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

The Prima donna was abrupt
she said she didn't want to be
part of any wherewithal
but needed a firm base on the dance floor
She's lost the noble art of conversation,
a glance in the armory of mercurialness

Restless in her heart of hearts
The streets are designed for a thrill
She needed a hero
strictly some kind of
game of chance
in a heartbeat

In April somewhere where
sunbeams and Carousels glisten.
He was happy to share in the clover.
The sun was pouring
by way of a morning breeze,
and his plate was full
belly up he floated,
in the shallow water,
where the moon wanders.
His dreams lay sheltered,
against the cove
in the body of another.

i am winter
you are the stars
we trek across the hinterlands
wherever we go

Valentino was performing high fives
looking for the tried and tested for the night

A frightened lizard showed her reticence
whilst her brothers were rampant in their cravings
partying like  the last days of Rome

Let Peccano tell the truth
for once in his life
He could ungrow his nose
so he could follow  the nostrums

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

Land and rock slides
are the order of the day
They point to twilight world
Like a speechless old woman
With pitable likeness to a witch
And when she froze
She had flown for five miles
on a broom handle
A little lose on the left bends
Disliked like the anonymous sea

Follow up at unhappiness
The sweet deadly rinse of decay
passing through chaos
A Windrush forest flame asures

I walk on the seashore
Through ordeals reign of pain
The deep sea canyons
To the ocean of despair
Those lonely contestations
Will fall away like confetti

Every young had a wonderful dream
to be the birdman of altacraz
And now with your friends by your side
you've reached maturity
And the songs you sing
are the ones before
By the station
your words were a summation
and our pockets were empty
Then you joined the money men
you had to have your belly full
until they picked your bones
as you count the carnage
unable to beat them

Sometimes I feel like a mauve germanium
reaching for the stars
Tried hard to be pliable
Give me your all
and I show where I'm sitting

The Sun shone at the Moon
Don't worry about me
I've got all I need
the raddest sketchbook
to colour you in
just as before

The ****** for any Allotment holder
is harvesting Pumpkins with foliage
for October
with the clocks back
they'll relish digging over the soil
looking forward to another year

Meanwhile the Farmers markets
at Herne Hill and Dulwich
will set our retro-chic spiralling
a half loaf of brioche
and a Mrouzia Tajine purchased
amidst the newly penny conscious
"adequate provision" becomes the norm

I stood inside the ice palace
wary of the spiders from Mars
and all i heard on my ****** radio
was Space Odyessy
Then i stepped out in the sunshine
knowing all my dreams had gone
and the man who sold the world  was me

May God gave us belief
to follow his commandments
and give Nations his blessing.
May our hearts  receive
our earthly portion
and advance the glory of our Lord

Equally adept from 1978 and today
You're sturdy compact by design
A Nikkormat el platform offspring
Your size is influenced by the Olympus om series
A silicon meter for accuracy,
aperture priority
and a notch for NAI lens
Good for astro photography too

Beyond the sweltering light
the broken colonnade of
scrapped Cheviots drifts away
Soon the rusted barbed  wire
will be swallowed  by the evening hues

The solitary hummingbird
bathed in indigo light
faces down the feral cat

Only a tentative song
expounds the legend
that defeat never was an option

All the prayers were young and yellow.
uninformed  and adrift,
My marvel bust burst.
Yet I cried for all the nameless
on the narrow endless road.
My defences were shaking,
yet I still said hello.
A craven blackbird spoke volumes.
My moral compass presided over a rock and hard place.

Croydon
You ask me
how I should feel there are 14 vacant
closed shops in Croydon?.

A town that presides
over its last boom and bust
isn't worthy.
Still  The Councils "Brick by Brick"
the culprit
lays bankrupt
No management buyout yet!
as the rest of central Croydon
mushrooms not in office blocks,
but living quarters,
for the overpriced town center,
the middle class
who won't help footfall,
as they still buy online,
further depressing the same again
And the town is a big gush
with the wind and dust battering it.

Hope-filled the vacuum
like an ornate snake
It bedraggled in its canopy
An insurgent Sun appeared
breaking the cold of the morning

The Horizon rang fitted and disparate
Then the cold elbow of twilight appeared
Hard and Dusky grey
like a thief's  errand

I'm cleaning the kettle
counting daybreaks
and igniting my heart

I throw a brittle stick
into the blackness of the garden
and let you into a secret of mine

I don't look like my Mother
I'm Cinderella instead
an outlier  sibling
a decorous counterpoint

In the morning,
when you awake
wiping the sleep from your eyes
What do you think I see ?
A Myriad of problems forecast,
casting the eye of wariness
Would you rather base
your life on someone's else success?

You're inseparable as a Cheshire cat
that's graced us with her company !
And it rains and pours,
you stay indoors,
as the ducks find solace
in their new pond.

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

Lord who giveth and taketh  our tears.
We are at your mercys flight
give us wisdom to stay strong and follow righteousness

in the midst of springtime
i utter  your name
like a cherished Pray
I hang unto hope

A cold smile greets my face
as the blue boy searches my soul
with an electric comb.
Now I am crying
because I no longer exist
as I have to sleep with
no Knowledge.

Rivulets of well worn hope
comes sliding down the bannisters
I put on my classeless smile on
I breathe the air of cigarette defiance
And I know I'm poor and mad
Like scrapeless flakes of snow I follow

Upon the West Lands.
Summer has long been spent.
The cold current of the ocean
brings the rain.
Piecing together the weather.
They have lost all hope
in better calms.

The haunting bones of the islands archipelago,
brings out the prospect of shipwrecks.
The still melancholy of moonlight caresses the fallows.
The plowed hinterlands echo beyond,
the boundaries of  saline drenched land defenses.
Celestrial sunlight is long gone,
as the gulls make their passage home.

