Moist. Summer in Yorkshire......

Shorties.

Spin with me and hold this high,

Hold me closely in your eye,

Touch me deeply and I'll touch you,

Swim with me in what we do.

---------------------

Turn the soap

Turn the soap

Smash the bloody china,

Now I find

I cannot cope

And become an ocean liner.

Cut my face

Cut the grass

Wash your hands in oily sewage

Cheat my game

Short-cut my race

Embrace me with your courage.

------------------------

The stinking light of hated dawn,

Melts the curtain-rail, breaks in,

Before this migraine is born,

Another tribulation must hence begin.

Awake and awash, on this shoreline of lies,

Clumsy knee wedged between your thighs,

In Gordian awaking tangle knot position,

Lazy comfort remnant of intense collision.

------------------------

Transient nature of deepest love,

Wasting precious kisses and time.

A pure second is part of forever,

And your lies were truth after all.

Starflash

Time was, when watching fate and sky, late night,

Streaks of truth and delusion, burned for a moment,

Wishful thinking, and vice versa belief in white rabbit hats,

And counting to seven with intent in mind,

Left cold now, but only to find,

Just stars, odd satellites, rarer than once,

Perhaps painted matt now, to avoid confusion.

But on reflection, or non-reflection,

I looked to remind my present person, singular,

And thought I saw, perhaps near Cassiopeia, or ?

A brilliant enormous flash, white, diamond, gone.

Split the second, and again, and gone,

Its February, five and ten, and nearly six,

And strange my eyes, no drugs to fix, no disbelief,

No much, no touch, nor any distracted eyeball twitch,

Just a flash, and run for cover ? Just in case ?

No, time was when imagination would have freed the fear,

Or care, beware, just don't know what was there,

Then not.

When painted matt to avoid caring, or much of anything new,

A flash of fateful sky, late night, and a memory,

Some thinking to do, wishful, vice versa white rabbits,

As always, my present person counts to seven, and is distracted.

 

The cusp of July and August, in 2019. Red hot, dry and airless, then periods of intense rains, a couple of storms last week, and I slept through the better one of them.......

Love a good storm......

Painted Lady

Cinnabar Moth Caterpillars........

Safe House.

I am so aware of you,

Your breathing,

A breezy scent of femme,

Wide awake,

Listening to my pulse.

Foetal comfort, in amniotic covers.

Nothing can hurt you my love,

Nothing except maybe me.

Reach out, and howl,

Breath in, then scream,

Its all we have left.

Underground.

Black/white niggers cough blood

The sweet smell

of snuff.

Cramped iron railway

The 'Paddy'-train.

Blinded by your mates' lamps.

The shift goes on at six,

Suffering from miner's cramp,

Show me some new tricks.

Four miles to go.

Through the second set of air doors,

And into the 'air-egress',

Brings a shortage of breathing,

And a subtle hit of stress.

Hottest air in a darkened space,

Echoes of distant machinery.

The white niggers spit tobacco,

The dry stone powder swallows it.

"Down on your knees boys,

Keep the black shit flowing."

Can hardly breath, head full of noise,

Keep the shearer going.

The seam is only two foot high,

And three hundred odd yards long,

Noise blocks out the inner cry,

But you know these men are strong.

Cut coal,

Britain's niggers

Found our country.

Now she's found herself,

Broken glass in the office door.

Silent pit heads,

Still paddys.

The Harlequin House.

Returning to the harlequin house,

I thought I ought to try to remember,

To recall the first, the last, and the time before,

And my thoughts flowed into the door.

Into the letterbox, the clocks, and kitchen,

The wines, coffee, backgammon and tears,

Stirring dustpools in swirling stances of love,

Real imagined and forgotten then not above.

But instead the house recalled none of this,

The familiar was strange as every time before,

And the clock above the heat and fish and spoons,

Remembered how to nag, ought to go soon.....

Only just got back here...

