Idea Drought.
Sharp practice,
Gives the cutting edge.
Shyster finding confidence.
Dreamer discovers its true,
And fatalist too.
In time you wait,
In weight you see,
Reflections of diet,
Metabolic peace and quiet.
Need new friend now,
For revisiting has lost me.
Idea drought.
Preoccupy me with,
Angelic sisters.
Dark and heavier thought.
Despair, time to kill.
Time for questioning.
Have I been true to myself ?
I suddenly filled up with tears,
Though nothing had really changed,
Just that desperate moment of truth,
Sought by many, but can you handle its arrival ?
Don't need to seek knowledge already gleaned,
But the intricacies of a woman's mind,
constantly need re-learning.
(Most especially if its the same woman.)
I, Nightmare.
I am the bogey-man,
I am Satan himself,
I will hurt you,
I will haunt you,
I am the Lord of the
Flies,
The cursed one who
kills,
I walk in your sleep,
I run through fields of
your blood,
I am the thing you fear
most,
I am the dishonoured
son of the holy-ghost,
I am the serpent,
The Lord of chaos and
your undoing,
The torture master and
doctor,
I'll operate without
anaesthetic,
I'll deviate from your
heart,
I'm the disease with no
cure,
I am Satan, I am Kali,
I am Darkness,
I'm the mad chain-saw
operator,
I'm the one to fear,
I'll follow you
everywhere,
You cannot hide for I
am you,
The unscratchable itch
of terror,
Your loved ones nestle
in my talons,
Watch this, snip, go on
watch,
You cannot turn from
me,
You must face me,
Laugh at your death,
I won't kill you
quickly,
I am the axeman, the
insane,
Crawl as I hurt you,
I am all these and
more,
You have every right to
be afraid.
In My Head.
Don't speak, if you
can't,
Just listen, and be.
The things in your head
are you,
And in mine, me.
Instructing a Friend.
Log this in your little
black register
Of pathetic claims to
nobodies
No bodies
No body except yours
(Who's driving it now
?) (Who cares ?)
Log this in your fixed
platonic vision,
Don't ever overrun
yourself,
Don't ever lose
control,
Don't excel in free
expression.
No, don't bother.
Log this in your little
leather bound sadness,
Stay exactly as you
are.
Let the rest of the
world go
XXking crazy.
Petrol Dreaming
You were drinking
petrol
Living in a car
When I first met you
Who picked who from
what gutter
Or turned each around?
For petrol and speed
and hash and smack
I gave you me
Trust and love and
flesh and heat
Turned each around
Drinking petrol for
warmth
As the car had died
years before
We met.
Reality Evening.
Just spoke to Graham,
and Simon,
Then to Libby, who
sounded like Anna holding her nose
and pretending to be
Libby, I told her so.
Then to Kate, who was
as together as she always is.
Then put Jimi on the
old music box and sat back...
It's as if when I'm
'there' its the real me,
Coming out from behind
tons of shit,
Commitments,
obligations,
Facades, whole ghost
'me's, just there,
And when it hits...
There's just me and
everything,
Read that again,
there's everything,
And me.
Not the me who normally
is me,
But I feel real,
So good, so together,
Complete and
Not shaky.
Junkie.
After the race
The short sweet buzz of
adrenaline,
The slow slide away as
You cool off.
Not sexual,
As such,
But
Hard times: won through
now,
To moments of relief,
Anticlimax, not
necessarily relief as such,
Not sexual.
Sweet heart, and lungs,
And breathing,
No mind tracks in this
frame,
Simply a time to
Breath.
As you scan the crowd
of 'unawares'
Adrenaline junkies,
perhaps,
(Perhaps not too, or
knowingly)
And reap the sense of
sole,
One,
Truly.
You catch the eye of
Another,
Who feels exactly the
same.
But who's behind is
sweetly covered,
In brilliantly and
cleverly invented stretch nylon,
After the race.
Just a Study.
It was almost a study in
sadness,
Pathos, manners, irony,
and social
Behaviour.
