprinted
Their place in the sun,
And have lost their last two step
As they’ve merged into one;
As the sofa enfolds,
As a blanket’s unrolled,
As I slowly allow me to
Acknowledge the news,
And the fact that with fabric I’ve fused.
And the weeks have begun
To resemble days
Without separate sheets
Of brocade,
And of course I’m aware
Of feelings impaired,
Of the unnatural texture
And closeness of linen,
But right now it feels better than women.
PRODIGAL SIN RETURNS.
We’ll support the more war campaign
Until everyone is fought,
And declare who the winner is
Once the upright have been counted,
And mount their image
On the tallest building standing
So the fallen can gaze lastly
As their entered earth is filled in.
And when they’ve all been taken
Out of their own home lands,
And settled down in heaven,
Then hell can have its hand.
So swiftly cleansed to ease its cause
Over every altitude,
Eventually attempting heights
Historically refused.
Until it knocks against the bounds
That prop St. Peter up,
And asks him if the Lord is in
As there’s business to discuss;
Old Pete will look behind him,
Where the righteous have grown old,
And shrugging, open up his gates,
Receiving evil home.
Until everyone is fought,
And declare who the winner is
Once the upright have been counted,
And mount their image
On the tallest building standing
So the fallen can gaze lastly
As their entered earth is filled in.
And when they’ve all been taken
Out of their own home lands,
And settled down in heaven,
Then hell can have its hand.
So swiftly cleansed to ease its cause
Over every altitude,
Eventually attempting heights
Historically refused.
Until it knocks against the bounds
That prop St. Peter up,
And asks him if the Lord is in
As there’s business to discuss;
Old Pete will look behind him,
Where the righteous have grown old,
And shrugging, open up his gates,
Receiving evil home.
PRECEDENTS.
I spend half my time thinking
Of a previous lover,
And the rest looking forward to
The prospect of another;
I don’t enjoy the moment.
The sky remains the same
Although it changes colour;
The air is still around
Albeit without candour,
And I will still be me
Even though I change my residence,
And cannot endure the present tense.
I spend a third of the day at work,
Another third in bed,
The rest is spent between the two
Arranging in my head
How to get the hell out of here.
Of a previous lover,
And the rest looking forward to
The prospect of another;
I don’t enjoy the moment.
The sky remains the same
Although it changes colour;
The air is still around
Albeit without candour,
And I will still be me
Even though I change my residence,
And cannot endure the present tense.
I spend a third of the day at work,
Another third in bed,
The rest is spent between the two
Arranging in my head
How to get the hell out of here.
POTENTIAL PSYCHOTIC PERSONALITY.
Without
The
Whispers
Booming,
Without
The
Shoulder
Pump,
Without
Conscience
Assuming,
I
Would
Be
Less
Than
Lump.
The
Whispers
Booming,
Without
The
Shoulder
Pump,
Without
Conscience
Assuming,
I
Would
Be
Less
Than
Lump.
POSTE RESTANTE.
There really are no clear answers are there
To all the questions we would have you answer,
Only theories concerning most occasions,
Expressed in slate and moistened chalk equations.
Well minded deeds are only worth their meaning,
And it seems to me that there aren’t many learning,
And maybe this is due to apprehension,
Or possibly we’ve caught the wrong intention.
Either way the reasons are at best concealed
Unless you are a specialist within a field,
In which case then you only really need the proof
In order to reveal to everyone the truth.
And then you will be able to congratulate
The searchers and re-surfacers who estimate
That nobody is listening to you anyway
So what’s the point in giving it to us today?
We may as well all wait around until we die,
And meet up at the bar in mutual afterlife,
Concluding that all used final solutions
Are exclusive of the ultimate inclusion.
To all the questions we would have you answer,
Only theories concerning most occasions,
Expressed in slate and moistened chalk equations.
Well minded deeds are only worth their meaning,
And it seems to me that there aren’t many learning,
And maybe this is due to apprehension,
Or possibly we’ve caught the wrong intention.
Either way the reasons are at best concealed
Unless you are a specialist within a field,
In which case then you only really need the proof
In order to reveal to everyone the truth.
And then you will be able to congratulate
The searchers and re-surfacers who estimate
That nobody is listening to you anyway
So what’s the point in giving it to us today?
We may as well all wait around until we die,
And meet up at the bar in mutual afterlife,
Concluding that all used final solutions
Are exclusive of the ultimate inclusion.
P.O.E.T.S. DAY
Long listed descriptive mess
Performing for its author
A conventional service, unusually.
Pretending to attract her
Or him to rest upon a point,
And all the while symbolise safely.
Furthermore preparing the way
For out of page experiences
Where any words can carry weight,
And do never less than more
To inveigle themselves inside the mind
With overnight strayed litter.
Or under day instead, by candle signals,
Replacing night smoke unseen,
And Morse code unheard,
And posting people lost along the way,
Or left by the social to explain themselves
With electronic communication encouraged.
Like it or not it left for a drift,
And settled increasingly quickly
Upon better dressed surface material;
Chattered and spat out at parties and such
In place of real conversation pieces,
And lettered in old world imperial.
Performing for its author
A conventional service, unusually.
Pretending to attract her
Or him to rest upon a point,
And all the while symbolise safely.
Furthermore preparing the way
For out of page experiences
Where any words can carry weight,
And do never less than more
To inveigle themselves inside the mind
With overnight strayed litter.
Or under day instead, by candle signals,
Replacing night smoke unseen,
And Morse code unheard,
And posting people lost along the way,
Or left by the social to explain themselves
With electronic communication encouraged.
Like it or not it left for a drift,
And settled increasingly quickly
Upon better dressed surface material;
Chattered and spat out at parties and such
In place of real conversation pieces,
And lettered in old world imperial.
PLANKTON SPEAKING.
I spoke to the banyan tree out here,
And said, “There must be someway back in?”
The man with the instrument somewhere near
Couldn’t begin to begin.
Tell me tender soul how deep is sweat,
And sweet is it upon your skin?
Can we ever allow the diseased to forget
The systems installed to ease their pain?
Or is it deemed unwise to require
A nation to announce the news once more;
The sick and the poor and the workers perspire
Whilst awaiting the declarations score.
All kinds of innocents are asking around,
Searching for the truth but discovering dust,
As another revolution of the ground
Commences the sequence of rain to rust;
They’re never appeased or remotely resigned
To the fates that are set out in motion;
They chew on the news and are seldom inclined
To do anything good with the ocean.
And said, “There must be someway back in?”
The man with the instrument somewhere near
Couldn’t begin to begin.
Tell me tender soul how deep is sweat,
And sweet is it upon your skin?
Can we ever allow the diseased to forget
The systems installed to ease their pain?
Or is it deemed unwise to require
A nation to announce the news once more;
The sick and the poor and the workers perspire
Whilst awaiting the declarations score.
All kinds of innocents are asking around,
Searching for the truth but discovering dust,
As another revolution of the ground
Commences the sequence of rain to rust;
They’re never appeased or remotely resigned
To the fates that are set out in motion;
They chew on the news and are seldom inclined
To do anything good with the ocean.
PLANET SPAT BACK.
The water drew itself
Up from the well,
And left its mark on
Every soluble.
Bursting through the surface
To the cells;
Hydrating,
Undulating,
Celebrating the event.
Caused to withdraw in time
Along the shelf,
By when consumed
Considerable.
Seeping back beneath a boundary
Of ghosts;
Sated,
Stimulated,
Elevated and content.
Up from the well,
And left its mark on
Every soluble.
Bursting through the surface
To the cells;
Hydrating,
Undulating,
Celebrating the event.
Caused to withdraw in time
Along the shelf,
By when consumed
Considerable.
Seeping back beneath a boundary
Of ghosts;
Sated,
Stimulated,
Elevated and content.
PLAN SEA THEN.
More things give
At times like these
Than creatures live
In all the seas,
When good is gone,
And bad is late,
And everyone’s
Condemned to wait,
And deeply wish
That times like these
Could be released
Upon the breeze,
Then every breath
Could feel their pain
Instead of earth,
And it’s remains.
But when they’re heard
The wind is quick
To give said words
Back static,
And leave them where
They first began
Within the lair
Of lungs;
Where some are quick
To be invoked,
And ultimately
Soaked.
At times like these
Than creatures live
In all the seas,
When good is gone,
And bad is late,
And everyone’s
Condemned to wait,
And deeply wish
That times like these
Could be released
Upon the breeze,
Then every breath
Could feel their pain
Instead of earth,
And it’s remains.
But when they’re heard
The wind is quick
To give said words
Back static,
And leave them where
They first began
Within the lair
Of lungs;
Where some are quick
To be invoked,
And ultimately
Soaked.
PLACE SETTINGS.
The right person in the right place
Gets to sacrifice themselves.
