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

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 just like a teacher
to suggest 1/125
for street photography
to freeze action
turn people into statutes
Shadows F2
Sky F11
he turned my camera into a light  meter
picking up the prevailing lumiere levels

Whereas I had always used F5.6
to record fleurs
A slight customary bokeh
throwing the background
and generally, 1/60 to stabilize action

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

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

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

she's buried her hopes,
somewhere far from home.
Daddy was a dreamer.
Mother scrubbed the floor .
The dog has a bone to bury
and lets pretend that the day is long
as it is drawn
with the customary cold spot in the night

Its the dawn of a long blade,
turning alongside the grass.
It was the hope of another day,
walking on bare feet,
like sandalwood.
climbing the waterfall.
Those memories turn like pages,
like the first gust of rain,
scented like leather
dusty and brown.

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

She wrote me a  letter
trying to explain.
Winter is coming.
All the greys are here to stay.
Like a honey mustard vinaigrette
it thickly rains here

The cranes fly by,
as the lichen of years
withstands the wind.
There is silence
between the dead leafs.
The gentle coming down.
I belong here.

once more to the coast
to rekindle our relationship,
braving the dunes,
that so much reminds of our travails.

Begging eyes
asking for loose change
you are faminised

You can't  fish in the sky blues
youve misspent your life in detention
so get used to the jamboree

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

Gray birds grace us
Tallow was the sky
The sterility of the day
like an ox fat sacrifice
will save the world from sin
and all this obsession to save the heart
The gift of an incandescent rage
born out of the preciousness of redemption

she bangs on about the changing political landscape,
that she was a veteran of the Ohio State shootings
although only time could crack the  shell,
split the kernel we both know as truth.

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!

Heavenly abandon
I want to sing for you
You were searching for a friend before
the second snow
Two can come together
but love can bring you down
unless you're the one to free me
walking down the streets of paradise
country home comfort

A promise of old friends
that never materialized
And the man slides backward
Beyond the broken  promises
no inner light in his horizon
He was a stranger in their eyes
as the rain kept rolling over
as your childhood dreams
were taking away
you cannot buy friends

over the hill there's a shinning,
taking me from the darkness of the night.
Get yourself together
and see what you can find,
champagne toast
when I'm out of town,
golden daffodils hanging down.

Pale riders ride
upon the crest of a wave,
favoring chance that
happenstances along the way.
Screeching wheels of endeavor
proclaims the day.
They pronounce on a hum
the daily turn of the day.

Night time pensiveness on dry tethered hooks
Carrion birds ditched at noon
Could have been a contender
In marigold fields of Heather

As bright as a whisper
This voyage far and wide
East winds facing reason
In vast fields of thyme

the jack of knaves
knows the end of the world
as we know it
is emotional panache

High in the sky.
London chimes.
Postcode lottery
Knife crime assures.
Still the Eagle soars,
over Streets with no names
Combustible cladding awaiting.

Hose pipe bans beckons.
A capricious late summer.
Rosemary twigs for sale.
See the gypsies staid,
against the Victoria tube exit.

Down Sidcup, they are planning mind games
without a safety net for me
We are hot desking
during  a railroad strike
and have a muddling southeastern rail service to boot!
We are going the long way to work
London Bridge is being redeveloped
The tension is brewing like a bout of cholera
We are being punished for events
outside our control.
Its the survival of the fittest
the most local win
But some of us are tadpoles
out of our depth

Beach head, light top,
regional Frisco veteran
full powered chick.
Youve outpaced the bikers
irradiated your enemies,
and smoked from their peace pipe.

Once a stray
Now comfy at home
Not a mean bone in his body
You're like porridge with prunes
Indispensable to the body regime
Cool and collected
With an underlined intelligence
I'd happily adopt you myself

She climbed the waterline
upward and appearing
just for the occasion,
day after day
kidding herself when it doesn't
matter anymore
be careful of the stitches
on attention
to let go of the relentlessness
awry of the persuaders

He is the faker.
Living by the river.
Cardboard eyes holding your attention.
He has no intention of goodness,
synthetically adorned,
living a lie just by blinking.

