forty

Loserville

In the big Airport
I wait for the small bus
That whisks me off to a small town

Been to the big city again
Still haven't found my fortune
And now I'm on my way home to
Loserville

Been here a mighty long time
Drinking wine and watching the TV
Listening to the buses come and go, but always returning to
Loserville

The kerbs are dusty, and sometimes paper blows there
And plastic and cardboard too, dropped by the dustmen
Nobody notices them, they stay there, everyone stays in
Loserville

(I've a lump in my throat, I've crashed the party again...
It's no good looking at the horizon for help)

So I buy another CD, and take it home
Singing alone to myself with the curtains closed
If I open them, I see omly lonely streets and hear dark empty shouts
In Loserville

Back from an interview, another wasted journey
Though I summon up every bit of spark I have
I forget words, clever thoughts have died, my eyes are dull
I'm sure they can see in them
The Dead of Loserville

thirty-eight

Fictionary

When my stream of conciousness turns into a trickle
I find myself in a bit of a pickle
I turn to wine and I turn to beer
But they make me tired and feeling quite queer
I'd read a book but the words swim around
Or listen to music and in it I'd drown
My mind becomes sticky and stiff like a dumpling
My throat gets tight and dry with a lump in
And I'm supposed to write a thesis for a Masters Degree?
Why does this shit always happen to me??

I wish I could make up quotes and words
As easy as songs are made up by birds
Spin a line of authority
To make everybody look up to me
Become an expert unquestioned and proud
To speak and be listened to without being loud
With quiet confidence indifference I'd kill
And change peoples minds like a head-tripping pill
I'd tingle spines and goosepimple skin
And without noticable pressure all would give in

But my streams of conciousness reduce to a trickle
And my reasoning seems pathetic and fickle
I'd love to spin a flamboyant line
And all of the audience would be mine
But all the grace and finesse I lack
To make the greatest fiction seem a fact

thirty-seven

The Way We Use Words

In my room, in my location
I like listening to the radio
On my old clock radio that's nearly 30 years old
I like the men's voices joking around
Not too serious
The robust and the mellow
Somehow the shapes of the words
Are rounder and less spiky than spoken by women
And smooth and sweet as chocolate
The words are tasty and easy to digest
Not like the words outside my window
When people brake hard and shout Oi and Hey
Staring straight at each other but not wanting to be with them
Not like the people on the radio
Who dont look, cant see, the strangers on the other end
Of all the words they say

I find it hard
If I'm in a shop
I have to pick the words that fit
That are short and snappy but polite
And dont tangle up the other person
Said nicely with a lilt
Then I sit with fellow academics
And have to search for the most appropriate word
For the abstract, obscure and scribbly journeys of thought
How long is this piece of string, this strung together sentence?
One size does not fit all!

I'm a bit jealous of the radio presenters
Giving everyone what they want
Millions consuming words and feeling nicely full
Nothing too out of the ordinary, a one-sided conversation for all

thirty-six

7/7

It was a normal summers day in London
Just needed a drop of rain to keep the dust down
People got on buses and trains, just about cool enough
The mood was quiet, British bustling

Suddenly the world was ripped open
Scarlet drops and blue ribbons all over
Places I could not go, but peered at though
Grey and silent as graves

Conspiracy theorists have their own voices
The passengers ones have been silenced forever

thirty-five

Misses

When I was in Misses clothes
Just a 12, but sometimes a 10
In my 20's, I wanted to be Tank Girl
Big boots, short skirts, and Turquoise hair

Then I wanted to be girly
Because that was the thing to be
But dresses draped like potato sacks
And my hair wouldn't grow quick enough

Now I'm nearly 40
And my wardrobe's full of broken dreams
And unkept promises and disappointments
I miss being a Miss

thirty-four

Before

Back in the day
When Jackie was a man's name
And Petula Clark sang
And football fans cheered and had stripy scarves

Back in the day
When tower blocks were luxury
Concrete was exciting
And colour came up in the grey

Back in the day
Of mini skirts and pirate radio
When the grass was bright green
And men had long hair

Back in the day
My dad wore flowery shirts
And had shoulder length curls
And my mum wore mini skirts

I wasn't there to see
Or hear or taste or smell
But back in the day
Is a place I feel I know

thirty-three

The Silent Green

When people talk ugly and obscene
Its good to be with the Silent Green

When people's thoughts are twisted and lean
Its good to be with the Silent Green

When people's actions are bitter and mean
Its good to be with the Silent Green

When all you want is to silence the scream
It's good to be with the Silent Green

Look after it
And it will look after you
Its good to be
With the Silent Green

thirty-two

Haze

Lay a place for me,I'm coimg down
Place your meal across the table
I'll be there as soon as I am able
I'll shake the dreams from out my head
I'm coming down

Call me louder and I'll be there
Rouse me from my musical haze
I'll take one step, two steps, three steps
Keeping one step of the haze

thirty-one

Too Old to Live, Too Young To Die

Why should I write my numbers down?
Nobody writes off Nature in the Spring.
Yet spring follows Winter - when all is dead,
When all is dead and sleeping.

