Hello July, Don't Go, We Missed You....

Dawn in February.

Heavy burned rose skies,

Selflessly carry us into another day,

Sailors warned as darkness lifts,

Light falls to freshly revived still life,

Immaculate but ancient,

And electric trees carry blood for the millions.

Casual investigation upturns the frost,

To heavy dews of this new spring,

To mists on grazing plains,

Wind bushes still and sinister,

To carry unknown life within,

And without words, for none are here,

To hear the first foot falls,

Of nervous commuters and their dreams,

Revealed like startled deer on speed,

And never to fulfill their need,

To hide and then yet to reveal,

Wide eyes at this pleasant dawn.

"Eyes itch"

When your eyes itch a little,

When you feel your brain is mush,

"The whole sky is so brittle."

"Oh Jesus, man, hush."

And the world keeps on turning,

And the night burns away,

And I can't stop you learning,

But I don't know what to say.

I'm about as open as I get,

I've told you all about Mum & Dad,

You've seen as much as I let,

I hope I didn't seem bad.

Oh Lord, I'm so wasted,

I've got to get straightened out,

But its so hard once you've tasted,

Sometimes there's no room to doubt.

And the sun just keeps burning,

And there goes another day,

And you can't stop me yearning,

But I still don't know what to say.

My eyes are itching now again,

And my brain dissolves to mush,

So this is what its like to be sane,

"Oh for God's sake man, hush."

 

Ideas

Ideas travel, rising up from within,

Viral, sometimes media borne,

No, always media borne,

Rising up from the brain stem,

Passing in and out,

Through hands and pens,

Eyes and mouths,

Books and TV,

Tabloid hysteria.

Ideas travel inwards, and out,

Nesting and nestling, reproducing,

Feeding on your hopes, fears,

Changing you, your aims,

Thoughts and ideas, symbiotic,

But not inseparable,

Not always original,

Probably rarely,

Conscious and not.

I knew, really, you didnt take prisoners,

But was swept away, by promises

of parole,

By incredible attraction, unbelievable,

Incroyable that you should fall for this,

Hollow shade of summers and now winter,

And a deep longing that dreamers can see light,

Bright light, drawing me in, but you?

Mayhaps built a pedestal in my head,

And in your eyes, it cannot be incredible,

Or hollow, shining,

Unbelievable that the curtains, deep veils now drop,

Remembering severity of disappointing blood,

Hollow belief that attraction is swept away, deep,

Now imprisoned in this deep track,

This thing that hurts and lights my prison,

Dreaming of this, is now enough, to draw winter,

Seeing early buds of the summer beyond,

And a parochial stream of truth and love,

Running believable, at last.

I know, I know, it's the biggest local landmark, so, of course it's going to feature, time and again....SORRY!

 

No Guilt In Him.

So careless, so utterly wonderful to see

So many friends, she lends the idea that all is real

Israel looks on and back to land to catch the hand that feeds her.

He coughs, so wonderful to breath the air to taste the wasted smoke and choke Of manufactories to catch the breeze to study bees to free the thought of her Rebellion.

And yet

No time passes.

No close ups. Landscapes none. Sparse plains, drains, sewers, trees, fleas, None at all, no call.

Careless to lose so much coincidental wave, not so quick now to save the cut Red locks of her lovers hair, still no sign that the vixen cares.

Choking on a half broken lung, time has now finally become something to Recall, not just that that palls, but lends minutes to friends, sends dreams To sons, and the dead to the end that comes.

He recovers long enough to see...

No clever shots. No pictures at all.

No call.

No time really.

For these sparse thoughts on still more spartan hills are slim and undemanding, Still no less real than purely careless minutes than turn soon to months.

With casually forgiving eyes she revives the lies sends and then befriends

The accepting hand up into her land and sees perfect opportunity to then

Just go.

Still hacking out his chest he spills crimson all down his vest simply fails The Cynics test and becomes once more the butt of life's jest.

Time stirs.

Time floods through sense,

His last pretence,

Of nonchalence.

Left dry eyed upon the moor

No fondness for the night before

Lingers scent of a broody whore

And that old lie that less is more.

Weaving old cut threads untangle thoughts and confuse new heads for all these Minutes.

Maybe a bit cliched, but hey....it's my Blog and I'll do cliche if I feel like it.....XXX

 

How could there ever have been any justice for it revenge retribution the powers of divine intervention but no great relief from these visceral agonies denial scales to tip to weld to tilt to weigh the odds and stack great light from beyond your sense relieves regret and shit faced view in sharp contrast the sky is then covered in cast iron plates rivetted and upheld by prayer below the arc of rust and grime spinning with the wheel of time the rock gives semblance of trust and then is gone no recognition no recollection from the once loved and lies with self preservation in mind I find the tarmac hard in winter grip melds memories of burning trolleys and school diversion my version to authority not me denial as new electrical thought thunders and rebounds from the iron now corrugated in places this life and digital recollection with no visible means of rapport tense and edgy the animal fight or flight the holiday the love that asked all and caught the lightning blast slippy and royal denial steel railed and the roosting carrion look on pylonned junction to rickety life and bleary self ritual you small shit I have no pity left not yours to receive this time or hatted loss minus freezing and laughing superior dreams now seem to fly and never reach this roof below the birds and clouds and storms train waiting with ancient love and pulling the plug the floor fell away the walls quick follow and exposed timbers breeding worms and beetles grow new roots into the earth below deny all follow the jack follow the swift decisive prey and reveal nothing loose this cold clammy grip on the floor as a whole congregation of roaches and fleas and mites and choristers tumble out of sight and blend coloured glass with gold and and and lift the glass to your brain and insert with taste and tasteful backdrop to new arrivals multi ...

