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.
"Home"
Next door but three.....
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