Why should I count the years in serial,
When it's just a collection of Springtimes?
Why not accept that Spring follows Winter?
When all is dead, it comes around again.

Why should I not think of my years
As a tree? Grows tall, sleeps, then flowers.
Spring follows Winter, it's all there to see -
Green comes again, inevitably.

thirty

Cinderella is not at home

Cinderella is not at home
She's gone to party all alone
All alone in a one-off dress
Glass slippers shining, to impress

Cinderella is not at home
She's left the brush and mop and broom
Standing propped by the front door
She's gone to see if there's more

Cinderella has gone out
Dressed in crystal, silks, and a pout
Given it all by a fairy friend
The magic's begun - but where will it end?

Cinderella is not at home
She's gone to the palace all alone
She's left her coach and her horses outside
But she'll finish the night without her ride

twenty-nine

Burn

In my human form
I squint at the horizon
Till my eyes get tired
And burned out by the sunset

But in another form
I could outstare the sun
And in a moment of fiery madness
Join ir searing in the sky

twenty-eight

Circles Decrease

Should I worry
That I've forgotten how it feels
Holding hands on the Circle Line
Should I be scared that I've lost that time

There's books I remember more
TV, films, and CDs
Things on people's blogs, photos and posters
All tack sharp more than a memory of love

Should that bother me?

Only the faintest ripple
Like the ones on the pond when we fed the geese
Under the city's autumn sky
Fading so when it hits the shore
Its no more

twenty-seven

The Road To Hell Is Paved With Good Intention

Holden in The Catcher
Talked a lot
People said he was not "pro-active"
But just how much control
Can a teenager have?
And that was in the Fifties

Now
I'm 38 in 09
And feel 16
Almost as much as lost
And powerless
As fifteen in the fifties

The cyan sky dims
To grey, then deep dark blue
The street is the same as its always been
Same voices, same noises
Same arguements and shouting
The same cars parked in the same driveways

And sometimes the sun shines so hard on the road
That when it rains it smells of factories
The industrial smells people used to know so well
They took it to bed with them and woke up with them
And now it is as redundant as nature


I wake up
At 8am, I'm full of joy
By 4pm, the day is gone
By 8, I'm too tired
By 10, I am drinking
By 12, I am bored of that day

My Grandad said
"Hell is paved with Good Intentions"
He painted bridges, on canvases
In the style of an Anglicised Manet
They never got shown

twenty-six

PEOPLE WHO DO NOT LEARN FROM HISTORY ARE DOOMED TO REPEAT IT

Long ago and far away
The people had no bread
A man said
"I'll give you bread"
OK
They said
But it went to his head

twenty-five

Dedication

Sitting in my lukewarm bath
Listening to the dripping tap
Over the sound of water comes
The radio and its full of crap
I just want to phone them up today
I just want to phone them up and say
Play this for my man
Do the best you can
He's the greatest one, you see
So do this little thing for me
And I hope that he really heard
Me say
I love you more than you deserve

twenty-four

Sojourn

The sun as it pelts down
Causes a meltdown
The flowers and green things wilt
The ground turns to stone
The stalks turn to bones
And restfulness turns to guilt

So apologies
If not much from me
Appears on this daily blog
But life at a pace
With the heat on my face
Is a bit of a hard old slog!

twenty-three

The Pull

I wish I could scour the coastal floor
Like the pull of the ocean
Make some marks, change the scenery
Yet in some ways I am already doing so
Clawing at the land time and again
Gathering a heavy burden of rocks
Getting no nearer to the goal, no further in the shore
And randomly leaving some of my pebbles
Without knowing how many, what, or where

twenty-two

The Hunter That Shot At The Stars

I was asleep
Then I woke up and saw the backwards counter
Numbering the hours of a mans life
And after a while
I realised it was someone I'd heard of


Such a chronicle
On the small screen. Hidden away
A man shot at boxes and set them on fire
To make up for the world that he couldn't
No matter what he wrote and said

I saw the long roads between places
The boredom of these spaces needed to be dealt with
Especially the desert, the blank blank desert
Needed to be planted with the most colourful flowers
And populated by fantastic beasts

