Boris Bounce....... #random or not #whocaresanymore

Welcome to August 2019....

A few more, trying to keep up the momentum.....nearly there, just not quite. On the plus side, there will be loads that don't make it, as I am growing tired of my juvenile self, even if essentially that isn't necessarily related to historical writings.

 

Unseen

She doesn't see me,

Eyes at -15º or so,

Slow to stationery cars, lanes,

Dark rings, tarmac scrutiny,

Or the thousand yard focus,

Below my level.

I smoke and sip cold coffee,

And look again, she's less humble than the truck in front after all....

No, she's gone, dead eyes,

Car still moves, spirit death.

                                                                       Gatekeeper

 Green Veined White

 

& a view of Hinchliffe Mill.....where, they say, anyone in the world who carries the name, can trace their origins back to......no idea if it's true..........

Survivor.

Sole survivor

Adrift on a green turf raft,

Catching the rays.

Look back in anger,

Remorse, and some regret.

How close could you be allowed

To get to her inside ?

For the last time have you survived

Swansea.

Sole survivor on the shores of landlock,

Send out S.O.S.

And wait for your rescuers.

 Small White

Painted Lady, and a Jasper....

 Small Skippers  ^ v

The Carriage.

So, if we walk back down your

everso conservative road

with brilliant tradition and noble thought

We might find

possibly, in the long grass

at that last bad bend

or the rocky bit just before

The wheel.

Or is this carriage now fucked ?

Should we do anything ?

Or sit in this wrecked shack,

(Once carriage)

Once we might have carried a spare.

Society's angels have evolved,

England's carters, wrights and smiths

Don't let us down now.

Give us your drugs,

Concrete, false gods, free thought, abortions,

Tarmac, fences, A roads,classes,

Photos, giant cemeteries, free expression,

Graffiti, poetry, art, drama, TV,

CDs, trips, cars, trains, reasons,

No "destruct"

Find my wheel,

England, my sweet England,

I fear for your long grasses, and mine.

 
"I'm just a Gwyn....."

Soft-Ego.

The ego slipped out, softer and limper

Damp and somehow pathetic

Moreso

With these new ages of

Altered levels

New eyes, in a slight face

Softer is the damp intent

And somehow altered

Noreso

The id remained irresolute

And unchecked

Non-monitor of heaven's gate

Non-monitor of the world

When not fired or driven

In these new ages

So somehow pathetic

The returning ego is

Anticipated

Gladly

Moreso, if slightly altered

Unchecked, but driven

To new eyes in a softer face

Fried and damp

With one hand on the post

Two hundred feet down from here

Shear, lime and fossiled with

emotions and lost dreams

Millions old, some forever forgot

From this slippery and dizzy height

The dance floor of

The peripheral man

With a thirty mile view

To the borders of heaven and fell.

 

Proper scraping the old barrel with this 30 year old one......
"Step Honey"? "Step hanie" more like..... Ha!:

Step Honey.

I've heard tell, "What you've never had,

You'll never miss,"

I've never had another girl like you,

That eternal clutch and kiss.

"I don't break word with a loved one,"

You told me late one night,

the red strong wine didn't tell me,

What's wrong, or what's right.

The Valentine, and the frippery,

I too soaked in,

If you swam the clear, clear sea,

I'd swear that that was a fin.

How could I tell you,

Just what you meant to me,

Say "Here's my heart..."

And "You're the key." ?

"I told you no lie,"

You'd know I had no need,

Into paths of whole untruths,

You'd have me take your lead.

"But distance," or "But money,"

"But time," or "But honey..."

How come your world's always so

Perfectly, painfully, sunny ?

You hurt me very deeply,

I'll heal in no time at all,

I used to think before you left,

Only you could have stopped my fall.

Gotta love trees......!

Now night arrives

Now night arrives, with her hard intentioned purple love,

And, as the moment springs forth to welcome you in,

The damburst moment confuses the issue.

But despite teenage-recollected, relived intensities,

The truth lurks to strike, to pounce, to ambush,

The best intentions.

No interruptions, but still a window of your brain closes,

Leaving distinct impression, that with the excitement,

The responsible, the dutiful, the obligatory,

Comes the dreamwaking, that its not just right.

Maybe the damburst moment,

Maybe something a lot deeper,

Maybe the resurfacing redhead,

Who I think I need, to breath,

In order to carry on breathing.

A strange, strong feeling,

Beyond dreamwaking, but ambushed,

Still a number of windows to climb through,

Before I can get my head around this.

The obligatory confused,

Welcoming night, in this damburst impression.

The Prisoner.

Misdirected whirlwinds,

Ricochet from stupid coincidence,

And strew zilliad possibilities,

Of chance,

Alternate line and, yeah fine

Words and deeds.

And base-line needs.

Not real

Or

Leap into kralizecian breeze,

Feel chaos and ease,

Into adventure pathways.

Not societal costumier,

Broad arrow.

Time

Runs

Out.



Let's finish for now, on a good note.

Back to single figures again.......

Sheer bloody mindedness is keeping this blog afloat now.......as ever.

#random
or not

#whocaresanymore

#mylife
#hatehastags
#kiss
#poetry

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.