The right person in the wrong place
Simply gets sacrificed.
The wrong person in the right place
Lives their life as someone else.
The wrong person in the wrong place
Becomes your wife.
Gets to sacrifice themselves.
The right person in the wrong place
Simply gets sacrificed.
The wrong person in the right place
Lives their life as someone else.
The wrong person in the wrong place
Becomes your wife.
PITY PITHY APATHY.
Do you know what’s across the road?
Or how big the houses are in your street?
Or the next one over?
Or why there are ten more men than there
Should be living two doors down,
And where they make their work?
Do you care what the place by the river takes?
Or how many one tonne bags it stores,
And further more what’s in them?
Or why their ingredients shared with some others
And heated up just so can do more
Than modify?
Do you know who that man in the sun tanned skin is?
Or what language he appears to be speaking
In the middle of the road?
Or why he barely leaves his home during the day?
And only ever does so at night to move his car
From one corner house to another.
Do you share the concern of the national board
Who seem certain that some of these questions
Are important, regardless of their answers.
Or why it might be more important to be a little bit curious,
Regardless of how many cats have disappeared,
Or whether or not knowing thy neighbour is a sin?
Do you feel the earth falling beneath your breast?
And see the sun rising in the middle of the night,
And smell that top soil stink in your front room.
Do you know why the place across the road is not there
Anymore? And neither is the road or across or your front
Door or your heart’s small space, do you..?
Or how big the houses are in your street?
Or the next one over?
Or why there are ten more men than there
Should be living two doors down,
And where they make their work?
Do you care what the place by the river takes?
Or how many one tonne bags it stores,
And further more what’s in them?
Or why their ingredients shared with some others
And heated up just so can do more
Than modify?
Do you know who that man in the sun tanned skin is?
Or what language he appears to be speaking
In the middle of the road?
Or why he barely leaves his home during the day?
And only ever does so at night to move his car
From one corner house to another.
Do you share the concern of the national board
Who seem certain that some of these questions
Are important, regardless of their answers.
Or why it might be more important to be a little bit curious,
Regardless of how many cats have disappeared,
Or whether or not knowing thy neighbour is a sin?
Do you feel the earth falling beneath your breast?
And see the sun rising in the middle of the night,
And smell that top soil stink in your front room.
Do you know why the place across the road is not there
Anymore? And neither is the road or across or your front
Door or your heart’s small space, do you..?
PHOBOPHOBIA.
If these are our last days
Then please God make them last
A little longer;
Make sure the feelings
We harbour are made certain
And stronger.
And if these are our last moments
Then let us hope they are open
To review,
Not over rated or reproached
But noted truly for
Their use.
Then please God make them last
A little longer;
Make sure the feelings
We harbour are made certain
And stronger.
And if these are our last moments
Then let us hope they are open
To review,
Not over rated or reproached
But noted truly for
Their use.
PHALLIC OPTICIAN.
Optical;
Emphatically orbital.
Visually mystical stimulant.
Never ending or unearthing,
Caught defending liner berthing.
Medical;
Unashamedly Neanderthal.
Verbally visceral comment.
Caught pretending and aligning,
Always mending my declining.
Musical;
Enthusiastically oval.
Increasingly emotional moment.
Always spending and bestowing,
Frequent sending seeds for sowing.
Optical;
Eventually unstable.
Deservedly inevitable torment.
General ending and defying,
Most men befriending and denying.
Emphatically orbital.
Visually mystical stimulant.
Never ending or unearthing,
Caught defending liner berthing.
Medical;
Unashamedly Neanderthal.
Verbally visceral comment.
Caught pretending and aligning,
Always mending my declining.
Musical;
Enthusiastically oval.
Increasingly emotional moment.
Always spending and bestowing,
Frequent sending seeds for sowing.
Optical;
Eventually unstable.
Deservedly inevitable torment.
General ending and defying,
Most men befriending and denying.
PEOPLE WILL DIE.
No ailments or illness or stretch on a ward,
Or allergic reactions or cures to afford;
No bones in a cast or needles applied,
He got up one morning and quietly died.
He left without virtues or vices to tell,
Never smoke, drank or screwed and appeared to eat well;
Was as fit as a boy whilst as wise as a sage,
Though less known than his own passing age.
They said that his health was a thing to behold,
And if only it could have been bottled and sold,
Then we would have been able to buy it and use
Like a medicinal kind of produce.
And the autopsy people found nothing amiss;
No blockage or blister or carcinogenic.
His motor was as strong as a new vehicle’s
With the accrual of a few chemicals.
But like everyone here he was exposed to his share
Of the natural or not so emissions of air,
And was passive to everything passing him by,
Not only the things in the public eye.
Now he’s gone and we’re left with a hole to complete,
And a stone to erect and engravers to meet,
And with no family to speak off we’ll have to compose
A few lines of verse or of prose.
So here was a man, who nobody knew,
Yet was always polite and afforded his due;
Who died without cause, or affliction to find,
From a shortness of breath and a surfeit of time.
Or allergic reactions or cures to afford;
No bones in a cast or needles applied,
He got up one morning and quietly died.
He left without virtues or vices to tell,
Never smoke, drank or screwed and appeared to eat well;
Was as fit as a boy whilst as wise as a sage,
Though less known than his own passing age.
They said that his health was a thing to behold,
And if only it could have been bottled and sold,
Then we would have been able to buy it and use
Like a medicinal kind of produce.
And the autopsy people found nothing amiss;
No blockage or blister or carcinogenic.
His motor was as strong as a new vehicle’s
With the accrual of a few chemicals.
But like everyone here he was exposed to his share
Of the natural or not so emissions of air,
And was passive to everything passing him by,
Not only the things in the public eye.
Now he’s gone and we’re left with a hole to complete,
And a stone to erect and engravers to meet,
And with no family to speak off we’ll have to compose
A few lines of verse or of prose.
So here was a man, who nobody knew,
Yet was always polite and afforded his due;
Who died without cause, or affliction to find,
From a shortness of breath and a surfeit of time.
PATIENCE PENDING.
I will squeeze days
Out of my impatience,
And with these
Wait unaided.
Fold moments twice
With their own raiments,
And suffice with
Them once braided.
But if so grave am I
Then nothing more remains
Than solitaire
Updated.
Out of my impatience,
And with these
Wait unaided.
Fold moments twice
With their own raiments,
And suffice with
Them once braided.
But if so grave am I
Then nothing more remains
Than solitaire
Updated.
PARTIES.
Everyone welcomed: pivots and fulcrums,
Fingers and thumbs.
Everyone taken: the stirred and the shaken,
The paper and pen.
Everyone greeted: the loved and mistreated,
The written and read.
Everyone furnished: the well and malnourished,
The private and public.
Everyone sated: the vain and deflated,
Victors and invaded.
Everyone mellowed: friends and bed fellows,
The cushioned and pillowed.
Everyone frozen: the cast out and chosen,
The open and closing.
Everyone dreaming: the likely and un-seaming,
The silent and screaming.
Everyone woken: the laughing and joking,
The brave and the broken.
Everyone parted: the weak and stout hearted,
The charters and charted.
Fingers and thumbs.
Everyone taken: the stirred and the shaken,
The paper and pen.
Everyone greeted: the loved and mistreated,
The written and read.
Everyone furnished: the well and malnourished,
The private and public.
Everyone sated: the vain and deflated,
Victors and invaded.
Everyone mellowed: friends and bed fellows,
The cushioned and pillowed.
Everyone frozen: the cast out and chosen,
The open and closing.
Everyone dreaming: the likely and un-seaming,
The silent and screaming.
Everyone woken: the laughing and joking,
The brave and the broken.
Everyone parted: the weak and stout hearted,
The charters and charted.
PARTICULARLY FOND MEMORY.
Oh if the coast by the sea
Up and waved on
By and by to be.
I don’t know it’s stranger than I could think;
On the landing, in the sun, with a tall drink.
Warming me with something or more about today.
Oh if the pages run out
Then the end will
Have an air of doubt.
There’ll be letters falling onto the floor;
Story lines and one way signs will be no more.
Some things can help your lazy mind out of the day.
Oh if the sun never set
And such aim could
Advertise itself;
It would open windows I had once broken;
Glancing by and highlighting those unspoken
Times up here on the stairs, all through my life.
Up and waved on
By and by to be.
I don’t know it’s stranger than I could think;
On the landing, in the sun, with a tall drink.
Warming me with something or more about today.
Oh if the pages run out
Then the end will
Have an air of doubt.
There’ll be letters falling onto the floor;
Story lines and one way signs will be no more.
Some things can help your lazy mind out of the day.
Oh if the sun never set
And such aim could
Advertise itself;
It would open windows I had once broken;
Glancing by and highlighting those unspoken
Times up here on the stairs, all through my life.
OWN BOYS STORY.
