Saturday, 16 December 2017

GREEN SLEEVES


















THEY DREAM OF DREAMS



we
wallow and whine
in
the
polythene mountains
of
our
empty
plenty

manufacturing 

desolate sort of acceptance
streaming films on minimalism
on the main hd tv

waiting on 
another supermoon
to tease us 
from behind
britains
overcast
indigo felt

and those others
them on the tv appeals

them that smile wide eyed
at a hand-me-down overcoat

they dream
of having dreams




Image result for plastic mountain

from matthewoldfield.photoshelter.com

Thursday, 14 December 2017

WAVING THE BUSES PAST




i
dont
move
now
how
i
used
to

i used to dance
with the heavy stock
in a warehouse ballet

tipping
endless
trucks
in
the
hurricane storm theatre
of
a
night shifts
dense AM
service road
fox parade

~

now i drag myself now

gimpy

lame

along the evacuated 
daytime streets
to the
bus stop benches

where i fold up
and wheeze
on the downlow
so no one knows

waving the buses pass

i only want outdoor air

and a glimpse
of
the
streetside
and 
the 
flashbacks
i left there

~

and
i
feel 
like 
an 
office-busted pensioner feels
in their 
last outdoor 
dog walking days

ankles wired
to the antiques roadshow
and 
the 
easy chair tune

but i dont wear 
their beige uniform

i will never wear 
that beige uniform

~

and
i
feel
like
i
been
eaten
up
by
the early chapters
proposition and drama
and
am

shadow of a subplot

in danger of
heavy editing

~

so 

quietly go about
my essential work
in
the
morning pockets

filing the reports
and 
writing the footnotes
under
the
cotton mist

but plotting 

steppenwolf redemption

and planning 

war with the machines

in
a
geriaction
sequel
coda





Image result for bus stop uk

clumber park cricket ground bus stop from bbc.co.uk

Wednesday, 13 December 2017

FOREVER CAT




the cat
is soft & warm & here

fur hot
from the winter sun
coming in the front room window

the feel of it
it takes me somewhere

& i bury my face
into his coat

and go there

for
all
the
times
when
i
wont
be
able
to
anymore




Image result for cat fur

from dailyexpress.co.uk

Tuesday, 12 December 2017

SOMETHING GOING IN SOMETHING COMING OUT




i
read
poetry
on the toilet

something going in
something coming out

it
makes
a
Great Sense to me

~

all those pages
i marked with
small fold in the corner

well i picture
someone looking thru them
for
something
to
read
at
my
funeral

Primo's Monday
or maybe 
his Give Us
that
i read this morning
in
there

something going in
something going out

( no wait
  read his 
  Song Of Those Who Died In Vain )

and . . .
flush

~

and im wondering who that would be 
looking for something 
to read
for me ?

when i think

Screw You

im not going to die
theres too much Madness
i dont want to miss

these
pages
are
marked
for ME to read
at YOUR funeral

if i get up the guts
on your Big Day

~

or
i
will
read
them
at your graveside

i could do that
at least

or at your cardboard urn
when your ashes
swirl like starlings
into
the
great wherever

with 
hollywood 
golden leaves
all around
and
thin
mocking
english
rain
getting under
my collar

~

or maybe 
i will 
read them
at home 
for you

do i really need to go out ?

would my proximity
to your cadaver
really matter ?

maybe
itll
help you 
rest in peace

tho
i
dont
know
how anybody can




Image result for cardboard urn

from pinterest

Monday, 11 December 2017

HEAD WEATHER VISA




the only time 
to
act 
as 
tourist acts
is
when
the
inside rain clouds gather
and 
infiltrate your given light
with their rented gloom

notice it
lift your camera
but
know
this
is
not
where you live

know the dark weather
for its transience
and
if
your
zen
allows
it
then thank it
with gratitude
that
you
live
privileged to see
both
sides
of
this
strange coin
even
as
the lightning strikes
your hired hatchback

and there is an edge
to this coin
and if you straddle there

for work
for safety 
or in a hatless crisis

make
sure
you
call
it
Journey
or 
Motel

as it no place
to make camp
for
long






from scottedleman.com

Friday, 8 December 2017

THE CHILDHOOD LANDS


i
remember
our
afternoon empire
of 
the park

an 
unfinished 
pot holed
shithole
of
blood
and
animal ignorance

our
ownership
sometimes
shattered
with
the
calamity of ambulance tears

its gates 
rusted open
then
one day gone

and another day
a great cement circle
was laid down the far end
for
no
reason
anyone
ever
knew

and there were places there
unzoned and feral

i would explore there
not allowed to be there
collecting stains

and i brim now
like a pot on a rolling boil
with an understanding
i cant put in words
for
the
me
of
me
then

always looking 
for famous five adventures
in the no mans land
of rubble 
carpet offcuts
and
burst paint tins

the adult throwaways
dirty landmarks
in
the
wild growth
of
pissy nettles
and
white
dog
shits

hoping for a wall
with a door
to
magic
and
mystery
and
escape

but even then i knew 
there was nothing like that
a n y w h e r e 

the biggest question
on the street was 
bikes ?
or on foot ?
and i wanted to be a spy
and i wanted to be a detective
and
hide behind cars
and
sneak thru alleys
so
i
did
alone and weird

kerb stones
concrete 
and tarmac
were my low down
world of worlds

and i would hang it out 
till the last second
before
rushing
breathless 
home 
for 
tea

spam and beans
and the pedos
on the bbc



Image result for 1970s bbc logo

from thetvroom.com

Thursday, 7 December 2017

TIME SLIDES



out
the
front
window
suburbia burps
on schedule

and
past the marks
the cat makes
with his interested nose
the
regular joes
and
ordinary janes
start their engines
and
dive
into
that cement river
to everywhere

~

and up there
the winter sun
is a heart in free fall
doing half a job
dizzy with worry
autumn betrayal
and arctic gasps

~

the winter sun

it
only
just

j u s t

touches
the bungalow ridge tiles
over the road
at
noon

in a golden smear
like night out
next morning
lipstick

and if i think i hear it sigh
its probably the water pipes

~

time slides
it just does

i go to piss
and
its
dark when i come out

like i blink you know ?
and then its black dark

time slides
it just does

~

and theyre all driving back from work now
1000 things done and behind

mooring the hatchbacks
on their concrete berths

and
i
pull
the
curtains
on
the
day

twist the blinds flat
and 
put the lamp lights on

cos time slides
it just does

downwards
and then up
into itself again

uncontrollable
and smug about it




Image result for POCKET WATCH

from omegavintagewatches.co.uk

Wednesday, 6 December 2017

HUNTING MYSELF TO SLEEP



used to be
there
was
the
simple glass lie
of
the
bottle by the bedside
                      i g    t
                    l     h  
to keep my corpse a
in the nights poor hours
where hope was hunted
like papas big game

then
time
instigated intervention
and
flipped me all about
with 
benevolent misdirection
and
a
revelatory hole card

and now theres love
a magic cat
and a drawer of tidy tranqs
to
put
my
wired tired
adrenalin dry 
meat stack 
d
 o
  w
   n

and i hunt myself
on
the
soupy edges
of
oblivions game

hoping for a quick clean kill

or the flutter 
in the fog
of a white flag 
of a surrender
without
any
terms

terms like one more piss

or
remembering
i
used
to
smoke




Image result for classic hunting rifle

from offthegridnews.com