And then, when he went to where the colour really lived
He wanted to escape from it
Neon pink followed blood red, mixed in a cocktail
Of white and green and brown and amber glow
But after the flames.. there was only black

twehty-one

Essence (Inhale living, Exhale Life) (11/08/03)

You’re my Essence
Breathing through my mouth
Filling up my lungs
Pulsing through my veins
In my slants and convolutions
In my now and evolution
In my shadow, in my flesh,
In what is now, and what is left
In my skin and in my bone
In being with, and now alone
In running, walking, being still
In me and I, for good or ill.

twenty

Always the sun

The same sun shines down on everyone
It does not ask “Who deserves my light?”
The same moon eases the darkness
Wherever there is night
The same rain that falls upon the earth
Falls on every man and woman
It does not ask “Who is most thirsty?”
It just falls without a plan
The same chaos from whence the world was born
Is in the heart of everyone
And where there is a universe
There’ll always be a sun.

(technical problems on Firefox not helping posting!)

nineteen

Wedgewood 22/06/03

Don’t get out your Wedgewood plates for me,
And on the table lay,
They charm me with their style, so please,
Keep them locked away.

Some things are just such precious gems
They should be shut inside
From those who would always covet them
Forever must they hide

Once out, their craftsmanship is seen,
And often not believed
The beauty was, has always been,
Can never be retrieved

Once shared, once spread around, diluted
Is the essence of the set
Only in one eye, one moment,
And the rest of them forget

Don’t get out your Wedgewood plates for me,
And on the table lay,
They charm me with their style, so please,
Keep them locked away.

eighteen

Waiting For Godot in a Red Velvet Seat

The snow was made of light
The tree was made of wood, but had no roots
I was halfway up a summit
Craning my neck and holding onto a rail

He didn't come
But I was entertained, nonetheless
By those who occupied my mind
My space, the stage, and a sea of rows around me.

seventeen

IF NOT NOW, WHEN??


AGE ------ THEY SAY

0-18 -------Too young to have an Opinion

19-35 ------Too uninformed/inexperienced
to have an Opinion

35-50 ------Too self-absorbed/prejudiced
to have an Opinion

50-75 ------Too out-of-touch to have an Opinion

76+ --------Too senile to have an Opinion

Dead -------Opinion invalidated/misread

sixteen

Asylum
There is a hole where my home used to be
And a corridor echoing infinitely
Where there used to be a hearth
And the arched, domed windows are my brow
My eyes are majick cups
And my tongue has been cut out

My dark eyed waltzing partner
Is dancing with me once again
Always so close by my side
In these silent cold spaces
The music lasts and lasts
When they try to sever us
The music dies away
And I’m left with the screams
Of green glass

Then I’m with ghosts
We wash we press we clean
White is all right about us
All white with not the smallest stain
Acres and acres with no surprises
No delight and no imagination

fifteen

aI

I’m not disturbed

I’m just disturbing you

from your reverie

fourteen

Unassisted Psychedelia

Out of my Square window
Cutting through the green universe
A red robin comet tails
Underscoring my existence
That which is unmoving
On this still May evening
Is interrupted in its reverie
By a streak of pursuance.

Life after life
A breathless
Progress
In search of
Energy giving
Living extending
Something
Fast and fleeting

thirteen

Kafka

D’ya know what Franz?
You’re a lucky bastard
Though you cried at the window
You were a toast, a darling
Revered, respected.
A gracious outcast
Riling at the inhumanity of humanity
And embracing company all the same
A sociophobe, maybe –
But a popular one.

twelve - at last

camber

Under the seagulls’ ugly scream
We live out a summer dream
Twisting our toes in the damp, sticky sand
Grit in our mouths and dirt on our hands



Brilliant smiles and crafty wiles
Boys with blue eyes that wink and beguile
Hands that pinch bums and fingers that strum
Out a new tune under the lumbering sun



Pictures of boats in greasy spoons, then
Loved-up and luscious under the moon
Then back in the car when the rain pisses down
Never a moment that gets you down


Not wining and dining but beering and leering
Appreciative looks write a passionate book
Tans and Ray-Bans and light beams that scan
Every wide-open eye on the white open sand



We are the lords of our domain
With glory and beauty on the brain
We are free, we are proud, in the echo of sound
Holding our breath till the next summer round


We are fish in the sea
This is our sea, our sea
Though it stinks and its brown
with things floating around
We are the shiny shells on the sand
This is our land, our land, our landnd

eleven

North Wind

Come, North Wind, breathe upon my eyes,
Freeze them so they might not see,
And through the veiled lens of ice,
A new world may appear:
Of towers, tall and dark and splintered,
And damsel flies
Like twinklings in the clouded air,
And robed figures dredging paths-
Innumerable, invisible
Ghost trod labyrinths