They always come good in the end
Only today the end
Was a little bit nearer the end
Than it used to be,
And their feet weren’t as sharp
As the portrait they carved,
So its outline was left
Until very near last.
Whilst the movement was clear,
And the body that pushed,
The one pushed against
Nearly withstood it;
Taking all that it could to its credit,
And giving as much as it had
In return till it couldn’t
And fell by the road.
We were glad in the end for the ending,
And relieved that it came when it did,
For our beer had run dry
And our mouths come dumb struck,
And what words swirled in noise
Had the sound of such words
With the unknown refrain
Of thank you.
Only today the end
Was a little bit nearer the end
Than it used to be,
And their feet weren’t as sharp
As the portrait they carved,
So its outline was left
Until very near last.
Whilst the movement was clear,
And the body that pushed,
The one pushed against
Nearly withstood it;
Taking all that it could to its credit,
And giving as much as it had
In return till it couldn’t
And fell by the road.
We were glad in the end for the ending,
And relieved that it came when it did,
For our beer had run dry
And our mouths come dumb struck,
And what words swirled in noise
Had the sound of such words
With the unknown refrain
Of thank you.
OVER A SINGLE HILL.
She was all slicked
And lip sticked;
Well stacked
And bare backed.
Fake tanned
And love handled;
Clothes horsed
And divorced.
Baby minded,
Clock winded,
Short of rent,
Unimportant.
Bar roaming,
Mouth foaming,
Slap tickled
And trickled.
Dawn falling
From doorways;
Sex favoured
And flavoured.
All fag ashed
And trashed;
Grease hungry
And tongue tied.
Slept hasty,
Woke thirsty,
So pub lunched
And drunk punched;
Home rushed
Once gin flushed;
Straight to bed,
Kids unfed.
And lip sticked;
Well stacked
And bare backed.
Fake tanned
And love handled;
Clothes horsed
And divorced.
Baby minded,
Clock winded,
Short of rent,
Unimportant.
Bar roaming,
Mouth foaming,
Slap tickled
And trickled.
Dawn falling
From doorways;
Sex favoured
And flavoured.
All fag ashed
And trashed;
Grease hungry
And tongue tied.
Slept hasty,
Woke thirsty,
So pub lunched
And drunk punched;
Home rushed
Once gin flushed;
Straight to bed,
Kids unfed.
OUTCASTE.
I like raising the racist issue
In a room full of fascists,
And watching the flashes
Coalesce.
For I’m past the position
Of our western well wishing,
And can see the condition
Is biased,
As there are literary liberals,
And neo-con scribblers,
And rabble unable
To rest,
All correct in connecting
The race card with elections,
But with little affection
Once pressed.
So I’ll keep my own council
And await the announcements
And like countless thousands
Go west.
In a room full of fascists,
And watching the flashes
Coalesce.
For I’m past the position
Of our western well wishing,
And can see the condition
Is biased,
As there are literary liberals,
And neo-con scribblers,
And rabble unable
To rest,
All correct in connecting
The race card with elections,
But with little affection
Once pressed.
So I’ll keep my own council
And await the announcements
And like countless thousands
Go west.
OUR TREATY.
Don’t whisper words of love’s support
When words of war are thought of,
And bought for more
Than last year’s best,
And sold for less than water.
But if those words of bluff appear
Then I indeed will fear them;
Sincere or not
Of innocence
I know who last revered them.
An instance of the words avowed
Was writ in ages louder;
Renowned by all
Their enemies,
And dryer than most powder.
And used more than most words should be
Until misunderstood;
For good or bad
Their influence
Was felt by all who could.
But myth became of words like these
Once spread across the sea;
Free to grow old
Their memory
Was filed away with ease.
So don’t recount these words tonight,
Close lips and pages tighter,
Retire your tongue
Behind your teeth,
Let me be the reciter.
When words of war are thought of,
And bought for more
Than last year’s best,
And sold for less than water.
But if those words of bluff appear
Then I indeed will fear them;
Sincere or not
Of innocence
I know who last revered them.
An instance of the words avowed
Was writ in ages louder;
Renowned by all
Their enemies,
And dryer than most powder.
And used more than most words should be
Until misunderstood;
For good or bad
Their influence
Was felt by all who could.
But myth became of words like these
Once spread across the sea;
Free to grow old
Their memory
Was filed away with ease.
So don’t recount these words tonight,
Close lips and pages tighter,
Retire your tongue
Behind your teeth,
Let me be the reciter.
OUR LITTLE PLOT OF LAND.
It would be hard to say that we’ve grown apart
As you would have to be close to be signed up for that,
And like countries in Europe we clearly are not.
So processing our news will be worse than once thought,
But leaving it allows condensation to start,
And the dawn has already enough listless consorts.
But it’s hard to use the usual adjectives for us,
As drifting does not only apply to snow dust,
But to unwelcome dew on the afternoon grass.
For it appears that our going will go on for some time,
And the allotted newscaster will just have to recline
As our separate directions are above the headlines.
The thoughts of our age are employed without style:
Our beauty and charm are fully armed and allied
For the moment when night and its players arrive.
It would be convenient to rely on the favoured few,
But unfortunately mine have fallen for you
Whilst yours are too vain to be educated by news.
And it’s disturbing to know that our kin have announced
That our story continues against their background,
But what version’s confirmed by their eager renown?
As we’re not on the scene to appreciate it,
And send mails of all kinds from our secret retreat
Whilst reserving the right to yield should they succeed.
As you would have to be close to be signed up for that,
And like countries in Europe we clearly are not.
So processing our news will be worse than once thought,
But leaving it allows condensation to start,
And the dawn has already enough listless consorts.
But it’s hard to use the usual adjectives for us,
As drifting does not only apply to snow dust,
But to unwelcome dew on the afternoon grass.
For it appears that our going will go on for some time,
And the allotted newscaster will just have to recline
As our separate directions are above the headlines.
The thoughts of our age are employed without style:
Our beauty and charm are fully armed and allied
For the moment when night and its players arrive.
It would be convenient to rely on the favoured few,
But unfortunately mine have fallen for you
Whilst yours are too vain to be educated by news.
And it’s disturbing to know that our kin have announced
That our story continues against their background,
But what version’s confirmed by their eager renown?
As we’re not on the scene to appreciate it,
And send mails of all kinds from our secret retreat
Whilst reserving the right to yield should they succeed.
ONCE OPEN, EVEN AFTER.
I’ll provide the spit
But you’ve got to wash it,
And offer the service
For free,
And if you lick it long enough
You can do what you want love,
And dwell in my recess
With me.
And when once upon a time has come
We’ll nestle down like little ones,
And happily ever afterwards
We’ll be.
But you’ve got to wash it,
And offer the service
For free,
And if you lick it long enough
You can do what you want love,
And dwell in my recess
With me.
And when once upon a time has come
We’ll nestle down like little ones,
And happily ever afterwards
We’ll be.
ON OUR WAY FROM THE BALL.
My fingers in her fanny
On the back seat of a taxi,
And she was fucking lucky as
They could a’ been up her jacksy;
But either way she loved it,
You could feel it on her breath,
And by the time we made the distance
There was no resistance left.
She was spreading even wider,
And was dripping on the seat,
I nearly lost my wrist watch
To that dirty bitches’ heat;
And after rending her asunder
I whispered in her ear,
It was a good job that her brother
Didn’t turn around and see her.
He’d a’ been rightly disgusted
To see her legs apart,
And me up to my elbow
Strumming strings inside her heart;
With her sweet bowed lips set wide,
And her red tongue flicking out,
Dipping its long tip
Around the edges of my mouth.
And her eyes connecting dots of music
On imaginary scores,
Rolling in and out her head
In time with our accord,
And coming rather quietly,
Well as quiet as could be,
You see our circumstances
Didn’t warrant noisily.
On the back seat of a taxi,
And she was fucking lucky as
They could a’ been up her jacksy;
But either way she loved it,
You could feel it on her breath,
And by the time we made the distance
There was no resistance left.
She was spreading even wider,
And was dripping on the seat,
I nearly lost my wrist watch
To that dirty bitches’ heat;
And after rending her asunder
I whispered in her ear,
It was a good job that her brother
Didn’t turn around and see her.
He’d a’ been rightly disgusted
To see her legs apart,
And me up to my elbow
Strumming strings inside her heart;
With her sweet bowed lips set wide,
And her red tongue flicking out,
Dipping its long tip
Around the edges of my mouth.
And her eyes connecting dots of music
On imaginary scores,
Rolling in and out her head
In time with our accord,
And coming rather quietly,
Well as quiet as could be,
You see our circumstances
Didn’t warrant noisily.
Sunday, 10 January 2010
OLD RULE CLUB.
