Love/Hate This Time of Year.

Ghost Towning.

Eleven years, the returning,

The rough city of child's dreams,

Nightmares, wonders, failures, learning,

Floating oddly through imagined streams.

Can't quite remember, something familiar,

So this is how things change,

Parked the car in Wentworth Terr, similar,

At the same time something strange.

St Austin's chapel - remember Judy ?

The coaches that lined up to collect,

Spotty, screwed up free spirits and broody,

The elite, not quite, but maybe the select.

And the school, can't quite bring myself to look,

Can't quite leave it either, here inside,

Keep feeling that I should recognise..where's duck ?

And there's the pub where we used to hide.

Further into town, 'Ziggys' is now 'The Patio',

Sacrilege ! To refurbish my perfect memory,

The streets the same, my head now says go,

When I'm walking through a ghostly reverie.

I keep thinking I might see myself here,

But haven't time to check the station bar,

Nor the attic in the hall, or everywhere,

My shade memory seems not so far.

Walking now through the bus station,

Miming the journey into school,

Catch stupid strange sensation,

They didn't cure this dumb fool.

The geriatric bingo players remain,

Eleven years of sandwiches and teas,

Have they, or I at last gone sane ?

Then at last, the school...please...

Eleven years, the returning,

The battle (school playing-) fields,

The labs, classes, computer rooms, still learning,

To tell the false from all these 'reals'.

 

Flightless Angel.

The librarian’s pride knows a dizzy perch,

Leaving reason on the plains below,

Fist clenched tightly on the leash,

That binds a flightless angel.

Fast racked indexed tones

The words of angels, on virgin silk.

You have been,

Are and

Always will be

The girl I love.

Freestyle.

Giveaway, bargain. The shops all ascream,

Style is free. Free-style.

Dream.

Seem to be in thought-land, magic tree.

Shop keeper nation,

Kiss your inflation,

Credit and charge cards,

Rats in the backyard.

Ascreaming, ascreaming mind how you go,

There's nothing just left now,

But the dirty old snow.

Old snow, grizzled and non-white,

Watch where you're treading,

When you're out for the night.

Have you lost your style lover ?

Soon now discover,

The flowered-up addiction

Pointless prediction :

"Tomorrow will be just as bad..."

"The President was really just mad."

And free.

Freedom fight,

Caterwauling spright,

Defenceless and deafened.

Kiss the sign, and soak up the snow,

Nobody will tell you what you should do.

Freestyle in a municipal bath-house.

Free to be the one,

Or none.

Anyone can join in, and singalong with me,

Today is the day when everything's free,

Nothing to pay 'til the end of the year,

Balance of trade on the end of a spear.

Freestyle baby, freer than nobody's heroes....

Come home now, and love me, your own little zero.

 

High.

The high, whether natural or no,

Varies, every time.

The high you feel at escape,

The moment you hear it all pass by,

Is cool and deep,

Yet is no less real or

Hurts not a feather more

Than that real true second.

The high, whether natural or no,

When you turn to face them,

Screaming out "here I am !"

Pierces your pounding thoughts,

As you collapse and submit,

Knowing this is no less real.

Whether high or not,

Whether real, or dreaming,

We vary, every time.

Lilies

The lilies are out,

Well, this week's at least,

Trumpeting my love

To any who'll listen

Unexpectedly audienceless

Unexpectedly misunderstood

With deep shiny glossed leaves

White bells,

Six point horns

Now silent.

 

Motorway Driving.

A gap appears in the traffic,

As the rain bounces high off the road.

Your passenger's complaining they're carsick,

In the nearside a lorry sheds its load.

When you think that nowt could get worse,

And the situation can only improve,

Your passenger complains that they'll burst,

And the traffic refuses to move.

The gap that you've seen has gone,

And the stereo has jiggered itself.

All you can do is go on, and

Try to preserve mental health.

Four hours later you've moved a whole mile,

And the atmosphere is wearing thin,

The insanity forces a peculiar smile,

Which then breaks out in a grin.

A gap appears in the traffic,

And the rain bounces high off the road,

Your passenger's been horribly sick,

And your brain has just shed its load.

 

A bit random, but that in itself seems to be the order of the day. My regular readership seems to have crept up from more of less single figures to over 30....which in itself is nice. Thank you, whoever you might be. The last picture, immediately above, was taken yesterday, and I have to say that it was blooming cold......Seeing as how it's rained more or less all day today, with fog/low cloud, I doubt the Moss will look quite like that tomorrow......