Up with laughter
down with sorrow
I will wait till tomorrow
to see the seasons change

Stop being intellectual
you need to follow the horde
Their platitudes won't hurt you
Then find a  bucket of joy
Tease your way home
by the Autumn river

The ducks are skimming in the water
as if to acknowledge the photographers,
they singularly preen their wings
doing what is natural,
not for show or curtsy.
The photographer looks awry
disappointed
no big game or gain
just an under estimate of life as pedantic

when it shines i daydream about Minia
and I retrace her footprints,
blessing where she stood
on silver threads of love,
still tasting her aroma.

Like a master coat
for all occasions
you wear your school colors well
yet when the gong sounds
you stand to attention
such is your inverse discipline,
of one so institutionalized
who cannot see the woods from trees

Learning Latin as a dead language
reflects the ethos of the school
- parrots at dawn
You feel you are wearing a straitjacket
when outside in the real world
and your dawn swims
don't inspire confidence
like salted caramel
as an after taste

Never take the past for granted
Teletext scores at TV Rental Window shop
for Saturday 4.45 results
Queues as long as sentences
Then to a night showing at the Scala Cinema
With an impromptu black cat at your lap
and cans of Dutch lager
for false courage
Then a breeze trip to Bradford
inspired by the movie
Bob Sue and Rita too
Breakfast at Manningham Lane
and a Kylie Minogue cassette
at a musical market fair.

Acrobats dancing wily
Let the wild men adopt another view
Take my friend and me for a ride
withholding the answer
After all
it's vainglorious
Quite alone I emoted
so bequeathing quietude
that we so wistfully call peace

A miniaturized Panzer unit has just
terrorized my lawn
The Parrot has escaped
and the cat ominously reappears
I have introduced two holidaying friends together
I need a better day
"Off with the old, on with the new"
Should I actualize with a change
so I can tend my Mulberry Bush
I wink decidedly

Your single shingle waysides:
is a  desert's outreach,
tiled orange tin shack,
your spiked garden, prevaricates.

Commercial photos are verboten,
only payment to the estate ensures.
Messrs and co got caught that way

The flowers were  Dutch pedigree
Narcissus Blue for late Winter

The Queen of contestation
gadfly cries alone in the kitchen

A Silhouette glances at the ravenous trees
as love becomes a specialization
its words tickling the soul

Blue and green, its skeletal throw over
shrouds Spring

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

It seems so hard to carry on
War in Europe, inflation, monkeypox.
I would rather live in the past
and shop at the Co-op,
for their community fund purposes
and uber polite staff.
And of course, I go to the Isle of Wright for a day trip,
again to live in their 90s  past
about 20 years behind the mainland,
and I'd buy a Yashica kyocera 230 AF
so I can snap in kodak black and white,
in manual  metering only,
oh the rivalry  of being retrospective.

What kind words can we use?
Kindly years  Kindly Sir, Kindly dream?
Where there is no kindness
there is only referment

The ordinary never forgetting days
slips through my palms
like salted brine

After the rain
a pale anemone shies
over the convenient ashes of remorse
yet dreams are for losers
and waylaid journeymen

Dance again
Enjoin your red lips to mine
You're cooler than a glass of water

Now the moon is ready
The unpainted green pains me
all alone
On borrowed clouds
Can't reach you but I try

I saw what looks like full framed timbers
rabald people passing through
London Bridge
every passerby premises a different life story
happy, indifferent, bothersome.
I alone stand gazing,
much admiring their endeavours
they have every chance to thrive
more fortunate than salmons
no short life mission
but a myriad development
aided by passion for materialism
that sees their umbrellas sign post Copenhagen  2012

Teremerdity drawing Razorblades
The arch angels have turned asunder
Realisation is incomparable
In velvet diaries wantonly kept
Unkempt Man faces his disclaimer

Cats are mystical  creatures.
Their moods are rangeful;
when its hot they plonk themselves
on your lap,
when its cold they sleep all day
Do they think it be better in the night?
And of course if you are afraid of them
they instinctively sit next to you
hoping you unlearn your fear !
A cat can never be a cliche
they are too cunning
its up to us humans
second guessing them.

When I wander among the swathes of  Bluebells
I am minded of a  nascent  variety
creeping in amongst our beloved ones,
Spanish shifts of hue
in the Weald of traditional  Kent.
I swear some sad maid
riding on a basket bicycle
scattering new seed
how unpatriotic!

Lady Marshmallow
in her thatch hut
scoffs at convention,
she remembers her past lovers,
and with her wax candle
she offers prized thoughts
for their spirits,
with her calico cat Emerald.

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.

I want to be lazy
down  to my shoestraps,
see the jackdaw
scrounge my sweetpeas.
If you cast a spell in my direction
I'll be surprised.
Each night I dream the nectar of sleep
and by sunrise I'm trice arised

Finance holds the town back
They've closed down the Milan Bar
and Currys moved out
Sing to the skeleton of a town center
carrying the deluged plough unto my ears
the promises of the councilors, prowl
towards helplessness

On an Archipelago
I place broaches and pins
in a wooden box
And lay a translucent lichen box for you
Somehow the fledging seagulls
Will seek your precious door

The boy has caught me early spring
by the fireside we sojourn
Ain't got no hired limousine
no imagination for the road
The boy caught me singing
harmoniously undercover
Handsome  brown eyes
will reappraise me yet
Like a fiery fire
I'm going down big easily.
Got love to share
and an abundance of hope
Come and see me
like a bird in my tree
at my place

Your ribald sword fades
from view
All that was strong hangs by a thread
My poetry lives just to please you
My song to start the day

My thoughts fjords your armoury
Your eyes are like oceans
My life proceeds your being
Surrender to the wilderness