Ennui & Ecstacy, and Cricket

Poor White Girl On Loads.

What do you think they'll call you

Twenty years from now ?

Wild child, you're such a child,

Your eyes made black

As is your style,

Your nose is full of bitterness,

Taken through a straw,

Wander in your wilderness,

Who could ask for more ?

The car stops and out you get,

You don't know who nor where,

But some promise your appetite has whet,

And so, abandon care.

No cash, no sleep, no lifestyle,

Or one I can cope without,

Empty stomach, churns up bile,

I think you won that bout.

Wild child, a flawed model girl,

Did he promise you the world ?

Or just more dope to stop your mind ?

Do you think I'm so unkind

To tease you back to reality ?

Sense and sensibility,

Bright and capability,

But senseless death will knock,

Knock, let him in.

What the hell do you think you'll be

Twenty minutes from now ?

This juvenile Heron flew into a dead-end on the local mill-race, and so we had a stand-off for a while as it decided whether or not to make a bid for freedom...... eventually I left him/her to it, but then it flew off anyway.......

This one sort of sums it up really.......

Prisoner.

Stilettos at midnight.

Wire fence reunion.

In the warcamp,

Silent brooding,

Of easily detected

Hatred.

Stiff upper lip,

Patriots tortured, and dying,

For a love of what

Secure dusty attic

Feeling ?

Blindfolded last cigarette,

And a kick in the gut,

When found out, if.

Acting predictably,

Precisely.

Slip the steel between ribs,

Garotte the throat,

Poison in drink,

And out of this hell,

Insanity.

 

Recurring Nightmare.

Crack, ancient stone tile splits asunder,

Frozen moment around midwinter's eve.

Pressure pulse beats, in ears, echo thunder,

Gives you crazed reason to disbelieve.

Safe haven,

Black raven,

Wolf howl,

Night prowl.

Hairline and light trigger-finger,

Too light to mistake the game,

Feeling a little tense, should not linger,

Panic and shattered peace spreads the blame.

Tense seconds,

Fear beckons,

Sky blackens,

Grip slackens.

Turn to meet the mare-pursuer, hunter,

In this all too lucid moment, scream not,

Be the thriller, killer, no longer just the punter,

Head-on, face me, and now its getting hot.

Did you know the sweet smell of fear ?

An old friend,

Cold end,

Alone the brave,

None to save,

No cavalry,

No sanctuary,

Fear replaces religion,

In the nightmare you turn around.

The Strange Young Man.

Adopt new posture, "The position",

Knees in chin and arse on heels,

Gently rock, the mental collision,

Does the medic know how it feels ?

The noise fills the hollow hall,

Behind your eyes, between your ears,

Voices echo from living walls,

Can nothing repel these bitter fears ?

Standing, one foot slides up your leg,

To rest, like a herdsman's upon your thigh,

You've hung on, refused to beg,

You follow this with "The world-as-lie".

No sense does the mirror make,

Of your unpunctuated soliloquies,

No offer of the route to take,

To bring you off your graz‚d knees.

So back to "foetal", clench and sway,

The 'disconnected safety zone',

No hand can help, that's not to say,

That there's even anybody home.

Now sanity comes round to say "hello",

And you dress and set off for work,

Then stiffly remember all you know,

But strangers do still dimly lurk.

The Enchantress/Flautist.

Eyes open, temptation,

A thought of forbidden fruit.

Serpent-free, frustration,

Haunt me melody flute.

Through hanging drapes of smoke,

Thoughts wend aromatic ways,

For a simple instant the moment broke,

As she dead-love discordant plays.

This savage beast remains untamed,

Charmer lost her notes.

Lonely child heart plays unnamed,

In strange dead-heads she floats.

Tempt me with melody,

You breath life through the flute,

Eros base loves' remedy,

To all my emotions mute.

Then we pass through the dance,

To the warmth of belonging,

Minds in the deep love trance,

Hold hearts, some new song-thing.

Frustrations overcome by magician,

Taste the beauty fruit,

With no hint of vague suspicion,

The words of a silver-flute.

Rob says: "More Imagerism."

Not only is it dark,

It is loud too.

Not full of heaving bosoms,

Not full of posing,

Its true.

The beer's free, the wine is too,

Although suspect.

No strutting for impression,

Simply sitting and being,

Happily scrawling tripe.

But, what has this to do with

Anything ?

The hour is witching,

The beer is too.

Not full of heaving poseurs,

Not full of bosoms,

Its true,

Although suspect.

Not only is it dark,

Its loud too,

Simply sitting, and being happy.

Rob says: "This is certainly an idea."

Beside me is a space,

The space is empty and cold,

Not only that, but it has a shape.

Cold maybe, but shaped then.

The form this space has now,

Is fair to look upon,

Smiling, a warm shape, cold only

In its absence.

The space is shaped in curves,

The curves are gentle and calm,

The calm is curved heavenly,

The heavenly emptiness is formed,

Formed in the smiling absence of warmth.

Not only that, but in curves.

The heavenly cold now has shape,

The shape is heavenly and warm,

The emptiness is shaped in the form

Of a woman.

The woman is heavenly, and absent,

The cold is the absence,

The absence is the warmth,

The warmth is the woman,

The woman is a lady,

The lady is you.

 

Tears

Tears of invisible rain

On ice-face sheets of cheek

Of glistening eyes and a worried look

And now is real and fake.

"Now" is the "Grab the moment"

And the abdicated made this choice,

To live as one, and on your own,

In seas of passionless drowning child lemmings,

Psychotic subtlety and cerebral passions.

Drown me in invisible tears

From neither of your eyes,

And thighs are soft to touch

And drown me girl in love.

In the invisible hour of the silent night,

We closed our eyes and held on tight.

Shadow Swan.

Spectrum of some deeply perverse waxy oils

On black many fringed flight feathers

On the seemingly perfectly formed wing.

Catches the gaze and the drop of sunlight,

Sits longer than the river's waters.

Serenely selfish in royal abundant confidence,

While cruising the shallows in dappled reflection

Of a lust driven moment of passionate serenity.

Coldly, coolly following a higher instinct,

Leads the observer to detect no regrets,

No moments of doubt in supreme black confidence,

And the thought that the crucial moment has gone.

Parallel your life with that of the swan,

Among discarded debris, detritus of the dereliction,

Remain aloof to preserve the damned integrity.

And so utterly perfectly casual and remote

So beautifully carved from living velvet,

And so much that you thought was lost.

That'll do for now, so here's some more "village cricket":

Stay safe out there people.