The working men’s club
In the old part of town
Is the ideal place
For a song or a dance,
And if you don’t want to
Walk home, or have change
For a cab,
You can hitch a lift in an ambulance.
In the old part of town
Is the ideal place
For a song or a dance,
And if you don’t want to
Walk home, or have change
For a cab,
You can hitch a lift in an ambulance.
OF DICE AND AIMS.
If my life is a dice throwing
Role playing game
Then the numbers are loaded
In your favour,
And the table left open
For the chance of an arm
To assign me a station
Less savored.
Role playing game
Then the numbers are loaded
In your favour,
And the table left open
For the chance of an arm
To assign me a station
Less savored.
OBSERVER’S MERIDIAN.
Above congested interests of those lost on the edge.
Before relentless tenderness of prose left in the head.
Below average incomes drawn at regular intervals.
Beyond oncoming sympathies that are returnable.
Beneath undertows and overflows out of the fountain tap.
Under political approval falling from the mountain top.
Away from unlit sunny days observed from ten floors deep.
With background noise of flickering replies replacing sheep.
Within agendas simplified and published for their sake.
Without the greater space released by you now once awake.
Wintered in the hemispheres of all those now exempt
And finally concluded by the finest of ascents.
Before relentless tenderness of prose left in the head.
Below average incomes drawn at regular intervals.
Beyond oncoming sympathies that are returnable.
Beneath undertows and overflows out of the fountain tap.
Under political approval falling from the mountain top.
Away from unlit sunny days observed from ten floors deep.
With background noise of flickering replies replacing sheep.
Within agendas simplified and published for their sake.
Without the greater space released by you now once awake.
Wintered in the hemispheres of all those now exempt
And finally concluded by the finest of ascents.
NOTICE SERVED NOT US.
The flags no longer fly,
The wind no trade to ply,
The sail maker retired
And timber merchant fired.
The Seamans Mission closed,
The Rector’s life exposed,
The sailors come to blows
With no where else to go.
The morning sweeper sacked,
The streets stank of the fact,
The councillors attacked
Before they could talk back.
The sheds removed and sold,
The Dockers on the dole,
The office workers told
They may as well enrol.
The factories downsized,
The last in first to cry,
The job queues on the rise
As everyone applies.
The pessimism hill,
The interest changes kill,
The scene is bleaker still
For the many and the skilled.
The country goes to war,
The enemy applauds,
The facts quickly record
That even this we can’t afford.
The last good wife divorced,
The race has run its course,
The land, sea and air force
Like most things now outsourced.
The wind no trade to ply,
The sail maker retired
And timber merchant fired.
The Seamans Mission closed,
The Rector’s life exposed,
The sailors come to blows
With no where else to go.
The morning sweeper sacked,
The streets stank of the fact,
The councillors attacked
Before they could talk back.
The sheds removed and sold,
The Dockers on the dole,
The office workers told
They may as well enrol.
The factories downsized,
The last in first to cry,
The job queues on the rise
As everyone applies.
The pessimism hill,
The interest changes kill,
The scene is bleaker still
For the many and the skilled.
The country goes to war,
The enemy applauds,
The facts quickly record
That even this we can’t afford.
The last good wife divorced,
The race has run its course,
The land, sea and air force
Like most things now outsourced.
NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT SIR.
The improper little coppers in the bobby shop
Collect your breath and blood and piss and never stop
Refilling their distilleries with diligence
Until beverages brewed therein are fit to sell.
Bootlegging them in Black Maria motorcades
To every single pub and grub and club displayed
Then waiting in the evening for them to close
And pinching all the punters who are not composed.
Fuelling the rumours from the fourth estate
About urban no go areas and reprobates
Enabling the government to implement
More controls and cameras to curb dissent.
And so creating self sustaining prophecies
That keep the proles of population on their knees
Whilst all the middle classes are anaesthetized
Behind electric fences vended to them by the wise.
Collect your breath and blood and piss and never stop
Refilling their distilleries with diligence
Until beverages brewed therein are fit to sell.
Bootlegging them in Black Maria motorcades
To every single pub and grub and club displayed
Then waiting in the evening for them to close
And pinching all the punters who are not composed.
Fuelling the rumours from the fourth estate
About urban no go areas and reprobates
Enabling the government to implement
More controls and cameras to curb dissent.
And so creating self sustaining prophecies
That keep the proles of population on their knees
Whilst all the middle classes are anaesthetized
Behind electric fences vended to them by the wise.
NOT ENAMOURED ENOUGH.
You’re an old drunk
Whose speech is getting younger
And whose features have encumbered
Your deportment.
A piece of meat
Who has marinated longer
And has elevated hunger
To an art form.
You’re a sleeping child
Who in more lucid moments
Has fought and bruised the omens
That confront us.
A closed door
That has never had to open
For the pleasure of the roaming
Souls who hunt us.
You’re a crumpled vest
Who’s been straightened to a rope
By frightened misanthropes
To ease their swaying.
A dead weight
Who has rarely let it show
Whilst being prepared to let us know
What has been weighing.
Whose speech is getting younger
And whose features have encumbered
Your deportment.
A piece of meat
Who has marinated longer
And has elevated hunger
To an art form.
You’re a sleeping child
Who in more lucid moments
Has fought and bruised the omens
That confront us.
A closed door
That has never had to open
For the pleasure of the roaming
Souls who hunt us.
You’re a crumpled vest
Who’s been straightened to a rope
By frightened misanthropes
To ease their swaying.
A dead weight
Who has rarely let it show
Whilst being prepared to let us know
What has been weighing.
NO LONGER LISTENED TO.
I found a finger on the end of my hand,
A further three and a thumb to command,
With another on the other arms’ end,
And a torso in between to attend.
Two thighs with their knees close together,
And slender calves hanging below,
One foot on the edge of forever,
And a second a lifetime ago.
A short neck away from the hangman,
Where a couple of chins have appeared;
Features beyond those of strangled,
And a forehead with more head each year.
Two holes in the sides filling inwards,
Two more in the front falling out,
And nothing between but opinions
Unable to exit a mouth,
As you’ve stapled it up out of order
To refute all the things that I’ve said,
So I’ve no other way to forewarn you
Than to point finger guns at my head.
A further three and a thumb to command,
With another on the other arms’ end,
And a torso in between to attend.
Two thighs with their knees close together,
And slender calves hanging below,
One foot on the edge of forever,
And a second a lifetime ago.
A short neck away from the hangman,
Where a couple of chins have appeared;
Features beyond those of strangled,
And a forehead with more head each year.
Two holes in the sides filling inwards,
Two more in the front falling out,
And nothing between but opinions
Unable to exit a mouth,
As you’ve stapled it up out of order
To refute all the things that I’ve said,
So I’ve no other way to forewarn you
Than to point finger guns at my head.
NO EXPERIENCE SPARED.
Your world forms
A nameless wholesale day,
And when it falls
It frames your own soul’s way.
Your life break
Begins to under burden you,
And when you wake
You sin like other persons do.
Your kids starve,
And strive to find some form,
And when you cook
You do so with alarm.
Your wife leaves,
And ends a random choice,
Some nights to grieve,
But half as many voiced.
Your age grows,
But strangely not your hair,
Your skin exposes
Things that were not there.
Your limbs fail
As circumstances change,
And when you’re very, very ill,
Your outlook is arraigned.
You’re oh so near,
And scream for something more,
But all the fears
You card boarded pour forth.
You lie still,
And are no longer sure
That any rest
Will be a lasting cure.
A nameless wholesale day,
And when it falls
It frames your own soul’s way.
Your life break
Begins to under burden you,
And when you wake
You sin like other persons do.
Your kids starve,
And strive to find some form,
And when you cook
You do so with alarm.
Your wife leaves,
And ends a random choice,
Some nights to grieve,
But half as many voiced.
Your age grows,
But strangely not your hair,
Your skin exposes
Things that were not there.
Your limbs fail
As circumstances change,
And when you’re very, very ill,
Your outlook is arraigned.
You’re oh so near,
And scream for something more,
But all the fears
You card boarded pour forth.
You lie still,
And are no longer sure
That any rest
Will be a lasting cure.
MY FIRST BOOK.
Its material was short
But seemed long
On account of events,
And intentionally clear
But too opaque
To be measured as meant.
Its colour was dark
But too light
To be thought of as art,
And its tendency loose
But too fixed
To admit it was that.
It stayed in a home,
Not its own,
As it wasn’t of age,
And slept through the day
And the night
Whilst awake on the page.
It was incredibly clever
But not smart
Enough for its promotion,
And apparently receptive
But not in tune
With the publics’ emotion.
It lived with a cover,
But no real one,
As fraternity had fired it,
And did not have another
As its binding
Did not know who hired it,
And died without showing
But was sure
It would make it one day,
And was buried alone
But with more
Chance of being read in the clay.
