Changing How You See Trees, Again.....

The sky is full

Overbrims and rainbow-free

Begins the month long rain-fall.

It rains.

Tuesday.

It rained today. (Again)

Another blank page in

The diary.

Sleeper.

While the dark hour hours

enshroud this dark minute

The hour stretches into

deep wells, cocoons of dearth,

Dour silence descends to wrap

the once bright thoughts,

Leaving nothing.

Second Thoughts.


Some kind of generation gap,
Or is it ?

Some kind of belief I had,
And, won't compromise.


Is it simply a question of 
Premature middle age ?

Or deeper ?

Something I believe in.


The question remains as your mind broadens,
Can I see this far ?
Through eyes glazed with prejudice,
Or eyes barred by cowardice ?
Or days spent off-planet,
Or is life so surreal ?


And, when you know yourself,
Why compromise anything ?

For fun ?
For the hell of it ?


Some kind of aspiration gap,
Or is it ?

Shallow Eyes.

Shallow eyes

Look at me hollow mask

A sense of deja-vu

A "sense-macabre"

As the grey head cools

In the fool's fruit basket

Of aristocrat-like heads

No question

To reply to

Tisket tasket

Smiling basket

See those eyes

Slow Solution Of Thought.


Dark putrid islands,
Perpetually drowning in white seas,
Moments repeat and again.

From my incorporeal viewpoint concentration wanes,
Landing, if such, to focus or not,
To centre at least,
Or to pick out in the rippling scenes,
A smell of an idea of a hint of a thread,

That your bleeding eyes are symptomatic,
Of the hopeless, faithless, loveless,
Downtrodden, unclass, unconscious, your view,
Permanently unchangeable, through tight eyes.

Dark rings around dull islands,
Occasions a glint, hints of reflection,
Though of light, not thought,
Not thought of it before,
To never think to drink to drown and dream,
To seem, perhaps charming,
Perhaps pathetic.

Dark unhealthy thoughts,
Mobile in syrupy rhythms,
Motile in only one poor way,
Condemning each action,
To inact, rest, station, to die slowly,
In cars, bars and in bowling alleys,
And at last, in filth and shit,
To die this way, to turn the tide.

Putrifying breaths, of fungal microscopic will,
Testament to the dead spirit,
Preserved in spirits, drowned in beer,
Killed by inertia, dearth of sky,
Wondered why ?

Grey skinned tideless seas lap shores,
Grease rings panda eyed near corpse,
Infinitely indefinitely prolonged lacks the humane,
Prolonging conflict in slow final solutions.

Stringent Love.

I had a peace-filled week,

Warmth and light were my sea.

Then came the

Stringent advice from a loaded gun,

Rules to abuse and have some fun,

And a clear sight that here's nothing

Worth a shit anymore.

Divided opinions as we cling to these rafts,

Of our device, and imagined by us.

Imagine the drowning man,

Panic so intense it becomes ecstasy,

And imagine life without God.

Burn baby burn, and turn,

The cartwheeled somersault,

Of St Catherine.

Standing joke, standing joker,

Nothing's real anyway.

Know that you limit me,

Know that you limit me.

With tunneled vision,

Small dream,

Murky vision from a murky

Preacher.

Fuck your stringent love.

Noone needs me or you anyhow,

Dance on molten fear glass embers.

The Last Walker.

With bizarre ordinarity she stalks,

The space being slightly small,

I gain nothing in these head talks,

Wall to wall to wall.

Pace, pace, relentless,

Back and to, fro and back,

Conversation now is pointless,

And what's not white is black.

At least we smoke together,

She paces the floor,

I'm in for nasty weather,

But I still need more.

Step, step, step, now back,

I sit and watch this show,

She follows the mindless track,

I sit in emotion snow.

Speak, I speak, I attempt to talk,

The barricade in her head is rock,

She's locked in her lonely walk,

And I'm her mental block.

Everything is so ordinary tonight,

We're a million miles apart,

Her smoky lips kept shut tight,

And I, beat my heart.

My pulse is the beat of her pace,

The irony is lost on me,

My vision reduced to this place,

Hers is memory, being free.

Break out, she breaks away,

My stone mouth stays silent,

When she's gone what is there to say ?

Her worry groundless, emotion violent.

Now the time's arrived, we die,

My word-weapons useless to me here,

Funny how I didn't really try,

At the candle death, I disappear.

The Scorpio Beach.

Bacchan denial, with familiar eyes,

Watered with blood-vessel fatigue.

Awash and awake on the shore-line of lies,

Irrational betrayal may proceed.

High above, on a rotary flight,

Witnesses bound by honour-restraint,

Curved thick glass perversion of sight,

Tests the patienceless saint.

Testimony bland that nothing was seen,

Nothing to apportion the blame,

The court is dissolved, your record still clean,

But the court-clerk has noted your name.

At breakfast that evening, a hint of a smile,

Slow reconciled position enhances,

I almost believed kissing had gone out of style,

Now the scorpionic embrace advances.

Awake and awash, on the beach of lost souls,

A murmuring dream from your mouth.

Bacchus has left me, its time to switch roles,

Out of my glass window, the south.

As I drop from this world, and out of the dream,

Hypnotised at last by your heart,

My last view of the shoreline is not what it seems,

Too late for a change at the start.

Walking

I could walk all night,

The rain, the rats, the rain,

I could pass your house, maybe call in,

But we'd all be dead by then.

Somewhere someplace, in darkened time,

We could dance and chant and crawl,

Flexing sinewed moments forever,

But we'll all be dead by then.

Half light orange pools on street,

And the vermin roaming round,

Head half full of long regrets to come,

But I'll be dead by then.

As the city sparrows herald damp circles,

And empty hearts fly past your door,

This dark bodied approach cannot come,

Because we'll all be dead by then.

I could walk home alone,

See rats and smoke, and rain,

I could call in to say hello,

But I'm at least half dead again.

The Old Green Bird.

Shame, such a sham, such a mockery,

The winning hand in the game.

Rare green bird in your rookery,

In tongues yells out your name.

You fed me into the hot circuit,

And I blew a fuse or three,

The turning card belies your gambit,

And the green bird in your tree.

"I perch here and witness your crime,

You shameful children of night,

I pass no judgement on this waste of time,

But whisper thanks that you have no flight."

He could have added that it's all a shame,

As we both should by now have guessed,

I watched as he flew off, the way he came,

And turned to see you getting dressed.

Eyes of lustful unlovely mockery turn,

To burn their message hard in my brain,

I realise what I have is what you spurn,

And whisper thanks that at least I'm sane.

 

Trefoil.

The trefoil cowers

In the shadow of the monolith.

A cross marks the exact position.

But to scream out

"I am here !" (This place called x)

Is not the done thing

Baby.

Not the thing to do.

A careless laugh trickles

Between the stones

And tickles

The trefoil.

A winged shadow passes

Overhead.

And calls out in tongues.

The trefoil cowers

In the shadow of the monolith.

Testing.


Testing her strength...
I need to know the limits,
Hers, mine, yours,
Edges.

But, should the moon drop and die on you,
Messing up all we do,
I will swing above and

I will preach back to you.

Don't push me to test your caves.

 

I don't think I'm trying to prove anything, or demonstrate, just play with visuals.


Once you've seen things, you can choose, but sometimes your brain pre-interprets for you.
Hey ho, happy Tuesday, and no, it didn't rain, it was a beautiful sunny day.....