disciplined in the art of reason and antilogic and and and naturally it will then be time to remember not yet she was weird though in an off beat frame normality flickered behind eyes decanted from these shotgunned barrels and cut out the straw relieve the taut tight sinuses of this crazy straight fiction and with a crumbling seizure face the wall you cant its gone to create a world imagine one too much too soon too misguided and walk away over these crumbled blood soaked stones and bricks with large dreaming so fly then swim skywards and fantasise the lot so addicted to adrenaline not a thrill seeking hedon just a night owl escaper trapped in these glass flowings amber ice wispy smoke flickering joist ends telephone reality grippers so addicted to waste to oblivion to running to beer perhaps arguably to love to lovers new and old past and passed to addiction itself burn this beautiful life this beautiful optimism when you have nothing it says in piss stinking grafitti on the underside of this iron clad sky with slow flowing larva streams you have everything to gain laughable aphorism and obnoxious bilious aftertaste what do you know as God lands and reminds you of your own chemical imbalances easy to back away He doesn't follow but is there when you turn your wings hurt your legs have gone and your arms wrap around my waist too big a doubt arises in poisoned guttle where three heads boil and fizz and blow steam into these dark fissures the light return to adolescent pastures green and once again forgot intended force repressors chase new prey the outsider why cannot ever be the answer wheels within prisms and reflected spectral memories on screens of disaster as the human leaves the glass refills and melts into ancient tables no needles no pins no blood no terror just a sad whimsy a notion a creed of...

self self self where now the dawn of roses where lies the land of light so ruddy in the baking evening so barren and denied come with the dawn interpret at leisure and make lists to rule thought freestyle frames bend frames break but are not so organic cut wood and twine create your own not quite the chameleon more the diamond multi-whiskyed and many faced the Mr Ben of this revolution your red blonde brown hair in great huge windows and silver chariots only grips the childish side where browns blondes and reds should fear to tread no love lost no love found just a higher aim on this loving ground and metros at midnight and dogs at dawn not quite following the many born nor realising true germination in this sea of plough and waking within more confidence shrinking ego wilted with no serious repercussion propped suspended held up tied down and bagged and drowned lets get the hell out of town burn it down head for the hills and natures skills with no sense of timing no concluding gesture realising perhaps that to survive is a strength in itself while wobbly the normal headed escape while escaping you're nearly normal with still justice it could be said no thought of wickedness was in your head simply the observations built up in years that the people are trivial and you are people values float meaningless under torrents of blistering tears of ration control and lack are much the same soul conditions in this hall of fame but there stands the weirding mirror reflection shows the mind aquiver but as straight as a loser and half as simple as a prime contender for knockout bouts on this stage of ground illusion don't miss the station X-file elation and empty bottled romantic friction cast skywards in prime addiction duty obligation warped by self preservation yes I could learn from you look around see what it is you do to wind this clock and create your life I might be your man but you're not my wife.

 Just some cotton grass.....

Well, what a bloody mental week.

Again.

Head is now officially goosed, again. 

Again.

Someone once said that if you keep repeating the same thing, and expect different results then that's a sign of something.....I do remember what, I just would rather not say.

In the meantime, here's a heron, on a roof.....

 

And a partridge, one of about ten that jumped up out of the heather & bilberry at the side of the track yesterday.....

Peeling the seams

From legs of heaven

And arms

With cotton dressing

With silver skin below

With haste and eyes

Quite focused to the task

And hurry

To teeth, to tongues

To flesh valleys and

Respond sincere

Hard decisions, made haste

And last layers are at last revealed

And lust exploration

Painful signal defloration

Symbolised, and peeled

And then thought must leave

Betrayal by the naked

Animal now thrust and gaunt

And frenzied sincerity

Rushes blood, adrenaline, sex

Into the mental hours

And mental bruises

Physical Venus

With detaching splendour

And barmaid wonder

And the connected

The found

With sweet white definition

And dark intent

And the damp peeled seams

And knickers on the floor

And the hideous bed

Denying such admission

And finding splendid hurry

In heavenly valleys

Symbol of gaunt animal response

And sincerely naked

With haste and eyes

Betrayal of signal tongues

Sincere truth must now leave.

 "Couplings"

 

Shadow Swan.

Spectrum of some deeply perverse waxy oils

On black many fringed flight feathers

On the seemingly perfectly formed wing.

Catches the gaze and the drop of sunlight,

Sits longer than the river's waters.

Serenely selfish in royal abundant confidence,

While cruising the shallows in dappled reflection

Of a lust driven moment of passionate serenity.

Coldly, coolly following a higher instinct,

Leads the observer to detect no regrets,

No moments of doubt in supreme black confidence,

And the thought that the crucial moment has gone.

Paralell your life with that of the swan,

Among discarded debris, detritus of the dereliction,

Remain aloof to preserve the damned integrity.

And so utterly perfectly casual and remote

So beautifully carved from living velvet,

And so much that you thought was lost.

That's it, for today at least.

None of the above pieces are "recent" but that doesn't mean they're not relevant. I must pick my pen up and do something contemporary though, and that's just a sodding fact......

No more Joy Division right now though nevertheless.........