ImMoralities. Or Conscience Suaging.

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??