Turning Corners Mayhaps?

Hold Hands.

Holding hands with the one,

A tenuous grip on false loves,

Firing missiles at the sun,

Holding hands, wearing gloves.

 

 

Hot seconds of dull pulse in mind

When you are the insider and find

That blood spills even when we're being kind,

And bitter resentment to him is blind.

 

Keep banging the drum on Hydro, and maybe, just maybe one day Yorkshire Water might realise they have an UTTERLY RENEWABLE resource, GRAVITY & our local geography......

Tragic that they don't do something with it.

 

I took a few pictures of this place over the last few years, and this was part of a play/exercise in trying to master the whole "timed exposure" thing, so there are other "faster" versions......but I liked this as it was so stark, and the waste flow just shouts "POWER"........

I might send it to them if I can be arsed...



rIGHT, BACK TO THE POETRY THING.....

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 riveted 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 anti-logic 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 graffiti 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. 

(Yet again, another totally random piece that seems timely.............)

How Odd.

How peculiar, to go from minus twenty,

To a positively balmy positive twelve,

In a matter of days.

I'm praying the thaw will remain,

Though nothing about this is guaranteed,

It's a matter of love.

Blue skies again, as the storm recedes,

Leaving broken trees, roof tiles, pots and slates,

Out into the Atlantic.

 

"I'd prefer you didn't put that down." : Rob.

So then work-hards,

Working hard for what ?

Cynicism is easy,

But not to spell.

How about your future ?

What about your life ?

What do you know ?

Work-hard cynics,

Working hard is easy,

But, not to know ?

Dedicate yourselves to money,

Worship the family home,

Take pride in knowing.

Knowing cynics spell,

(How about money ?)

Working cynics know,

Dedication to a path,

A path to a family.

Working, knowing, money-cynics,

Pathetic examples of easy.

I've not time for knowing,

I cynic easy, dedicating,

What do I know ?

How about my future ?

Cynicism is working hard,

Cynicism is what I know.

How about taking pride ?

Dedicating my money to a path,

Pathetic worshiping of work hards.

But not to know ?

There's an idea.

 

Mixed Grill.

In the Mediterranean cafe,

With just finite display case glass,

And depths to which we'll sink,

To over-milky tea and under-fried

Mixed grill, mixed bagatelle.

Makes you think,

Parades of unhappy talk,

Past these giant windows walk,

Eyes down, minds long,

Gone on different journeys.

Venus trap like, eyes are hooks,

For catching fear and scary looks,

From shoppers/termites scurrying,

Unimportant journey hurrying,

No worries, just numbers.

To toy with damp chips,

While swimming onion greasy drips,

To over orange carrot and some

Unidentifiable hashed concoction,

With vinegar, salt and sauce.

Retrograding memory malfunction,

Zaps back to Wakefield junction,

The bullring and school dinner breaks,

Skiving off, for long fags and

Learning the art of cafe flirting.

Mixed grill now at last is eaten,

And cold milky tea long gone,

Brings memories back to present tense,

Still not really making sense,

Nor progress in this love affair.

Reflections in this sixties house,

Of coffee, cappas, fags and tramps,

Girls, never turning vamps,

And organising everybody else,

To turn your past around.

Stroll with fresh memoried,

Deep fried, grilled, chipped recall,

Down new streets in old towns,

Great stoney promised deja-vu,

As in the past she frowns.

Trips to once tender loved

Haunts of youths equation,

Re-open fond wounds by surgery,

Of soft memory, life evasion,

With second hand leathers.

Cafe left long far behind,

Eyes seek out hooks, contact,

Alone we swim, though crowded, blind,

Making new coffee returns,

And cautiously remembering.

 While I know these water pictures are a bit random, I absolutely love this stuff...................

If two and two and two

Make one

And one is half the whole

Of none.

Then sex and love divided twice

Is consequently thrice as nice.

When taken over, each by seven,

The winner takes the mate to heaven,

Three times back, then four again,

Pleasure equals love by pain.

When ten or more becomes the first,

Each has twice to quench the thirst,

But taken equally alone,

Love by one still stands as none.

A Murder!


Lots more to write, but hey, it's tomorrow already...........just, and I've already had some sleep tonight, I just needed to get some of the out-standing oldies out there.