NOTHING. BLANK

BLOCKED TRAIN

TRAM TO LINE TO PHONE

TO HOOK TO FISH TO CARP

TO CHAT AGAIN TO LIE

TO SIT AND STAND AND GO

STOP. STOP. TO NOT GO ON

TO GO OFF. NOT FIT

NOT FOR LONG TOO SHORT

TOO TIRED TOO SCARED

TO NOTHING. TO SHUT OUT.

TO STAY BLANK, TO CAR. TO ALL.

The Letter.

Dear sir, please find enclosed,

A copy of my life,

A story unbelievable,

And complications rife.

I've had a report typed up,

The conclusions are there within,

The intrigue, plot and slip-ups,

And appendix, 'no next of kin.'

Attached, there find a letter,

From the days of the old school,

It says 'could do better',

And 'tends to break the rule.'

Pay no heed to this though,

Its the interview that counts,

When personal impressions flow,

And the tension mounts.

"Performs well under pressure."

They should have said, I say,

Or 'Puts in a lot of effort'

(At least every other day)

I look forward to your reply,

And comments to return,

At least I've had a try,

If you my letter burn.

I'll finish with 'yours faithfully'

(As faithful as a hound)

A neat little note, thankfully,

Signed, sealed and bound.

The Half-Girl.

Time, timing, senses.

A drawn line on infinity's face,

Spin fay and wild, change tenses.

There was a time,

Once upon,

There was a time

Once again.

Meet me at three,

You said to me,

I waited to five

For you to arrive.

Only half of you came,

The other half greeted me,

In time I'll understand,

In time I'll see.

I said nothing to the half of you,

The other looked away.

Two halves don't make two,

Time, to have a say.

Clock burns into your mind,

Count the hands going round,

Maybe late you will find,

The clock was overwound.

Time, sense of timing,

Infinite lines on a drawn face.

Spin fay and wild, dance moth.

The Scapegoat.

Loosen your collar,

Unbutton your shirt.

The first cut's the deepest,

It's been known to hurt.

Brace yourself well,

And square up your jaw,

If you don't knock him down

He'll come back for more.

For he is the man,

Who nobody crosses,

Whatever you've done

You'd best cut your losses.

I'd take a fast train

Or better still fly,

If he lands a punch

You might lose an eye.

What do you mean

You know what to do ?

I tell you I've seen

What He'll do to you.

Oh, now I can see,

Now you've explained,

You said it was me,

So I'll take the pain.

A brilliant plan,

If I say so myself,

Blame it on a scapegoat

For the good of your health.

Whatever you say,

It's been done before,

(Tell me, oh wise one

How do I score ?)

The Green Dragon.

That was the night of the

Incredible green dragon,

The exploding star,

Meteoric explanations

A huge trail of fire.

The night the long breakdown began.

Deconstructing this dragon,

Into basic, but incredible trails,

And losing a bit of grip.

Not because of a huge green

Firey dragon of a meteor,

But in spite of it.

No explanations that night,

With huge trails of honesty.

And honeysuckle.

In pure and not simple

Deconstruction

Of this basic me.

That's it, until the next installment. You're welcome.

As the Audience Walks Out, The Heat Rises......

Welcome to another slice of nonsense.

 

Gatekeepers

There are stories, every where you look. Some of them you can relate to, some you want to tell...some you want to bury.

As you get older, the differences in your take on which is which, and what is not, and those that are worth keeping, and those that aren't, but that other people will carry for far longer than you, and bring them up at the wrong moment, all fade into one big melt of "This is actually me".

Or not, stress has a huge number of fans after all......

Speckled Wood.

Ent Porn

"Home"

Next door but three.....

Not my cat, not my problem.....

Let's get a few more posted, in this 30 degree midnight silliness.

Pinhole

And there it was, in a flash of a second

Of a dream,

That you were having, maybe,

Perhaps,

I captured your soul, as the Victorian dreamers

Believed.

What do you believe?

With your wooden horse tactical dreams?