It was almost funny.
Almost
tragic,reflecting badly
On the participants.
But the fifty something
year old,
Spinster looking
evangelist, the
Loud, offensive to
some, intrusive even
To the faithful, was
silent.
Wholly (holy?)
remarkable, the normally
Ceaseless diatribe, the
twisted reasoned
Rant had been stopped,
by ?
A loud, intrusive, and
to other
Alcoholics, doubtless
humorous, but
Rarely offensive, drunk
was giving
Her a verbal hiding.
The cant of the super
strength lager
Lout. The rant of
stupendous logic
And towering sanity,
albeit only
Loosely strapped
together by a
Less than lucid frame
of
Sometimes difficult to
follow, invective.
Who to feel for ?
Why one, not both ?
Did you ever feel
horror or shame at
The maltreatment the
woman was
Receiving ? Sympathy ?
Maybe a smidgeon.
Or would it be true to
say that
The drunk's sentiment
simply echoed
That that remained
unspoken
Normally, by the Normal
?
By way of contrast, the
following day,
The drunk was long
gone, and
The evangelist had
brought reinforcements.
They were strategically
placed, with
Sufficient distance
between to avoid
Detracting from one
another, whilst
Exhorting the dangers
of sin, the
Weaknesses of the frail
old human race,
And so on, with
sufficient
Decibels to firmly
intrude upon the
Otherwise preoccupied
minds of the
Rest of that race.
The Kiss.
Flowers in your hair,
Peach tears on your
cheek,
Kiss him if you dare,
When you learn to
speak.
Man-child, teen-man,
child-boy,
Boy-man, teen-child,
Child-man, teen-boy,
Boy-child, teen-man.
Watching from your
height,
Goddess do not wait,
To reveal unto our
sight,
The glory of our fate.
Girl-child,
Smile now.
Kiss him,
Dare to
Doubt.
Last Summer.
Laburnum blossom, spread and
Shredded on newly hover-mowed lawn.
Slow and bluesy cornet, rides this sunday breeze.
Scatter shards of shattered shellfish on this sheet,
Green growth of pointed pointlessness,
Shorn, shriven, lost on tideless afternoons.
Late Again
My reasoning is (at
12.45ish) that, actually
I have no reasoning,
just a general desire
To experience and try
to understand
Life
Though completely,
succinctly lacking
The mental attributes
To do so
Without drooling
Hey
Its late, what did you
expect?
A self dissection?
Laughable.
Have never any
disregard to your size,
In the dusty
enthralling eternal all,
Never forget the things
mother told you,
Never drive or operate
heavy machinery pissed.
And, mind how you go.
You are so temporary,
Its almost laughable,
The way you plan our
tomorrows,
As if they will ever
come.
I danced with an old
love in a dream,
And you got jealous
when I woke,
Is that something I
need to cope with ?
Never forget how large
you are,
In your own scheme of
things,
Blind vision of a
driving goal,
A goal to drink deeply
from.
The telephone rang and
you answered.
It was him.
Your 'ex', how the hell
should I react ?
I didn't.
Neither of us know how
we 'should' react.
Never forget the things
mother told me,
About my life
management.
How disrespectful after
all.
I sleep softly in the
dance of the dreamers,
The undead ones from my
history,
The tune played to my
ears.
But the bed is so warm,
and soft,
You are so warm and
soft,
And the whole is
laughable.
Thought Of Something Else.
Of course its nothing really new,
I heard this song about feeling blue,
Sat under your kiss for hours,
And felt love in hot wet flowers,
And loved the insanity sounds,
In these haunting mythic grounds,
Felt blue for having you,
Then went, for someone new.
Practical Joking.
I, one, singular, a
kind of practical joke,
Impractical and
improbable in reversed perversity,
Kind of live in a world
of smoke,
Kind of sink in darker
night's severity.
Consider this if you
consider at all,
How one man could pass
through the wall,
How most must stand,
while some must fall,
Or why some are deaf to
the loudest call.