But seemed long
On account of events,
And intentionally clear
But too opaque
To be measured as meant.
Its colour was dark
But too light
To be thought of as art,
And its tendency loose
But too fixed
To admit it was that.
It stayed in a home,
Not its own,
As it wasn’t of age,
And slept through the day
And the night
Whilst awake on the page.
It was incredibly clever
But not smart
Enough for its promotion,
And apparently receptive
But not in tune
With the publics’ emotion.
It lived with a cover,
But no real one,
As fraternity had fired it,
And did not have another
As its binding
Did not know who hired it,
And died without showing
But was sure
It would make it one day,
And was buried alone
But with more
Chance of being read in the clay.
MY DEAR OVERSEER.
I’ve made a career
Out of hypochondria;
I’ve worried
And worse.
Lived up more lies
Than a seesaw has highs;
I’ve hurried
The hearse.
I’ve found little cheer
Reading Mr. Shakespeare;
I’ve pondered
The endings.
Researched the why’s,
And wherefore art thou guides;
I’ve wandered
The windings.
I’ve felt mortal fear
For the state of my sphere,
And had me
No answer.
Revered the size
Of the planet outside
That gave me
A cancer.
I’ve found that I’m near
The end of endear;
I’m rendered
And stronger.
Walked point for the wise,
And pleasantly died,
And meandered
No longer.
Out of hypochondria;
I’ve worried
And worse.
Lived up more lies
Than a seesaw has highs;
I’ve hurried
The hearse.
I’ve found little cheer
Reading Mr. Shakespeare;
I’ve pondered
The endings.
Researched the why’s,
And wherefore art thou guides;
I’ve wandered
The windings.
I’ve felt mortal fear
For the state of my sphere,
And had me
No answer.
Revered the size
Of the planet outside
That gave me
A cancer.
I’ve found that I’m near
The end of endear;
I’m rendered
And stronger.
Walked point for the wise,
And pleasantly died,
And meandered
No longer.
MY DAUGHTER AND I.
Less sense than a dog
Whilst crossing the road,
Or a turtle in the soup
With an upturned shell,
Or equations on a board
That have no recourse,
Or a child with its mouth never closed.
Less known than a fog
In a black blindfold,
Or a stranger in a group
In a small motel,
Or the information stored
In a Trojan horse,
Or a child with a head full of snow.
Less aware than a log
When it’s part of a load,
Or the fire on a hoop
That a jump expels,
Or the one ignored
By the last resource,
Or a child and the seeds that it sows.
Less correct than a cog
When its upgrade is sold,
Or a journalist’s scoop
When they kiss and tell,
Or a witnesses’ reward
When a villain’s sought,
Or a grown up who didn’t quite grow.
Whilst crossing the road,
Or a turtle in the soup
With an upturned shell,
Or equations on a board
That have no recourse,
Or a child with its mouth never closed.
Less known than a fog
In a black blindfold,
Or a stranger in a group
In a small motel,
Or the information stored
In a Trojan horse,
Or a child with a head full of snow.
Less aware than a log
When it’s part of a load,
Or the fire on a hoop
That a jump expels,
Or the one ignored
By the last resource,
Or a child and the seeds that it sows.
Less correct than a cog
When its upgrade is sold,
Or a journalist’s scoop
When they kiss and tell,
Or a witnesses’ reward
When a villain’s sought,
Or a grown up who didn’t quite grow.
MUTATED STATES.
Those people are locked in the boundaries
Of their accredited hereditary;
Pandering to their vanity
And wandering insanely
Around their perimeter,
Devoid of occasion
Or conclusion.
And innocent terms have been readjusted
By covens of social observers
And introduced since;
Like old dogs or lovers
Who cannot explain,
They misuse faith
And conviction.
Of their accredited hereditary;
Pandering to their vanity
And wandering insanely
Around their perimeter,
Devoid of occasion
Or conclusion.
And innocent terms have been readjusted
By covens of social observers
And introduced since;
Like old dogs or lovers
Who cannot explain,
They misuse faith
And conviction.
MUCH ADVICE ABOUT NOTHING.
Too much saccharine,
Too much lacquering,
Too much smoke below;
Too many healthy obstacles
To greet before we go.
Too many crosses,
Too many bosses,
Too many other preachers;
Too many fundamentalists
To clean us out and bleach us.
Too much design,
Too much malign,
Too many anoraks;
Too many absent engineers
To fill in all the cracks.
Too many people
To be agreeable,
Too much right of way;
Too much vacancy of mind
To compare night with day.
Too few bridges,
Too few images,
Too little imagination;
Too few saints prepared to jump
In service of the nation
Too much lacquering,
Too much smoke below;
Too many healthy obstacles
To greet before we go.
Too many crosses,
Too many bosses,
Too many other preachers;
Too many fundamentalists
To clean us out and bleach us.
Too much design,
Too much malign,
Too many anoraks;
Too many absent engineers
To fill in all the cracks.
Too many people
To be agreeable,
Too much right of way;
Too much vacancy of mind
To compare night with day.
Too few bridges,
Too few images,
Too little imagination;
Too few saints prepared to jump
In service of the nation
MINES.
It’s your mind that’s the enemy,
Not mine or his or hers;
It’s your own dystopia
That is keeping you from us.
You wail about coiled solitude,
But that was your decision,
It’s not us you see concealing you,
But your own condition.
The paranoia you speak of
Is easy to explain:
You keep looking out of windows
And someone is bound to look in.
Your respiratory complaints
Are the results of too much booze,
Falling over every day
Leaves you little breath to use.
This talk of killing everything
Is simply unsupportable,
Think about the outcome
Of something quite so awful.
All these issues seem to stem
From some obsessive urge;
Talk to a doctor, take a tablet,
Smoke something to get it purged.
We want to see you back in the fold,
Your company was enjoyed,
Your wit and wisdom entertained us,
The tactics you employed.
Your mind is the enemy,
Console it in the dark,
Keep your freedoms sweet;
Air them in a park.
Don’t listen out at night time
For daemons in the hall,
Confront the bastards daily,
And in no time at all…you’ll be just like every one of us.
Not mine or his or hers;
It’s your own dystopia
That is keeping you from us.
You wail about coiled solitude,
But that was your decision,
It’s not us you see concealing you,
But your own condition.
The paranoia you speak of
Is easy to explain:
You keep looking out of windows
And someone is bound to look in.
Your respiratory complaints
Are the results of too much booze,
Falling over every day
Leaves you little breath to use.
This talk of killing everything
Is simply unsupportable,
Think about the outcome
Of something quite so awful.
All these issues seem to stem
From some obsessive urge;
Talk to a doctor, take a tablet,
Smoke something to get it purged.
We want to see you back in the fold,
Your company was enjoyed,
Your wit and wisdom entertained us,
The tactics you employed.
Your mind is the enemy,
Console it in the dark,
Keep your freedoms sweet;
Air them in a park.
Don’t listen out at night time
For daemons in the hall,
Confront the bastards daily,
And in no time at all…you’ll be just like every one of us.
MEN WAYS.
The alcoves of the closet case’s room
Are filled with dust
Whilst in its hub there is
Accrued corrosiveness,
As liquid drips down from the roof,
And all the while
He never cares.
The light forms broken bars upon the far wall
As the painted window slats peel in the day;
He shifts onto his feet
And rearranges picture frames of shade
No longer there, yet still complete.
He’s got set time to spare,
As daily morning orbits of his gallery
Have no effect upon his diary,
Or on the calendar that lies beneath its pages,
Refusing flock acknowledgements.
The bedroom of the closet case’s house
Is full to burst
The little creatures living there
Survey the worst
That peoples’ emptiness can do,
And everywhere
Are all the photographs of you.
Some dishes gather moss upon a table top
As silken things take vine above their lot,
Yet he appreciates these things the most,
And rainbowed cutlery daily passed over
Is left to say why not;
Only here a spider and its flies
Know trials of life.
The leather couch he sits on now
Will never see a day of light again,
And longs for the sealed up coal fire to
Re-attend to its old needs.
Are filled with dust
Whilst in its hub there is
Accrued corrosiveness,
As liquid drips down from the roof,
And all the while
He never cares.
The light forms broken bars upon the far wall
As the painted window slats peel in the day;
He shifts onto his feet
And rearranges picture frames of shade
No longer there, yet still complete.
He’s got set time to spare,
As daily morning orbits of his gallery
Have no effect upon his diary,
Or on the calendar that lies beneath its pages,
Refusing flock acknowledgements.
The bedroom of the closet case’s house
Is full to burst
The little creatures living there
Survey the worst
That peoples’ emptiness can do,
And everywhere
Are all the photographs of you.
Some dishes gather moss upon a table top
As silken things take vine above their lot,
Yet he appreciates these things the most,
And rainbowed cutlery daily passed over
Is left to say why not;
Only here a spider and its flies
Know trials of life.
