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