Consider long, the
moment's gone,
But think more of,
those to come,
Think long and hard, of
triumphs won,
And, of the eternal
none.
But don't spare a
thought for me,
Improbable doubtful
type of noise,
Try hard on your own to
stay free,
And run hard with the
hunting boys.
Run harder when time
runs out,
Raise a fist, clench
scream and shout,
When you harbour that
single doubt,
Your labours lost in the foolish rout.
But I, the singular,
the indescribed one,
Impractical in a
perverse type of uncommon sense,
Shed no crystal tears
when I knew you'd gone,
And rest idle by the
moss-covered fence.
The Cape Of Loneliness.
On the cape of
loneliness,
I found you standing,
I crept up behind you,
Silent, and
undemanding.
By the cliff face of
wretchedness,
You led me by the hand,
Along the paths of
hope,
Up, into our land.
The land where
togetherness,
Counts more for me than
you,
You see I was on the
cape first,
But there was room
enough for two.
When The Party's Over.
Why don't we talk, like
we used to ?
Why do stand away from
me
When we queue ?
Why do you watch T.V. ?
Instead of looking
straight at me ?
Why do you not talk
about your day
In your old smiling and
chatty way ?
Why do we not talk
anymore ?
Am I such a pain or
bore ?
What have I done dear,
to hurt you ?
Why don't we kiss the
way we used to ?
Your friends are
embarrassed when we're together,
Why do your
conversations only concern the weather ?
Why do you not love me
anymore ?
What have I done to get
you sore ?
Do you hear me weeping
late at night ?
Silently into my
pillow, scared at the sight
Of you, gone from my
life.
What am I, when you're
my wife ?
The Forever Girl.
The forever girl and
the peripheral man,
Dicing with precise
splashes
Of single malts, and
Imprecise emotions,
love defying
acrobatics,
And irrational peace
meetings.
Toying with the
calendar,
The forever girl shouts
hormones,
Bloody moment bears
witness to
The invisible,
ineffable (St Pancras) mind,
With single splashes of
irrationality,
Lightly iced and
malted.
The peripheral man,
edgy,
Lurches towards, and
away the glass,
Commitment, seas,
skies, fell and fey,
Uncertain gesture at
her fringe,
Verging in at even
erris,
And bounding this cruel
border,
To turn and high-wire
walk, then run,
To the forever girl
for,
A little fun.
That's it, for now.
I haven't had to state my old personal "caveat" for some time, a time when I knew that someone was actually reading, and taking everything as if there were hidden messages, and barbed reasons why I posted what I did. There weren't any then, and there aren't any now. Most of these were chosen at random, or just because they were the next ones to come up alphabetically.....and then I had to "not-choose" one or two as they did seem too apposite for the moments I'm living through, so I un-chose them.....
No secret messages, just old school shitty poems from waaay back......
This is a time of transition though nevertheless, and that fact alone should be celebrated, and commiserated, and forgotten about at the same time...... And then, when the dust settles, everyone is still themselves, and it all moves on.
Funny old thing this life business. My juvenile poems seem to echo 30 years later in way too many ways to make me think I have any idea about anything......
Have I learned NOTHING??
I haven't had to state my old personal "caveat" for some time, a time when I knew that someone was actually reading, and taking everything as if there were hidden messages, and barbed reasons why I posted what I did. There weren't any then, and there aren't any now. Most of these were chosen at random, or just because they were the next ones to come up alphabetically.....and then I had to "not-choose" one or two as they did seem too apposite for the moments I'm living through, so I un-chose them.....
No secret messages, just old school shitty poems from waaay back......
This is a time of transition though nevertheless, and that fact alone should be celebrated, and commiserated, and forgotten about at the same time...... And then, when the dust settles, everyone is still themselves, and it all moves on.
Funny old thing this life business. My juvenile poems seem to echo 30 years later in way too many ways to make me think I have any idea about anything......
Have I learned NOTHING??
