Thursday, 6 May 2021

 WHAT WAS IT REMAINS

Enter the difficult years 

The bow scratch over tape work

What can be mustered 

Inadequate escape from child’s fine line

Drawing of cookie characters 

chased by disembodied knives

it’s a playful time of overlapping skulls 

all chattering at the grey manifold destined to 

Inhabit the sweat pants generation.

Vulnerable to new mooring we mix it up

Embellish it knee deep in knotted nettles

Steering against a jigsaw racket then

Keep stripping back to reveal the 

the mirror face.

In your sack the surfeit markings

Now take oxygen

As if across the cheek 

a port wine portmanteau

Was wearing the hat that pressure felt it 

In May winds crumbling over moss covered steak house

de-schooling, unfolded; out of season

Cedar time summer songs

butterfly & ragwort

rape seed

Rowing against a dental drizzle

Dropping below sea level shunting sideways 

Put upon parking space Austrian outsider 

art generations slide apart

The work follows a force

Sails against swell 

defrost aggressive

ancient lease 

walls bow, collapse 

Upended rivers collide arms width

all day you Carcharodon carcharias

gliding beside life eyeballing an inter-tidal foetid death trance

moving through the gears now seriously out of control

flying in the face of it the crimson bloody mess of it the chum

the chowder floundering on a white tiled floor you drain away

till only what was it remains.

Tuesday, 4 May 2021

 Silent stagnant poverty pooled over

 

worn-out macadam smoothed by relentless

 

Feet, bowed at the corner shop entrance.

So far outside of real no need for constant visits the idea

Of ‘socialising’ grates so what is it to be living well?

Anything so disturbed becomes distinguished by habit

The unlovable in turns liveable aged by repetition, complacency

Repetition. And your right wrong aspect of what your told to write and feel: so now that dog 

You taught to love will turn to bite us back.

Greying at the edges another post everything day turns somnolent. 

But what about the soul’s report; the gathering of reproachful wonder often transcribed as bliss? The loving grace of an annoying off-spring that homely hatred nestled in the heart of the homunculus. You remember this more at the end; the middle part is blurred often lost to intoxicating grief.

We must believe in bliss or at least come to understand its legions as a goal. Forms of nobility: constant clatter : interrupted thoughts : insipid nostalgia masquerading as fear of death : your constant companions : old things

                                                Humbled hive jumble sale

     Processed cheese slices                    can’t remember anything good about dad?

                                    Old photographs of school days with you not in them

Flash back to idiots that rendered you speechless over and over again

 

                                                                        Giving up giving in just about ready

Giddy on pharmaceutical serotonin

No there is no time for that

Never has there ever been any time for

That

Because we are mad, because we have been made mad

It is now common for us to hurry through the days

Achieving nothing but spending every molecule on waste matter

Inside a bright shiny cave my laptop gently melts into a substance like liquid mercury

Dripping vertical lanes of luminous ichor

Rotating 360 degrees the birds and butterflies and bees

Tended well to pick the bones clean

His skeleton resting in repose an almost grin is grimaced from the teeth

Fine angular jaw bone burial sump

 

Well socked a soaking up then sliding round

Through hoops and loops to dollop down

Right there; slump in front you roll your eyes

Your legacy was never clean or acted out

But divided into gain so many

Crummy rooms, hallways, shared kitchens are your stock

Dust covered mannequins shuffle to life the listless dead air of 

An inner-city blank holiday a sigh draws dry toast into a death roll

A last rattle before connecting trains lope off  to outer suburbs of 

Further heavy minds. 

 

Meanwhile she continues to hoover. 

The discarded buggy and the broken swing

England is so much faded plastic now

The once bright sheen of future prospects burnt out myopic dystopia

Of fried eggs scratch cards bad skin bloated corpuscles ground up

Lips and arseholes on every corner dragging a shitting dog by the neck is a freedom that must be preserved against invading hordes that would seek to do us down to erode this majestic life of Albion preserved in aspic.