The leather couch he sits on now
Will never see a day of light again,
And longs for the sealed up coal fire to
Re-attend to its old needs.
MELANIZED BY IDIOTS.
It’s all about class,
And not race,
Or the colour of the face,
And it always was;
Even years ago
When we were multi coloured too
Due to dirt.
And in the many years since
We may have learned
To use the sink
But the emphasis
And blame
Have stayed the same,
And have been levied
By the earners
On the terraces
Of yearners
Whilst the progress
Has been buried
Underneath
Contemporaries;
For in their eyes
It is still to do with where
You’re coming from,
And not the obvious
Disparity of income.
And not race,
Or the colour of the face,
And it always was;
Even years ago
When we were multi coloured too
Due to dirt.
And in the many years since
We may have learned
To use the sink
But the emphasis
And blame
Have stayed the same,
And have been levied
By the earners
On the terraces
Of yearners
Whilst the progress
Has been buried
Underneath
Contemporaries;
For in their eyes
It is still to do with where
You’re coming from,
And not the obvious
Disparity of income.
ME ONCE, YOU TWICE AND US THRICE REMOVED.
I don’t have as much concentrated
Me time as I used to do, and
We time as it used to be
Has been removed
Completely.
And you don’t have the recommended
You time that you need for you, and
New time has been interviewed,
And been approved
For sleeping.
We don’t have the old incorporated
Us time which they presupposed as
Must time as we work ‘til dusk
And cannot
Quite adjust.
And they are not aware that if debated
Their time could be better used, and
Fair time would not be as scarce,
And generate
Elsewhere.
Me time as I used to do, and
We time as it used to be
Has been removed
Completely.
And you don’t have the recommended
You time that you need for you, and
New time has been interviewed,
And been approved
For sleeping.
We don’t have the old incorporated
Us time which they presupposed as
Must time as we work ‘til dusk
And cannot
Quite adjust.
And they are not aware that if debated
Their time could be better used, and
Fair time would not be as scarce,
And generate
Elsewhere.
MAKE SAFE THE WAVES.
The merman moved her to it,
He sent my fair maid mad,
Tides took away my lady
And left me unloved behind.
I never knew her reasoning,
She craved me not to ask,
And with those words went under
And never did come back.
It’s when you see them they are safe,
But once you turn they fall,
Won over by the unknown,
Estranged like animals.
A read page removed from the rest
And left to find itself in need,
Wondering what worth
There is in meaning.
I tried to peel away with her
To reveal some other surface,
But she had more layers
Than painted shelves;
Though we had the same aspect,
And equal use of the view,
I thought I’d readied for it,
But was lost once she withdrew.
The energy of her life has left
Me with the device of my self,
Without any source to attend
Or cure my restlessness.
For every single soul a say,
And she lives now in her words,
But I’ve had my fill of hearing them
As they too are immersed.
He sent my fair maid mad,
Tides took away my lady
And left me unloved behind.
I never knew her reasoning,
She craved me not to ask,
And with those words went under
And never did come back.
It’s when you see them they are safe,
But once you turn they fall,
Won over by the unknown,
Estranged like animals.
A read page removed from the rest
And left to find itself in need,
Wondering what worth
There is in meaning.
I tried to peel away with her
To reveal some other surface,
But she had more layers
Than painted shelves;
Though we had the same aspect,
And equal use of the view,
I thought I’d readied for it,
But was lost once she withdrew.
The energy of her life has left
Me with the device of my self,
Without any source to attend
Or cure my restlessness.
For every single soul a say,
And she lives now in her words,
But I’ve had my fill of hearing them
As they too are immersed.
LYCANTHROPE.
Oh the dutiful moon,
Pushing the tide.
Such a tasteful moon,
But it moves so fast
Throughout the year,
And it makes me…
My throat becomes quite dry,
And the palpitations start,
There’s sweat about my back,
And I can see my beating heart.
My clothes begin to leave me
And mingle with the floor,
I get a taste for danger
And my tongue cries out for more.
The room begins to blur and turn,
My God this bit takes time,
The image in the mirror changes
But the glass is not inclined;
My legs begin to haunch,
My belly looses paunch,
My fingers slowly split,
My ears no longer fit,
My hair grows quick,
My eyes are fixed,
My bones crack…
And it is black.
You see
Some people say I’m a little bit grey,
Some people say I’m prairie,
But I can tell you baby I’m a weird lay,
So I guess you’d better be wary…
Pushing the tide.
Such a tasteful moon,
But it moves so fast
Throughout the year,
And it makes me…
My throat becomes quite dry,
And the palpitations start,
There’s sweat about my back,
And I can see my beating heart.
My clothes begin to leave me
And mingle with the floor,
I get a taste for danger
And my tongue cries out for more.
The room begins to blur and turn,
My God this bit takes time,
The image in the mirror changes
But the glass is not inclined;
My legs begin to haunch,
My belly looses paunch,
My fingers slowly split,
My ears no longer fit,
My hair grows quick,
My eyes are fixed,
My bones crack…
And it is black.
You see
Some people say I’m a little bit grey,
Some people say I’m prairie,
But I can tell you baby I’m a weird lay,
So I guess you’d better be wary…
LOVE THY LABOUR.
I love you,
And am going to ensure
That I continue to do so,
And assure you that
I will always be true to you,
And adorn you
With the mornings
New music,
And use it
For the gains it rewards,
And the growth it affords,
In the following years,
The soul swallowing years,
When the noises you hear
Are the opening tolls
Of old age.
And am going to ensure
That I continue to do so,
And assure you that
I will always be true to you,
And adorn you
With the mornings
New music,
And use it
For the gains it rewards,
And the growth it affords,
In the following years,
The soul swallowing years,
When the noises you hear
Are the opening tolls
Of old age.
LONGING FOR LANGUOR.
We are weary round here
In the summer,
And autumn and winter
And spring,
And wearier next year
And number,
And as confused as we
Are convinced;
For there is seldom a slot
In the schedule,
Or programme or posting
Or plan,
And as often as not
It is sped through,
And over before
It began.
For the next is as near
As is needed,
Or wanted or shouldered
Or took,
Whilst the last was unclear
And conceded,
And not quite as long
As a fuck.
So forgive us our bread
And our butter,
And breakfast and dinner
And tea,
And throw us well fed
In the gutter
Once our intervals have
Been increased.
In the summer,
And autumn and winter
And spring,
And wearier next year
And number,
And as confused as we
Are convinced;
For there is seldom a slot
In the schedule,
Or programme or posting
Or plan,
And as often as not
It is sped through,
And over before
It began.
For the next is as near
As is needed,
Or wanted or shouldered
Or took,
Whilst the last was unclear
And conceded,
And not quite as long
As a fuck.
So forgive us our bread
And our butter,
And breakfast and dinner
And tea,
And throw us well fed
In the gutter
Once our intervals have
Been increased.
LEEK IN THE HOLE.
It has to be said,
And it has to be writ,
I’m one of those people
Who smell vaguely of shit.
It’s down to my arse,
It’s up in the hole,
There’s something not right
With my sphincter wall.
I’m itching all day,
And scratching all night,
And when I wake up
There’s evidence of shite.
So I’m straight in the shower,
And then in the tub,
But the smell’s always there
However I scrub.
So I work in the office
In expensive cologne,
Knowing full well
That my stink lingers on.
We open the windows,
And all laugh and joke,
And blame the old factory
Outside blowing smoke.
But I know that they know,
And they know that I do,
So I pretend to fetch coffee
And nip into the loo.
But it’s never enough,
And by five I am ripe,
Regardless of drink runs
Or how hard I wipe.
So I head home alone
With my face falling down,
And call up my lady
And ask her to come round.
She brings all her gear,
Her Amsterdam porn,
Two bottles of poppers
And a twelve inch strap-on.
And it has to be writ,
I’m one of those people
Who smell vaguely of shit.
It’s down to my arse,
It’s up in the hole,
There’s something not right
With my sphincter wall.
I’m itching all day,
And scratching all night,
And when I wake up
There’s evidence of shite.
So I’m straight in the shower,
And then in the tub,
But the smell’s always there
However I scrub.
So I work in the office
In expensive cologne,
Knowing full well
That my stink lingers on.
We open the windows,
And all laugh and joke,
And blame the old factory
Outside blowing smoke.
But I know that they know,
And they know that I do,
So I pretend to fetch coffee
And nip into the loo.
But it’s never enough,
And by five I am ripe,
Regardless of drink runs
Or how hard I wipe.
So I head home alone
With my face falling down,
And call up my lady
And ask her to come round.
She brings all her gear,
Her Amsterdam porn,
Two bottles of poppers
And a twelve inch strap-on.
LEADING EDGE.