With your paranoid, but true dream boys,

And a gypsy lover?

As the cat curled her claws in, and out,

on fake skin settee love realm.

The dream was captured forever,

Thanks to someones dream,

And my camera love

For you,

And my cat.

 

Pub Days.

By the familiar fire-bricked corner place,

We sit, in comforting beery haze,

And tell convoluted tales, of far-off days,

And laugh at how Birdy never pays.

The day to the power four, or five,

Has passed with us still left alive,

Some have sunk, but some still thrive,

Some nurse headaches from the dive.

Years later round the same table sit,

With us and shed your battle-kit,

The night is young, hang on a bit,

If we wait any longer they'll have the fire lit.

It was strange then to think that you are dead,

That you would still never leave your bed,

That we all remembered what you'd never said,

About this and that, and never getting wed.

But the "time" bell never rang in here,

We drink all night to douse the fear,

Never for valour do we sink the beer,

But why you shot yourself was never clear.

Stargazing.

I was sitting, watching U.F.O.s,

Dancing across the sky,

When the thought popped in my head,

Have I ever questioned why ?

When my stigmata had passed,

And the false wounds had healed up,

I felt the mental static blast,

As you spontaneously burned up.

The dead letters in my head,

Were blown off in the breeze,

But the corn circles still stand,

Before my eyes to tease.

Then a flying saucer landed,

I was surrounded by green men,

Who mostly were left-handed,

And smiled backwards now and then.

"Take me to your leader",

One was heard to say,

I said "But I still need her,

"You'll have to go away."

But you were gone from the faery ring,

And I guess I'd dreamt it all,

But at night when the U.F.O.s sing,

I wait to hear your call.

Stormwatching.

Pitch, with a haloed golden island,

Deep in electric black storm,

Leaning out my windowed body,

Into impossible first floor night.

Attendant of whisky, chocolate and smoke,

Big downfalls.

Wait suspended, with heavy pulse,

White nano-flash, lights this vault,

The void fills these valleys,

Ridiculous topographical illumination.

Draw deep, smoke and toke, chew thoughts,

Big pictures.

Dimensional cathedral shades the cleft,

Of hills, rivers and hysterical sheep,

Cloaking the ions and reversing their charge,

Infinite marquee of valley static.

Slug, scotch, smooth, slightly serious,

Big ideas.

Show stopping finale, or is it just half-time ?

Galactic interval, intermission to the bar,

Atmospheric performers strike a final blast,

Leave easterly orderly and drag night in behind.

Mull this dark chocolate monstrosity,

Big calories, perhaps.

The Wall

As your soul spirals away,

Helical plughole extraction,

The cracked heart sinks,

Leaving the empty vessel.

You build walls, bars to more pain,

To the outside, self-defeating,

Self-defence, isolation switch,

No current, no charge, no spark,

No power, no light.

But walls restrict your view,

Unless you lie to yourself,

And decorate them with mirrors.

A cry for help, muffled, walled,

A spiral of mirrors, inward punishment,

Dark times, dead soul, empty, sunk,

Cracked, damaged, powerless and alone.

Reach out, and feel the cold glass,

Where should be warmth and love.

Stop lying to yourself and demolish,

Breaking glass, stone and steel,

Let the sunlight fill the space,

And extinguish the punishing helix.

The Self-Accused.

A red-headed challenge to

This this hormone guided torso,

Falsely obstacle arraigned,

And falsely accused of being "The One"

Though silent,

the challenge echoes from distant years,

Familiar barriers,

Holding back familiarities,

And red-headed opportunities,

And torsos.

Arraigned with class and style,

Though regrettably unchallenged,

At least.

Properly, the groundwork's long done.

Familiar hormone guidance,

Falsely unlimbered in futile echoes,

And unfamiliar torsos,

Barriers to class and distant years,

Come haunt these groundworks,

Silently arraigned redheads,

Always accused.

I wish you all well, but then I always did.

x