Strange Days.

Otherworld.

The power, glory, mystique, enchantment,

Random greenery, the greenery of me.

Naivety and pain, experience and hate,

Despising those who've lost, but never,

Across the waters to another world.

The age of change, the hours of light.

"Crystal sword, scabbard unleash me !"

Fear and,

Crushing, searching for "Why ?"

The innocent ivy creepers, along the roadside walls,

The gentle breeze belies the storm,

Clear fresh skies, with the acid of us,

Now lost to myself,

But how ?

Nearly...

Buzz, buzz, then no more. Green.

Green, green, green trees, green leaves,

Green all around, and within.

(Our father which art in heaven...)

Green, the fresh scent of green,

Pale, clear, smooth, fluffy cloud whiteness,

Hours before dark, days until the day,

Across the skies to another world.

The same rainbow.

Paving.

Frustrated by crazy paving,

Saving,

Promised idea dialogue,

Sod, or doubted Tom,

Simply,

Simple.

While singing spirited, arose

And flew.

Follow skylarks,

To holes,

In stone-walls.

Expression comes,

And

Free-form, free-flow, winged, but not,

Doubts remain to chain,

Adaption,

Adoption

Of other ideals,

Wheels.

Machines, to ease the work,

To shift the load,

Of indecisive elemental force,

Of course,

The stone slabs were always cracked.

Pickup.

With dark head filled air,

The police light found you there,

Cut and picked you out again,

What moves in your conscience then ?

Night-talking dark-walking heavy cop,

Called you by her name,

The fall kills you, not the drop,

As quietly you came.

As quietly you came,

You came, as quietly you came.

Smell his hands for kerosene,

Question him about where he's been,

Spin him round like a spinning top,

Confuse him tonight my woman cop.

Night-talking hard walking drinking boy,

Can you recall the police name ?

How she played so completely coy ?

As quietly you came,

As quietly you came,

You came, as quietly you came.

Dance with me, lovely uniform,

Black and white in this beery storm,

Cut me down as rights are read,

Cut me down, leave me for dead.

Night-walking beer-talking English lad,

Did you hear me call her name ?

It's just her job, she's not all that bad,

It's such a lovely shame,

As quietly you came,

You came, as quietly you came.

 Hollyhock

Sleepless In Crosland Moor

Sativa I, relate to the riot

And anxious anarchy,

The bubbling babbling beck,

Of this bloody minded mess.

Contortions of your skull liner,

Pulse pressure drop preempts sleep,

And prolongs these scenes.

I court you sativa,

In this dreaming vision,

We dance delicately, delicious,

And revel in

Mad moments.

Will we wed and meld?

Or stay friends

After all?

Watching.

Can you feel me watching you ?

Prickling the back of your neck ?

Don't look at me, let me carry on.

You are not so pure, or so simple,

But, to offer what I am is to burden.

There, you looked, I smiled briefly,

Looked away, and hurt.

Not lust, or longing, not 'love' or anything,

Just nature I think.

Watching you is easy, being me is not.

You are not 'beautiful' or 'sexy',

Not any label or type, I watch you.

I want to tell you about life,

Want you to tell me about you.

Watching is so easy, being watched is not,

You are uneasy, am I going to say something ?

No, that could break this imaginary, fragile thread,

Between your soul and my head.

Sometimes I almost tell you, but don't,

Want so much to be half of you, but can't,

Say what I mean, see its not easy.

I'm not obsessed, when you're not here,

part of me isn't either, is that obsession ?

Such a dangerous sounding thing,

Much like 'dinner for two' or 'date ?',

Turning, I hope you turn too,

Do you watch me, as I watch you ?

The Charm Room.

Open your door, to the Charm-Room,

Where the kids have been all over,

High up behind me the cold moon,

Catch the faint scent of clover.

The stove belches, as I shut the door,

I catch your thrown glance and laugh,

I'm burning slightly now and want your raw,

And I'm standing on your path.

