Pale Sons move in  electric light
Their yellow hair brittle like straw
Contemptuous of time and place
Such an unceasing guise

You called up my fantasies
but they weren't mine
What you feel is mainly uncertainity
Someone should warn you
not to overanalyze.

You believe lines lay overhead
Impatient for the consummation
your easterly summer is Furlong

A man is a rusty pylon
ruffling the electricity
And we sing Elijah
watching the sunnier chimes

A novice is like a rose
barbed to the counterpoint
He riles like a clown
when his future is a welter

A journeyman  is like a priest
haggling all the untruths
he blames when someone strifes

In his yellow straw hairstyle mask
this Eton Mess
overpays water canons
and recites on the Road to Mandalay
on diplomatic missions
This man is not a leader
a roasting clown apparition
He partied during COVID lockdown
and accused Starmer of a falsehood
He dreams of leveling up
but as a diehard Toff
he has no idea of class

This old country
has given me life
Taught me sad dreams over

Once I was banding the top of trees
until I wrestled a boy from the west
We learned to grow apart
Silver moonchild
the waters are so wide
Steal from the valley
If I were a butterfly
riposte the day
I could be free

I want to see the bright lights tonight
and wait for my supper
Monday morning closed down on me
I was under a karma
French butterflies she sold me
I watched you with my
one good green eye

and now you're tiptoeing
early to the station
don't be late
Everything you did
You did for me
I used to believe
you fit me like a bill
scrub me till I shine in the dark

Weak backlit
a smidgeon of light on the roadside
and windows peering at me
through their homemade blanket
curtains, showing us ill-informed light
peering from the rim of the windows

Struggling daffodils that cannot vouch
weighed down by the rain
As summer falls back, slips
The birds sing their sullen songs
from the tree shades
and yonder there is a scant sun
the foliage faded into brown

We could go to the London Zoo,
where you'd hear the hubris of
the laughing hyenas.
We could then go down the Spectre and Crown,
where all the punters would admire your
white boots and a penguin suit.
Then we could  go to London Eye
and you'd taste one of the roller coasters rides,
using one of your ample' lives,
and your whiskers would react deftly in the air
recalling some ancient fear.

The happy turn of hours
in sunnier chimes.
Half-dried mown grass,
and showering meadows.
Bird song in the fields.
Shaded trees wheeling around.
Moon Crest,
glows the lived in old house.
Where time passes by
still, as the lingering day.

Assorted Photographs E6 C41's B/W
the freedom to chose.
Analog photography,
so composite for the waiting completionist.
Central weighted or average metering
there's a modernist matrix too,
and manual focusing.
Selenium, CDS, or silicon photocells.
Hybrid shutters or cloth curtains.
This is the playground for  the eager:
creativity for patient users.
Incident or reflected light
to avail,
country scenic wonderers

Fickle they come
always disarming
see how they jettison
warbled rulers
across the knuckles
playgrounds for the tremblers
Carousels once shone
alongside the rim of failure
childlike fences fall

There's karma high in the sky,
and a valley lost in the snow,
green will have birth
as the swallow flies by,
the roughish boy runs errant
to the castle in his mind's eye,
framed by shadows of  rocks  with slime
beyond the rosy blue gorge.

like a copse in the shrub
the dandelions' flutter
the brackish waters ripple and reverberate
as the bare branches
tired of the wind
dance askance

Autumn's crumbs offer a crescendo
of  calm delight,
plies on the autumnal  filler
of reds and yellows
goldy elms,
until a silent thrush at night
before the crumbling black wall.

Impervious like an eagle.
it addles on its arrival
to the anti-vaxers,
waving their whirlwind of disbelief.
Through skin layers.
We have a real sense of being alive
just like reality.

chastising  yourself in aggravation,
your fingers grow stiff,
running out of time,
from the meanderings of convention.
Tall in November dusk,
without any brevity.
How you dwindle
into the sunlit fields

Hearts and holograms
Snoring cat
pomegranates, playing cards
A fireside of crackling antics
Soliquoy at its own bequest
There's your tired orange curtains
silence after the fall
such a pretty afternoon

Dreamers dream child-like tales,
whilst others play.
Playgrounds full of laughter
it is cold what is happening to you
You're all alone
failed like defenses fall all the way
Lifes wink is a carousel
timeless and grey
Now you're older
find something else to do

Winter is all black,
its robe rubs salt into the wound
the convergent bruises, rustle our being.
Gifting us a load of happenstance.
Angels and minotaurs don't speak for us
I say this quiet apparition,
gives us an imperfect  surprise
if only for an unrepentant moment.

We could go down the Spectre and Crown
where all the punters would admire your
white boots and penguin suit
Then we could go to the London Zoo
where you'd hear the hubris of
the laughing hyenas
and your whiskers would react deftly in the air
recalling some ancient fear
Then for the weekend, we go to Blackpool
and you'd taste one of the roller coasters
using one of your ample cats' lives

Through the curtain of time
you disappoint me
Love is a cold bitter word
suddenly it turns its own pallor
I don't need the promises you made
yet time it obsessives my heart
Cant you see I'm miserable and blue
Please leave me
I may come home
but can't say when

I am a  swallow,
furnished on a  nest
capturing the essence from  my flight,
diligently following a hidden path.
Pretending Buddha's hand is a hallow truth,
parried by the wind
this old world will not  change because,
you're a fledging
tears like the fallen rain
along with the passing cumulus

in my room
I have the plath and trakl poets
it's not as though I'm  sadly blue
I write poems of my own
dreamily dreaming of love and dahlias
and await  the never arrived ourtime  message's
that is today's show of good graciousness

The sea unrolls on itself
by the gaze of a seagull
its mechanical eye
creates ceaseless shutters
mingling with the sound of the waves

you have been veritable and green
with a fill  of the  flowers
and a country walk with fair maiden