Nettles covers his body,
crawls on the ground like a newt,
walks in the greenhouse,
makes for penitence,
always thought he was better than thou.

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

i exist i cry
always walking on egg shells.
i deserve so much more!
perhaps in another lifetime,
i did wrong.
but why this endless procession?
moody lacklustre skies at night
are yet to answer my prays.
why this sacrilege?

Christmas  decorations in the dark,
same day motifs inspired by you,
hopes undeterred on fetching wind,
silver baubles bobbing on the bay.
Dormant dreams forlorn in Winterland,
yours is the world
begin with it.

Memories fade from your face
You decided to leave the human race
A bluebird flew through your hands
and saw you crying

Love never came to your door
What is it for
Something to warm the heart
and lessen the pain

How does it feel to be lost
to wake up in the morning and smile
open the door
let the wind ruffle you

Have you ever kept a scrapbook?
silver slippers dangling in the sun
or have you ever seen that golden knowing

your memories could be temporal keepings,
that collage was only yesterday's decision

Those stet pictures are only a cellotape preservation away
Their meanings have been prolonged

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

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.

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.

Bronzed sun over the hill
Fieldfare flying South
The cartwheels stasis speaks to us
even now
as light steals itself over into
the steps into the sea
How could we not have
noticed this before?

Lord our maker,
who gave us the Garden of Eden
and choice to commit original sin
grant us your  understanding
and shower your love and kindness
leading us from temptations

They've wrecked the  illusion
that's towns are bastillions
made to last
instead they are monopoly money spinners
where building booms become bust
and rents dry up

They've wrangled the economy
now they go for the soul
Queens'  gardens future  design is allusive
as the scarlet pimpernel

I remember bee hives  next to the tax office
now its a busy builders yard
so  with investment goes ecological *******


The omens are ominous maybe the Tories can do better

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

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

I am getting tired of your rumors
and I can't hold to my dreams
Once, a contender, I am tired of being asleep on the wheel
The Sunshine should make good hay
Yet our days have been useless
as a story told
You had black hair
now it has turned to grey

I've forgotten to cry
to hold the day in my palm
The Sun cannot provide a setting
cannot hold onto my dreams

A silver lining passed by
the rainbow.
The sun is still shinning,
for my state of mind,
needs no defining, notwithstanding
yesterday was painted grey.
I just told a fairy story
of a redemptive gull.
Till tomorrow
we celebrate,
our February song
chasing its tail.

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

We were political  friends
a generous  X at the box
But something terrible has happened
Public sector cuts
Councils allowed to financially run dry
Welcome to Brick by Brick Croydon

The general circumnavigation of Democracy
You've got a stone heart
and at the drop of a hat
You demonize your enemies

We've got a Mayor
with a presiding vote
NOC a stalemate assured
Give us back our Libraries
and Purley Swimming pool

The palliative cure is the Lib Dems
We are sick of the two-party system
Normalcy at a mid-runner's pace
why can't we be like Sutton and Richmond
the prequistive in ascension

Soaked with lies
the arcaduim sighs,
listen to the falling leaves.
Ghosts will chase you,
winged creatures will crawl
(moving mountains with toil),
and you will find no relief.

If I were you
and you were me ,
would you make as much sense
as I made of you?
If aye was nay  
what a convoluted situation
it would be.

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.

Quebec  as plighted as a star
your unclaimed  luggage is nearby
in  nearly new corrugated  blocks,
brimming by the wayside.
Playing hide and seek
with stolen identity cards
making sure the hinterlands
wont find you

Swallow pride,
nothing can remain
the same.
Rocky August,
the most capricious Month,
where lovers' break each others hearts
and sleigh down the proverbial slopes unbequeathed.