I’ve searched for you,
Sifted through,
The store of files in my head;
In the light,
All through the night,
To the four corners of my bed.
And all the signs
You left behind,
Before you went ahead,
Are not around,
But underground,
As useless as the dead.
Sifted through,
The store of files in my head;
In the light,
All through the night,
To the four corners of my bed.
And all the signs
You left behind,
Before you went ahead,
Are not around,
But underground,
As useless as the dead.
LAST KNOWN ABODE.
The first time buyer needed
A retiree’s purchasing power
In order to afford an address,
As their annual income did
Not have the relevant number
Of multiples for a mortgage.
So they persuaded the teenage
Population of a small European
Nation to move in with them.
The deal was concluded and
A tiny terrace was procured and infused
With four bunk beds per room.
A retiree’s purchasing power
In order to afford an address,
As their annual income did
Not have the relevant number
Of multiples for a mortgage.
So they persuaded the teenage
Population of a small European
Nation to move in with them.
The deal was concluded and
A tiny terrace was procured and infused
With four bunk beds per room.
JOHN IN MY LIFE.
In the middle of midnight
He cheers,
Come on round a time.
Spends the next day in sunlight,
By mere.
With a throwing of hands up
He slides,
Down the willow pole.
In the snowing of cold dawn
He bides.
In the new down of eider
He sleeps,
Run a temperature.
In a big book and binder
He weeps.
Flowing down a white staircase
He’s clear,
Take you for a ride.
Every moment of wonder
He’s here.
He cheers,
Come on round a time.
Spends the next day in sunlight,
By mere.
With a throwing of hands up
He slides,
Down the willow pole.
In the snowing of cold dawn
He bides.
In the new down of eider
He sleeps,
Run a temperature.
In a big book and binder
He weeps.
Flowing down a white staircase
He’s clear,
Take you for a ride.
Every moment of wonder
He’s here.
INTO THE SET SUN.
Eventually winter
Shed its skin to
Begin to
Be spring,
And entered into
New ventures
Attempting
Ascent,
But it couldn’t emerge
From the search
Its words
Coerced,
And where March should be
It was not, clearly,
And its anniversary
Was near,
So it panicked a bit,
And bracken was lit,
And this I admit
Did the trick:
Summer was met,
But shone after sunset,
And came to regret
The effects;
So we hope that the fall
Will remember to crawl
And bring weather and all
It recalls.
Shed its skin to
Begin to
Be spring,
And entered into
New ventures
Attempting
Ascent,
But it couldn’t emerge
From the search
Its words
Coerced,
And where March should be
It was not, clearly,
And its anniversary
Was near,
So it panicked a bit,
And bracken was lit,
And this I admit
Did the trick:
Summer was met,
But shone after sunset,
And came to regret
The effects;
So we hope that the fall
Will remember to crawl
And bring weather and all
It recalls.
INSIDE THE ORDINARY MIND OF MANKIND.
Have you ever actually taken the time
To look at the spectrum flowing before you?
Or study the movement of growth in the
Ivy that slowly crawls across your window,
Or connect yourself to a wire and fuse it up
Your plug hole and into the wall behind you,
Or sit on the arse cleaning toilet seat that
You recently purchased because of its probing.
Look out your recently cleaned window and remember
That the only reason people get pissed is because it’s
Easier to do so than not – and virtually rewarding.
We’re living in liquid time; not quite as bad as the
Eighteenth century, but then the water supply is better.
Don’t listen to any elected official who advises you
Anything. Remember only one in four voted them in, and
Anyway I didn’t want that fat bastard to have that
Particular ministerial position, did you? Obviously
Not, but he’s there all the same and you can’t do a fucking
Thing about it, can you. But he’ll tell you not to drink all the
Same; too many wasted man-hours. Must be great being a
Woman not having that guilt hanging around your neck
Whilst you’re slinging it down.
Don’t you agree? You know the only thing worse than the
Americanised youth of the world wandering down the street
In the middle of the night drinking that horrendous white
Cider that tastes like lighter fluid and profaning at the tops
Of their FUCKING VOICES…is observing the young of the
Rich with their obsessive need to appear ordinary whilst
Being unable to be away from London for an hour. Fuck
Them and their vacant lots. Give them a job and they’d shit
Their pants, or maybe not. I suppose it depends how much
They’d pissed away the previous night outside that cinema
In Leicester Square where all the good boys and girls are
Scraped up by the police.
Listen, don’t get me wrong, I swear and I drink and I like my
Prostrate gland manipulating as much as the next man, but
It’s got to have some grace and meaning attached to it.
So...
Be right fucking sharpish and get that vodka and coke jacked
Up my back box.
To look at the spectrum flowing before you?
Or study the movement of growth in the
Ivy that slowly crawls across your window,
Or connect yourself to a wire and fuse it up
Your plug hole and into the wall behind you,
Or sit on the arse cleaning toilet seat that
You recently purchased because of its probing.
Look out your recently cleaned window and remember
That the only reason people get pissed is because it’s
Easier to do so than not – and virtually rewarding.
We’re living in liquid time; not quite as bad as the
Eighteenth century, but then the water supply is better.
Don’t listen to any elected official who advises you
Anything. Remember only one in four voted them in, and
Anyway I didn’t want that fat bastard to have that
Particular ministerial position, did you? Obviously
Not, but he’s there all the same and you can’t do a fucking
Thing about it, can you. But he’ll tell you not to drink all the
Same; too many wasted man-hours. Must be great being a
Woman not having that guilt hanging around your neck
Whilst you’re slinging it down.
Don’t you agree? You know the only thing worse than the
Americanised youth of the world wandering down the street
In the middle of the night drinking that horrendous white
Cider that tastes like lighter fluid and profaning at the tops
Of their FUCKING VOICES…is observing the young of the
Rich with their obsessive need to appear ordinary whilst
Being unable to be away from London for an hour. Fuck
Them and their vacant lots. Give them a job and they’d shit
Their pants, or maybe not. I suppose it depends how much
They’d pissed away the previous night outside that cinema
In Leicester Square where all the good boys and girls are
Scraped up by the police.
Listen, don’t get me wrong, I swear and I drink and I like my
Prostrate gland manipulating as much as the next man, but
It’s got to have some grace and meaning attached to it.
So...
Be right fucking sharpish and get that vodka and coke jacked
Up my back box.
IN TIMES OF LUMINESCENCE.
Do you have any envy
Left for me
For I do believe
I need it now;
Though I never used
To think it so,
And so did
Thank me for my view,
But now I know
I was naïve
To think me less
Allayed of need
As some deceit
Bearing a name
Is here to
Educate me.
Left for me
For I do believe
I need it now;
Though I never used
To think it so,
And so did
Thank me for my view,
But now I know
I was naïve
To think me less
Allayed of need
As some deceit
Bearing a name
Is here to
Educate me.
IN THE WANSTEAD WAY.
I haven’t got the room,
I haven’t got the time,
I haven’t come too soon,
I didn’t have the rhyme.
I never called you out,
I never stressed enough,
I never heard you doubt
I couldn’t be in love.
I always said it loud,
I always proved you wrong,
I always saved the sound,
I should have sung along.
I always haven’t never loved been
Alone without you,
But I didn’t couldn’t should have
Or maybe… not.
It’s nice to talk to you again
As a friend.
I haven’t got the time,
I haven’t come too soon,
I didn’t have the rhyme.
I never called you out,
I never stressed enough,
I never heard you doubt
I couldn’t be in love.
I always said it loud,
I always proved you wrong,
I always saved the sound,
I should have sung along.
I always haven’t never loved been
Alone without you,
But I didn’t couldn’t should have
Or maybe… not.
It’s nice to talk to you again
As a friend.
IN OUR WORLD.
Words worth saying
Are worth writing down,
And reciting forever
In front of a crowd.
Whose
Tales worth knowing
Are worth holding onto,
And retelling to people
Who don’t know they want them.
Whose
Voices worth hearing
Are worth memories,
And preserved for a future
Without enemies.
Whose
Faces worth touching
Are worth loosing sight for,
And recalled in those moments
In the middle of night fall.
Whose
Days worth seeing
Are worth capturing,
And releasing by morning
To grow once again.
Whose
Love worth feeling
Is worth everything,
And removed from the present
We are now entering.
Are worth writing down,
And reciting forever
In front of a crowd.
Whose
Tales worth knowing
Are worth holding onto,
And retelling to people
Who don’t know they want them.
Whose
Voices worth hearing
Are worth memories,
And preserved for a future
Without enemies.
Whose
Faces worth touching
Are worth loosing sight for,
And recalled in those moments
In the middle of night fall.
Whose
Days worth seeing
Are worth capturing,
And releasing by morning
To grow once again.
Whose
Love worth feeling
Is worth everything,
And removed from the present
We are now entering.
HUGE FUTURISTIC VISTA.