We kiss, and sit, and kiss again,

My excitement nearly shows, you know,

This is the place where boys are men,

And my pulse will never slow.

Then the wine is drunk, the T.V. gone,

We play our scene, as if in love,

And go to where two are one,

The secret chamber, above.

Above the darkened charm room,

Where we kissed all over,

Time is never too soon,

To leave the faint scent of clover.

The Hill.

An approach, aloof sometime, a hill,

Ghostly mist wraps around your shoulders,

Your forgotten time trapped houses,

And bite the frost, the chain, the glass,

Where now the strangers pass,

Lets stop awhile and view the mile

To your top, no whistle stop,

No relief though rest is all,

No soft limbs to stop this fall.

Simple approach to height, not depth,

Via lost cloughs and crossings,

Forgotten in time, but not by them,

As stories unfold and then are told,

To all your disbelievers, and fog weavers,

Mischief makers, Yorkshire fakirs,

With minds on clogs, looms and logs,

Coal and sheep and never ending seas,

Not for you to be set free.

Some Cave.

Cool ancient darkness,

Depths of hidden wisdoms,

Concealed from the modern

By a vine curtain.

Covered coverlets, cool innocent,,

Places deep within that rocky place

Where the deep echoes of distant waters call,

Call over again and again.

Familiar scents, familiar place times

That our forebears couldn't forget,

memory scents, and Dark wisdom.

Sacred notions of a dead god.

Yet the unfamiliar thoughts

Burdens of the knowing mind,

Bring some reason, if not acceptance,

Rejectable ideas from the dead.

I leave the cave man,

Blink in the fresh sunlight,

My perception expands now

I know everything.

The Darkest Night.

Your smoke burns the membranes behind my eyes,

My tears thus false, itch and make me blink.

I drink your flowing emotion and sink gently,

The darkest night in blinding streams.

Who am I tonight ?

How old, tall, and what's my name ?

Drifting through the warm place that is your centre,

Eyes stay closed and my glass is yet to drain.

Most of my heat escapes in a rise with your smoke.

An emotional cleaning implement, the romantic fire.

Am I drunk yet my dear ?

How can I drink as deep as I want ?

How don't we drown ?

I am stifled, and cannot breath anymore.

Am I in love tonight ?

Who should I say I am, and why ?

I light my own cigarette, and sting your eyes,

But you can tell me, how warm you are,

Upside down, I spin in the current strong,

Whenever I am alone with you, I can pretend.

You are, you are,

Something I can't quite comprehend.

Unstoppable, unbroachable flow.

My eyes don't need to know the answer,

They burn, and tell me there is no need,

I smoke down to the filter this time,

The darkest night, in blinding love.

Sandcastle

Sandcastle,

Cocktail-stick, bus ticket flag,

Inverse bucket castellations,

Small spade depth moat,

Old shell battlements,

Pebbles too, maybe,

Protecting the inner true

You from

My incoming love-tide.

Dissolving your sandwalls,

In hot holiday memory,

Sun baked English beach,

With ice-cream and,

Knotted hankies, old men.

Us small ones paddle,

And running hard,

Laughing.

We bomb sandcastles,

With barefeet.

Your love washes against my walls,

As mine yours,

With pebbles too, maybe.

Classic lens distortion at Digley Res.

Village Cricket......

 

Digley Kestrel....

I could write an essay, but hey. The times they are a changin', or not, I don't know. 7 am Monday morning could have been the end of something pretty nice and good, or it might have been a dramatic moment, meant to be lost in the tides of time, I really don't know, as my head is, as for years, all over the place anyway.

It's such a shame when friends just can't be.

On the plus side, I have started writing a few notes, not actual pieces, but snippets of ideas, building blocks of ideas, that might, or might not turn into something.

I used to, years ago, but for some silly reason, had the idea that the "off the cuff" ones were good enough, maybe some were, but those with a history, and depth to them were and are, the ones that I appreciate, well....mostly.

What are the rules?

There are no rules.

"Do as thou wilt" shall be the whole of the Law.

Happy Mid-August one and all.