More House-Keeping

My "poetry" folder is comprised of various file-types, from Word Docs, to Open Office stuff, and a heck of lot of JPEGs...

Here are a few more.....

 These are pretty much all over 20 years old....but it seems, rather sadly, that I am actually the same person. I thought, and hoped, that I had grown, and got stronger, but no, I am so afraid of doing, or saying the "wrong thing" that I am just getting older, not developing at all.....

Shit. Where on earth did it all go so wrong?

This is me trying to analyse myself, but as I have never managed that before, why would it work out now?

Night......

Some Random "House-Keeping"

Over the years, like since I thought this stuff was worth keeping, and trying to do something with...I initially kept all the hand-written stuff. The I typed it up, on an old Sharp word-processor.....people today might not even believe that there were hybrid machines that were part type-writer, and part (extremely basic) computer....but, believe me, there were. You could even use the old style 3 1/2 inch disks to save your stuff....(It's another story, but eventually I found a way for a contemporary machine to access such files, but, boy oh boy was it a long and eventually time-consuming thing to do......? YES!

To cut a long story short, as nobody is that interested anyway.....I ended up with a hard drive full of scans of hand-typed stuff, ("Full" is a total exaggeration as the files turned out to be tiny in the world we live in now, but still....) I have interspersed some scans along the way with other material, but now just want to crack on and get them out there, or archived through sheer embarrassment......


This post will be totally random as, like before, there is no agenda, but this time it's more a matter of just ticking boxes and doing it alphabetically.....

Forgive the weaker ones......

I apologise in advance as there will be more random posts like this in the not too distant future....I keep on putting things off, but when your life goes to hell, ticking things off your list is a bloody good way of dealing with stuff, or rather not dealing with stuff........

Take care people. Having visited one of God's "Waiting Rooms" this afternoon, to see one of my customers, I think that Loki really did take over the whole thing, otherwise, this world is fabulous and shit at the same time........

Go figure.

When the Adventure Stops

Albine-Gamesman.

His longest surviving friend

Is a mad albino, well, intense.

Precocious ? Presumptuous, perhaps

Imperfect, and only human.

He's only human after all.

He had no parents that we knew of.

No pets, no books, no T.V.

No need to feed a craving,

Well, perhaps ignoring that,

Eyes, lightly pink-lidded,

And deeper than forever.

His longest surviving period of insanity,

Shows no sign of ending.

No time for new befriending.

Like a sad pair of war veterans,

Waiving the medals for sad pride.

Watching the parade, drunk and intense.

Wavering down dark alleys, bomb alleys.

Albino boy and pitch-tanned friend,

Speaking no audible, or credible words,

Singing whalesong-chants in liquor haze.

And we could see they are only human,

Probably, perhaps its just possible that,

When the sun dissolves, they turn into cats,

And prowl, concentrating on hunting hobby,

Eating the liquid souls of girls,

Predatorial selection, no game, no rules.

Blue Rope

Four times the length of your love,

The ropes that bound us in greener times

Four times the drop, to be human,

To eat from platters proffered,

To struggle back towards the home fires.

Smouldering.

Four times you sent me

No times did I ever doubt

My loved return.

The post-apocalypse nightmare, recurring.

We always wake before we connect,

We approach and dance with death, and happy times.

The rope is blue, a trucker’s throw-away,

But you’ll kill me for love no matter

If it was red.

Four times I crossed the line, told you five,

Too drunk to count.

Situation normal honey, broken plates.

Full of doubt and this human struggle

To my own apocalypse.

Four bloody times.

The Cygnet And The Fox.

Anew the cygnet attempts to rise,

The strength gone, but spirit there,

And the foxes determination is

Matched only,

By the pen's anger and

Fatal rebuttal and

Defence of family freedom.

Your shopping wire basket love carries

So much static,

Many shocks.

And serves to focus no vision of

What we could have been.

Cygnet, you escaped this time,

But beware the shadows of

The lonely fox's sons.

Selected Views.

No time

No doubt

Dense mist descends

Befriends

Lends

Cosy sense of security

Purity

Erasing world views

To pews

Of oaken-seated

Gothic splendour

And vendor

Of christian dreams of Eden

And faint

Musty

Old stone

Church smell

Mingles with

Damp moss

No time

No doubt

No time to try

To see

Without vision

Derision of sense

By

Withholding views.