There is not enough space;
Granted, there is an infinite
Number of possibilities between
Myself and the horizon,
But they will never be able to
Convince me of distance.
I will never be fit enough to cover
The terrain, or adequately
Express myself before it;
There are simply not enough
Words to carry myself over
And through this place.
For all I was,
And have become,
And am
My love.
Granted, there is an infinite
Number of possibilities between
Myself and the horizon,
But they will never be able to
Convince me of distance.
I will never be fit enough to cover
The terrain, or adequately
Express myself before it;
There are simply not enough
Words to carry myself over
And through this place.
For all I was,
And have become,
And am
My love.
HOW MANY SHEETS TO USE?
So then I’m mistaken,
So leave me alone,
With my little country,
And bakelite phone,
And wall up my windows,
And doorways as well;
Cover me with earth works,
And sound my death knell.
Pull down my pictures,
Pull down my exploits,
Replace them with structures
More deft and adroit,
And cancel all plaudits,
And call on the news,
Announce to the nation
Another removed.
Forget I existed,
Forget I appeared,
Sell off my silver
And all I revered.
And they will be grateful,
And lather your feet,
Until thrift arrives
And impounds your seat.
So am I mistaken?
So am I alone?
If so please don’t call me
On your mobile phone.
So leave me alone,
With my little country,
And bakelite phone,
And wall up my windows,
And doorways as well;
Cover me with earth works,
And sound my death knell.
Pull down my pictures,
Pull down my exploits,
Replace them with structures
More deft and adroit,
And cancel all plaudits,
And call on the news,
Announce to the nation
Another removed.
Forget I existed,
Forget I appeared,
Sell off my silver
And all I revered.
And they will be grateful,
And lather your feet,
Until thrift arrives
And impounds your seat.
So am I mistaken?
So am I alone?
If so please don’t call me
On your mobile phone.
HONEYMOON BLUES.
If it’s wet it should slip in with ease
With or without some hair or a breeze,
But beware how the items attach,
And she doesn’t have glass up her snatch.
If she does then your banjo’s at risk,
As its string may be strummed rather brisk,
And could snap and pour forth from its hood
All the sights and the sounds of your blood.
With or without some hair or a breeze,
But beware how the items attach,
And she doesn’t have glass up her snatch.
If she does then your banjo’s at risk,
As its string may be strummed rather brisk,
And could snap and pour forth from its hood
All the sights and the sounds of your blood.
HOMEBOD.
My home time meter pleads
For me to leave now the know to go has
Shown my while its knowing.
Wretched health has
Vexed before its hour but left intact
What package is allowed.
Without a well of being
To honour me or salve to save
Me from its certainty.
For me to leave now the know to go has
Shown my while its knowing.
Wretched health has
Vexed before its hour but left intact
What package is allowed.
Without a well of being
To honour me or salve to save
Me from its certainty.
HELLO WORLD.
You can do what you wish with it
As I won’t be there to witness it,
And tell your tales of nothing
Wearing another’s clothing,
Or wander nakedly at night
With legs astraddle or clamped tight -
And your wrong ways round mouth,
And your upside down eyes out.
You can have your tongue back, I don’t need it any more,
Your empty mouth may require its décor,
And your broken knee restraints returned
Along with love’s declared words burned,
Whose ashes were scattered overseas
With everything else that wasn’t free.
The wallpaper that you put up I tore down,
And replaced it with an autumn brown,
As I washed all the carpets clean,
And bottled all the stains therein,
But left the space that you once took
To remind me how I once fucked up.
I’m cleaner and clearer to see
Now your residue has gone from me,
And I retrieved an old chalk board
From the place where nostalgia’s stored,
And added up all the equations,
And concluded that our situation
Was based upon a one night stand
That contrived to have the morning banned:
An overslept hangover,
Unwashed lover,
Drunken bum….
…that I once loved.
As I won’t be there to witness it,
And tell your tales of nothing
Wearing another’s clothing,
Or wander nakedly at night
With legs astraddle or clamped tight -
And your wrong ways round mouth,
And your upside down eyes out.
You can have your tongue back, I don’t need it any more,
Your empty mouth may require its décor,
And your broken knee restraints returned
Along with love’s declared words burned,
Whose ashes were scattered overseas
With everything else that wasn’t free.
The wallpaper that you put up I tore down,
And replaced it with an autumn brown,
As I washed all the carpets clean,
And bottled all the stains therein,
But left the space that you once took
To remind me how I once fucked up.
I’m cleaner and clearer to see
Now your residue has gone from me,
And I retrieved an old chalk board
From the place where nostalgia’s stored,
And added up all the equations,
And concluded that our situation
Was based upon a one night stand
That contrived to have the morning banned:
An overslept hangover,
Unwashed lover,
Drunken bum….
…that I once loved.
HAVE WE HERD.
Someone said we may all go
Along the path of dinosaurs
And remove ourselves from history
By consuming everything we see.
White papers tell us how to grass,
Whilst endorsing other paths,
As governments try hard to prove
That sane things roam upon the hoof,
And more advice arrives each day
From intense scientists at play.
But what’s the point in worrying
That we may die from hurrying
That fateful day along its course
By doing what they don’t endorse,
And should we heed the wisest word
Or disbelieve opinions heard?
Be the cautious who abstain
And shower in spring water rain?
Or live our lives out bloated
Across the cattle grid.
Along the path of dinosaurs
And remove ourselves from history
By consuming everything we see.
White papers tell us how to grass,
Whilst endorsing other paths,
As governments try hard to prove
That sane things roam upon the hoof,
And more advice arrives each day
From intense scientists at play.
But what’s the point in worrying
That we may die from hurrying
That fateful day along its course
By doing what they don’t endorse,
And should we heed the wisest word
Or disbelieve opinions heard?
Be the cautious who abstain
And shower in spring water rain?
Or live our lives out bloated
Across the cattle grid.
HARRY AND GEORGE.
Almighty God, I know,
What becomes of me:
Harry, waking up,
To sit through the day
And sleep when
The night time comes;
He’s smiling now
So bright.
Almighty God, I know,
In us, it’s changed:
Oh sunken eyes
Keep me awake
Till morning
Decides to rise;
Address them all
For their story carries on.
Almighty God,
I know, now Jud is calm, he’s not crying now:
He turns
To his friend,
And Harry agrees,
That this day will
Never end;
You take them home to be.
Move the curtain, move the sky,
Whisper sigh, kiss goodbye.
What becomes of me:
Harry, waking up,
To sit through the day
And sleep when
The night time comes;
He’s smiling now
So bright.
Almighty God, I know,
In us, it’s changed:
Oh sunken eyes
Keep me awake
Till morning
Decides to rise;
Address them all
For their story carries on.
Almighty God,
I know, now Jud is calm, he’s not crying now:
He turns
To his friend,
And Harry agrees,
That this day will
Never end;
You take them home to be.
Move the curtain, move the sky,
Whisper sigh, kiss goodbye.
GUARD OF EDEN.
The things we need are not far away,
But they’re just not near enough,
And the road is blocked by obstacles
That are keeping them from us.
So feelings of contempt are used,
But laterally applied,
Instead of being in their face
Or creeping up behind,
And though sideways never has achieved
The goal of any venture
We’re hoping the defenders have
The austerest dementia.
But recognition still remains
Of what is utmost needed,
So all the barriers there are
Will not stop us proceeding:
For times are grave and dangerous,
And desperate acts required,
And if this means we forge ahead
Then we’ll be so inspired.
And if we run into the face
Of someone’s ancient bar
Then coins will have to compensate
For keeping it ajar.
And through the gate and into glade,
And every corner facing,
Until the hunt has recognized
The quarry it’s been chasing.
And when caught at last the glory,
Before the day is sealed,
We’ll home again forever
Where our meadows will be healed;
For we shall have our wanted,
Some worth to be defended,
Not overly indulgent,
But more than God intended.
But they’re just not near enough,
And the road is blocked by obstacles
That are keeping them from us.
So feelings of contempt are used,
But laterally applied,
Instead of being in their face
Or creeping up behind,
And though sideways never has achieved
The goal of any venture
We’re hoping the defenders have
The austerest dementia.
But recognition still remains
Of what is utmost needed,
So all the barriers there are
Will not stop us proceeding:
For times are grave and dangerous,
And desperate acts required,
And if this means we forge ahead
Then we’ll be so inspired.
And if we run into the face
Of someone’s ancient bar
Then coins will have to compensate
For keeping it ajar.
And through the gate and into glade,
And every corner facing,
Until the hunt has recognized
The quarry it’s been chasing.
And when caught at last the glory,
Before the day is sealed,
We’ll home again forever
Where our meadows will be healed;
For we shall have our wanted,
Some worth to be defended,
Not overly indulgent,
But more than God intended.
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