Trawling Through More of the Archives.....

Visa Ready.

I kick, almost pointless,

Whole body contorts, darkness,

Flow through warm dreaming.

Tasting colours, thinking smooth sounds,

Can't focus or keep track,

No real desire except the one,

To continue, to keep this,

To expand the sightless vision.

Dreaming, flowing through endless light,

Reds, greens, frantic and wild,

Hastening to smooth waters,

Free falling into meaning pools,

Glinting with untold wisdom,

Keen with fresh scents, pearls,

Clean with ever expanding arcs,

Whole vistas of experience,

Unrecordable, unseen, unformed gaze.

The mind's eye,

Flying through deserts,

Whipping through tall field landscapes,

And wallowing in valleyed erotic mists.

Slowing now, I kick again,

My spine whiplashing soft boned intent,

And part-formed mouth closes in liquid heat,

Pressure, unsought, unusual, unpleasant,

Calling memories of reincarnation to witness,

Comparing the knowable with

The not.

  

 

Valentine.

I love you so very much,

I'll be the bunny in your hutch,

I'll be the nightingale singing in your tree,

If only you'll say that you love me.

I love you so very much,

Deep in my soul I feel your touch,

Deep in my heart your love grew,

I've always known that I love you.

I love you so very much,

You're not Welsh, you're not Dutch,

My heart, my soul with love you fill,

I love you, 'cos you are brill!

  

 

The Voice Of Reason.

Damn it ! McDermot, its a dangerous game,

You cannot survive on the strength of a name,

Those jim-jams will get you and polish you off,

Take my advice and heed the old prof.

Leave this adventure and retire while you can,

Noone would blame you, or think you're not a man,

You've got your riches, looks and the girls,

What do you want ? The whole bloody world ?

Damn it McDermot ! I'm not sure you're sane,

I've had enough of side kicking your game,

I've been seeing your wife, behind your back,

And she says this carry-on is now seeming slack.

We agreed you were the best, quit while youre ahead,

You'll end up hurt, drowned or quite probably dead,

I know that you might not listen to your right hand man,

But I promised myself I'd try all that I can.

Damn it McDermot ! You and I are washed out,

Retired superheroes don't carry much clout,

Leave this one to the younger squad men,

And admit to yourself that we won't fly again.

  

Talisman

The tar talisman between the

Lady's fingers.

a drifting trail of mystery

Sharp scented.

Symbol of what high regard,

One can hold one's life in.

Illicit pleasures and anxiety

Minimal. (Mind-back nagging.)

Sultry pose, cool martini,

Atmospheric no-go zone.

Image destroyed as butt

Hits ash-tray.

 

Words Unsaid.

"It'll rain like piss today"

It didn't, defiant constellations mock.

"That car's as sound as owt.."

"Hello, is that the AA ?"

"Its all off, I'm going sailing."

Of course HE went too, as 'friends'

"That dog's chuffing brilliant !"

That dog knows how to fart.

The art, and the science, of creative

Salesmanship.

"Of course I loved you,

What did you think ??

- No, can't quite bring myself to that one.

White Walls.

White walls

Wheels, and walls,

And no bars, to no freedom.

Pacing through our relations,

Running my keys against the stone.

Rattling my keys around this cell.

You keep your distance,

Watching, like a child in the zoo.

We catch hinted bywords,

Backhand say-sos that chew

Upon all rational dreams,

And the frame-drop is so fractious.

Backwoods walking,

With limited talking,

And still less kissing,

Not all we are missing,

When the morning light,

Dripping, on walls of white,

Unfurls me from your sheets of disbelief.

Furling, wrapping,

Entombing me,

In dark hot, blanket-twined,

Comfort-origined,

Mattress of happy loving.

The Last Trip. 8.11.93.

Street full of slow moving cars,

Slightly dark drizzle.

And your breath hangs in dull glow.

Stand at the edge,

Of civilisation,

Sense the deep foundation,

Echoes of

The forgotten nation.

The blue bright flashing light goes out,

And the realisation drifts past,

The ambulance driver has no hurry now,

This trip will be the last.

The pent-up fucked-up grey-faced drivers

Smoking heavily in indifferent rain,

Will these meek ones become survivors ?

Or, just lose it all again ?

And flick flick your wipers slap,

Smearing atmospheric grease over your eyes.

In the line-out reps fingers tap,

One behind screams out in silent cries.

Slightly pissed off, slowly moving,

The dark drizzle lets up awhile.

And as you stand on that corner watching us,

Your smoky breath hangs in dull glow.

You're the cop, the derelict, the drunk, the girl,

The eyes-peeled prophet of our world.

Truth-twisting mental visionary,

Overseeing our naked parade.

I half expect you to offer a salute,

To these small men, in big cars,

Your blank expression though less than astute,

As you orbit slowly distant stars.

I sit with deep sins, in wet streets,

While the walls and kerbs make their way behind.

Watching your breath, produced by some inner heats,

Just following the great lost design.

You're not there tonight, to watch our progress,

Perhaps the ambulance takes you this time,

Shit, we're in a stinking mess,

Sitting, smoking, queuing, in a stinking line.

 I did think I might write something about the world, and my place in it, or relationships, and my inability to grasp the rules accurately enough to suit everyone, but then I relented and thought I wouldn't write anything personal at all.

On the plus side, there are now less than 200 pieces to wade through.......

Happy Monday.