Freeze my hands so they no longer feel,
Envelope me, constrain me
O unrestrained spirit;
So that I might wrap my arms around myself,
And retreat into mine own
My very epicentre;
Howl at my voice and throw it back
So it sounds like the purest singing,
Steal my senses, one by one
And re-animate the soul

North Wind, dear North Wind
Don’t forget to remind me
And don’t remind me to forget.

ten

Amphibian

At home in the water
At home on the land
In your element
Wherever you land

Swift and adept
Swimming free,
Snatching a ripple
As quick as can be

Diving in shadows
Glinting like steel
Mysterious creature
What depths you reveal

They say that at one time
We were all just like you
And when I look in eyes sparkling
I’m sure it is true

nine

If a Tree Falls

Out there in the dense forest
Whispers are not heard
Words of love disappear into the shadows
Trees fall and still no-one hears
Just like the dense forest
A world thick with the vines of communication
Only the shouts of men with axes to grind
Make any noise

(no poem yesterday, tiring day with family)

eight

Hope Inc.

All it takes to be a mate
Is a little time and motion
All it takes to be a mate
Is a small show of emotion
Cry when I cry
Laugh when I laugh out loud
Be a shoulder, not a doormat
Stand out from the crowd

We are professional in love
Made and qualified for life
Dealing hearts and smiles apiece
A lust for living, and one for peace
Leaning out of windows
To gaze on moving streets
We are professional in love
The best you’ll ever meet
Top dog for the job in hand
Our hard work cant be beat

seven

Goodnight Sweet Prince

You stand in the centre of devastation
Calm like the eye of a storm
Catching a slow, slow breath
As your shoulders relax
And your arms droop
You drop the dagger
Put a hand to your eyes
Shut yourself in a
Dark, warm world
Just for a second
Scared to open your eyes again…
Justice metered out
Punishing those who have transgressed
Takes a lot out of you:
Suddenly without fury
Without energy
You are deflated and tiny
Go - find yourself a space
To grow again

six

Blue Greys

Spring snaps and bites, teeth bared
Like a tame dog, now turned scared
Too loved to be kicked away
Aggression once was play

Now grey clouds huddle in
And in the tearing wind:
The pain of freedoms passed -
The furthest to the last

By the long straight water
Gaia’s land-locked daughter
Strains hard to find the place
Where the sea and sky embrace


(no poem yesterday, was spending time in the sun...)

five

In Absentia (Jan 03)

She sits on the sand
Sotto voce, blaming the earth and the sky
All around her stormclouds gather their charge
To let go upon the saints and sinners
But for now, they are lined with gold satin
And peach silks, like powerful kings
Lying idly by in their billowing robes, and watching
And making momentary decisions.

four

Jewel (Jan 03)

I am many faceted
And in the shop window
Bathed by light
I glitter and shine
Surrounded by a myriad
Of sparkles and rainbows.
We have no use
But are priceless all the same
Immeasurable in value when combined
How can one measure us truly
Only with a smile

three

Kick the tower/spidermice

Climb up on my rocking horse
I said

I said

I could feel my heart
Pounding
In my head
My head

Kick the tower
Over now
I begged
I begged

Leave me while
I go to bed
To bed

All the while the
While I slept
The spidermice
Picked up on red and blue and
Yellow stacked as
If their life depended on it

two

Voice (Jan 03)

Still travelling and never arriving
The tune to the unwritten song, it never fits
So near home, but miles away
The home I couldn't recognise if I saw it
The words that one utters unto the self
That disappear unsung into the air
The thoughts that lie imprisoned and impoverished
Behind an empty and yet brimming stare
The innumerable roads that go untrodden
The random corners, all, they're disappeared
The signs go past unseen and unheeded
Blurred by the speed of fear
And even when you find the path
Hidden by the undergrowth of lies
It may lead into a dark and lifeless place
Filled with the sound of windbourne sighs
The rush of breathless journeying
And the pain of standing still
Wear out the mind and body
And perpetually ever will.

one

If luck was a bill that needs paying


If luck was a bill that needs paying
We’d be sending the bailiffs around
It’s been ignoring the Final Demands
And our patience is running thin

If luck was a bill that needs paying
The payment is way overdue
We’ve been waiting to get what is owing
Now we want to get heavy

But I want it to arrive without asking
Without any more of our work
Just turn up at the door any time
And we’ll say no more about it

If luck was a bill that needs paying
We’d be sending the bailiffs around
With muscle and suits and a clipboard
Making notes