PM rescued by Civil Police
with a parliamentary redacted procedural withdrawal
questionable Ukrainian WAR WAR diplomacy
cost of living Inflation by stealth

Struggling clumpy hydrangeas
unkept by design
Daffodils, appearing like clockwork
verte, emergent storks by decree

Is this still a Park
or a crime scene
Is that derelict library
where we used to read at
Is that a cry of a bird
or something more anguished

I ran into the business of collecting
My Desk loaded with vinyl
I enjoy the chase
the research
the lasering out of details
The procedures that can be imagined
The anticipation of delivery

A new emotion
over convent arches
rarified as time itself

Her fourteenth spring
long the ghost of childhood

What made her  shake and burn
yet gently unraveling
by a nearby teacher

White foam
temperamental tommorows
One more jour
Seagulls cross paths
The warp of sometimes
and the broken rhythm of shingles
till the dusk answers itself

In the supernatural sphere,
down London Road
cheek by jowl,
the angel of death pontificates.

Beyond its parlor,
the old subterfuge of death,
languishes in this netherworld.

Untouched by conscience.
Our apparition stands by the silver moon,
self-crowned and wearing the also run
upending the praying soul.

The past doctrines of survival,
half barrelled,
speaks its own enormity.

it's nice to walk down Victoria Street
It still feels like an undiscovered part of London
It has a Waterstones bookshop
and an earnest small Waitrose
Yet the Public Library is elsewhere
There's clearly an Architects eye for design here
belatedly re-discovering glass
to compete with the nearby Shard
Around Strutton ground
there used to be a watchmaker
next, it will be the shoe shop
and then book sellers Oxfam
to vacate their properties

Jen, I want to support your platitudes!
your mediation renders,
no troubles from you
no goading, within your star
kindness fashions your heart.

where are our heroes?
their bland bleatings we suffer,
this static turn
on Albion street.
Their illicit Lockdown Party's
burn an incense
in our souls,
our gallant sacrifice thwarted.
This luster flathead etched,
upon hoardes of Townies and ruralites memories

Hydrangeas, dahlias
and Victorian roses,
alongside the urban gardens,
enough to please us.
Blue-eyed Jay,
sings his songs,
at the joy of being alive.
Whisp of air down his lug holes,
praise to Mary the gardener,
to a woman born free.
Counting down this floral beauty
and add to this a creation rich flowerbed

Green is the color from your window
the catalyst to your path
the sheet you dream upon
unwishing time and longitude
that you fled from me

Eyes are my eyes
very soon you will come back
shifting plume
your path backtracking
comes to our betwixt

Trace the light
I will kiss your eyes
Keep the shadows at bay
Suffrage at the wait of dawn

There are seven wilted lies
that hangs by your smile
Doubt brushes
when you dream
Turns the Sun
in the curtain of your sleep

Witches homebrew
Toad of frog fantastical
the tongue of dog snarling
High on octave,
blind snakes gather too
Howls of another's dream
The old crow crinkles
The Headless cutter reigns
Bats blood swirls
Swallows on a wing
Roots of hemlock persist

That little stray
what terrors did he see?
Feed him in the snowy December garden
until he came inside

He was a tomcat
until he was  spaded
then he finds his solace
emerging up the landing
feeding tray by tray

Now he is comfortable
by the computer chair
and is feed at the top of the stairs
Still terroritial
he plays crumb fights
with the resident cat

Green is the hollow wind calling
whose myriad leaves have rotted down
It's the tiptoe through the woods
that persists the foraging trail
Green is the high hills
that concedes the end of the journey

Winter comes like a thwarted bride
dispensing her sullen linen
snow sunken ha ha's
meeting Jack Russell mid bark
laughing at the hubris of the fallen leaves
with shadowed pavements
Oval Moon
stripped trees like painted black pylons
Hard clumpy soil
Stark Raven searching scavenged food
no velvet fields

I am your stepfather
I saw your birth Mother's face
Scrawny and depleted
Never did I think this
would be a harbinger
for your finite size
I was told by the Vet you have
some Siamese lineage
Your intransigence
is at times too troublesome
Clawing me at the third stroke
but a Father always forgives his Son
Your eyes talk to me
with a haunting no comment
for any ascertainable question
I may ponder to ask you

You germinate and ruminate your new victims
Worse than a common cold
but nothing like the Spanish flu
but you're a mutant strain nonetheless

Masses of people in lockdowns and vaccinations
having to self entertain
as never before
an advocate for self-preservation

Time bedeviled
in the dawning of a new day
I identify fidgetiness as a primal enemy
I use eBay to buttress my feelings of emptiness
A newly acquired second-hand
Technics SL D303  to play Billy Lawrie
on 45rpms
I retrospect my bearings
gently facing the vistas
of lockdowns and quarantines
and friendliness

an ex stray makes the best pet
rested and assured
after hedging our footsteps
when first encounted
now you've nurtured
and are a long lasting loyal friend
hopefully you forget your trauma

solid as a rock
yet slightly territorial
with the other cat,
we await your daily developments
you made for as a hero

elated amongst others
kind as a woven spell
clean as housework furnished
a tufty moggie for all seasons

bathing in your after care
you make a mensch of us all
countless others cant compare
to your inseparability
and after care

you are both moggie and
sheik rolled into one
commonsensical and nature elated
springtime forward
we follow your course
bathing by the fireplace
you are impervious to extremes
Electric 9 lives
a happenstance of excellence
loved amongst others
I call you Patrick

The hum of electric contacts
fire heater
and the best nook by the computer
Interstellar locations
of the domestic lounge-type

arching your back
for a stroke
while carrying on sleeping
one open -eyed Patrick
let's articulate the imitative