 

In empty low-level bungalows

 

A wardrobe of meagre keep sakes

 

A porcelain Labrador

 

The smell of stagnation

 

Once communal garden now over-grown, cans and carrier bags, long grass browning and burnt

 

Municipal play areas turn into a dog shit zone

 

Magnificent melting eye balls

Shovel food nervously into mouth

Big dumb droopy grin

Happy to be out socializing again

Loving your friends and their cute dogs

Just a couple of pints

But I want a million pints so I can collapse into oblivion

That’s what I desire

One of those knackered fifty something guys that walk with slow methodical defiance

Arms out to the side; a studied pace, you’re not hurrying me sunshine all frosted with a passive aggressive menace. That dog trumps it all.\\\\\\

Saturday, 1 May 2021

 24HRS IN POLICE CUSTODY

This day will break soon

Something is going to happen

When it does.

Nobody’s woe is exactly enough

To contain this circle of life

Fully whole certain again.

Beaten to death by love; anger out

Put down fulfilled energy discharged flowed

To an end. A lightning rod catches years of abuse

No offence, none taken

Scratches on the lock on the key 

The drama played out over CCTV connectors breaking

Down into the final edit that is to be screened

Tonight, on Channel 4, he said Heaven not 

Devon. What was in the blank depth of those eyes?

A love that hates itself, batters itself into a coma

Lost children wander the streets well into old age; unable to

Navigate compass all askew disappearing into cracks

Walking out of life passing through free Wi-Fi zones

Secret dwellers of the tented under-class just glimpses

Some left behind rubbish

Plastic sheeting lashed with orange twine

To an old upturned tree

Root system exposed already

Catching debris in its tendrils

His heart gave up in the end so

They turned him off.

 

Friday, 30 April 2021

 Still the air electric inside 

Pylon crack thoughts 

Out across the flecked fields in silent shadow

No greater significance. 

 

Or there may be some. 

 

these words could mean

I don’t feel or I’m not either

perhaps I’m satisfied that I’m looking 

Furtive in the bushes bubbling in the firmament 

Sunday, 25 April 2021

 SPIRAL NEBULAE

Juxtapose the traverse.   All word worlds corrupted sunk

 beauty with horror mingle converse now the chickens have come home to roost

inter-play weeded out hooked on its final ending

upon a crevasse holed out broken damaged beyond repair could 

hold on to it most likely this grip will burst a mind

the ring signifies something left blank horrible waste matter

capture hateful psychotic pamphlet that will come back to haunt

entreaty

entity.

 Nothing is coming

It’s all going

Vanishing future space

      Blocks for the new

energy remain isotopes

here’s hoping what resonates overlapping ghost’s

     brings the ‘definitive’ culture to bare 

over skulls and bones

 hear them crunch beneath a plaintive cello solo

so hollowed out it grows over newly seeded thought

descending down the back some abandoned alleyway where

nature died once

framed by approved memories

And this we love 


‘the short-circuiting of meaning between words, the impetuous

regeneration of primordial myth.’


Because in a homely way it tells us we are loved by ourselves and 

That this is enough to go on breathing with

This apparatus we call human.

 

Wednesday, 21 April 2021

 What if nothing connects with nothing

 

All you signify is gone empty

Shelves or what is left

Scuds to a halt.

Hearth light runway freeze frame hex

What do we gain from your experience?

Cum-up-ence that’s to show them this internal mangling was all gone wrong

But you had that experience unshakeable

Unspeakable eyes dilated blinking

Traffic lights each one a winking eye up and down up and down for hours

On that bend in the road over the hump back bridge go there

Still the night air burning electric inside nostrils

Pylon lines crackling with communication thoughts flying 

Out across the field’s spirits flecked in silent shadows 

The smart sell.

Don’t look for any deep meaning or greater significance. There is none

Or there may be some. I don’t know what these words mean; they could mean

Something or nothing: that depends on you. I don’t feel happy or sad with these words. I’m 

Not either of those emotions; perhaps you could say I’m satisfied with the outcomes that some of these

Word combinations present. I would say, yes that's the best way to describe it; that I’m looking for the best 

Possible outcomes from these ‘spirited’ word combinations. Just please don’t ask what any of it ‘means’ because I don’t know; does anyone? 

 

I’ll put a comma there to tell it to fuck off.