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

Vanity supplanted the setting sun,
moonlight trails then called our finer points
we only had to have foresight
to cast our truer selves.
Walking with the assuredness
to unblink the rays of self assurance.

We will liable her with laughter,
naked beneath the stars
she should still be heard,
insisting on the art of listening.
She's in my head
her hope coursing through my veins.

We will cover her body with petals.
She talks in her dreams,
the insistence of light
will be her shroud.

Mediocrity takes me on a rainy ride,
down to Tatsfield on the 464 bus
Manufacture me joy,
by slow degree

Sing a feral love song.
This old planet has nothing to teach us.
Like a disused canister,
it is earthen by distinction.
Camarade, this morning
has a shy happenstance

Sunday morning comes hoovering
Who needs their soul saved
Some would rather **** their socks
Father cried last night
Salt tears reeling from non redemption
Vicar was not too pleased
He still blessed his congregation

Sunday morning
What use are you
laying on your fat *****
whose flock needs repairing
Hard wired Conscience!

Wild wind
brazen stung
past dying night
indigo balm

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

In my lounge thoughts of
books yet to be read,
if only this prescribed stillness could improve
the comfort of the time  
and the light  paving  stronger shadows,
my slippers  merging into coolness
with the  envisaged  ideal
i am safer  in my  kingdom
no  dragons  or  waywardness
just the well earned spectrum

I noticed a streak of meaness
Was it culpable by its design?
Was that that made the moon so stubborn?
I needed to blink out of the night
To succumb to the daylight
Precisely as in a dream
Talking in your  dread
Through the cast windows of your mind

I was in the audience when someone shouted Judas to Dylan for going electric.
I was near Paul Simon effected by the airs of dreary northern towns.
I was the ****** you smoked on bequest of some forgotten Zanadu.
I wrote the songs
you merely had to hum them.

Deaths  knell
a summation of  lost causes,
out  of self  respect you hid
your braced weakness.
Inside you  have previously died
now awaiting featureless failure
it shrouds you
and  yesterdays core  once over
forever coils in recognotion

Tell it like it is
Your Monday silence smile
is a parody
Yet your Sunday roasts with
erstwhile friends
lasts for hours
the time that went away

The sky is an open store
can you see you own it
Your guesses linger
amongst the trees
Walk tall and return
The lanes you used to walk
are covered with woodbine

What mirth makes your smile
Laughing into the sails
playing with shadows
you don't understand
veins stand, you're easily led

Half of your toil
has been good to you
Asunder my blunders
What a scream
All the hues of grasses
entails with all this time
With your mystical polaroids
is it fun beneath the sky?
A kiss of fiery
a twilight of dreams
all my blunders

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

Let the  Moon absolve my cruel streak
for persons in a  bubble may  never politely apologize,
whose idea of buoyancy and eventual wilderness
may  never soldier a  salvo of  regret

To thrive in your company 
away from everyday cares.
As your words sway the splendour
of wanting to feel home together
I'd picture you as a Emperor dragonfly
and I a Hellebore Red Lady
and in the in betweenness we'd win each over,
you would be the free flight
I the settled  contemplation
the still thrift of spring.

in the stillness of winter  
the dark city annoints
obscure spirits flying by.

I hate it the way you told
me to eat greens
when I take multivitamins
or the when one's penfriend promises
a Non spent letter
I hate the way you say i'm overdrawn
when pro rota I never overspend
or I shouldn't get a female cat
on health grounds
When Ive just lost Jenny

The glossy dancers swarm
vibrating against green theatre curtains,
visceral feelings
heavy heels worn.
They dance for purity
only second guessing heaven.

He gifts them Summer fields
and even fetches them twilight sun
stinting over rows of trees,
where  fireflies hover
and in the midst of paradise
you realise his regimen is familiar
he has already sent multitudinous pals,
adorned in grey and tarnished buckles
into fields of blood red poppies
and vortex craters filled with iron oxide
no greater love than scarred sacrifice
to perfect his  own dusk

He gifts them Summer fields
and even fetches them twilight sun
stinting over rows of trees
where fireflies hover
and in the midst of the paradise
you realize his regimen is familiar
he has already sent multitudinous pals
adorned in grey and tarnished buckles
into red blood poppies
and vortex craters filled with iron oxide
no greater love than the scarred sacrifice
to perfect his own dusk

That Prakita annual from 1975,
trying so hard to make me feel
they could produce Britt Ekland
in every page.
But I recall the life cycle of Cameras
remember Miranda
not many  do ,
but I'm told she had a unique mount.
But again I'm no looker
just a resolute plain rangefinder 
running through the generations

I'm  listening to Saint Saens
on the radio,
enjoying peach liquor.
The clouds are celestial bodies
they rain when I weep,
the smell of the hollyhocks
is immaculate.

Bouncy castles aren't in order
They are for the plebs at some Margate
two  night hotel
Cigarette stains gape on mildew carpets.
The Lager is like a noxious high
must be a Swiss import.
The air turbulence pumps Ballroom Blitz
The hotel owners son is taking us for a Glam ride
Latex overkill, not to mention his suicide bride.
She's waited so long to make her incorrect entry.
And one stray cigarette has burst
the initial plan
a children's party
Only the iinvited Hells Angels can make amends

The rope seems hung
and the time spent seems present
Beware to balance the wire
and sight what we see above
of your changing seasons
so that we are acrobats of love
under travelled lights

A land where words fail to convey
any sense of retraction,
or fey smiles conceal their inner  menace
are indeed genuine subterfuge;
trust can never make a forge
it only posits draws and daggers.

Sometimes I go to Bexhill
on an Ironhorse
and visit Cooden Beach
with the occasioned tar in the sand
I recall the De La Warr Pavillion
Thought I was smart, smart not going

Train rides from Eastbourne
I Look for shipwrecks and Amaryllis's
Every day is a beckoning one
the one that got away
in deep water

who knows if a smile is really a frawn?
and if a zebra is a striped donkey instead?
who knows of white lies!
and the harm they do,
like a cuss  before the mornings
prayer!

that sad sounded lady
with open mouth
espys the edge of gloom,
like a whales calling
the tide compresses
as an unvaliant chain,
the machination of cause
will not whisper sweet serande

Over sad and tumberous plants
I skipped  with awe.
Meanwhile at home
i hid behind the sofa
afraid of a voice

There's nothing I wouldn't do for you
admire your sheen
and your amber coat
that chases the rainbow
I gladly interpret your meow
as a passion for food.
And your purr like a kitten
to the end of the day.
Man and cat can go far
Life seems rosy with you as a companion

If there was a Sidcup onimbus many eons ago
would it differ from the Clapham one?
That's how far away you are in my thoughts.
The insignifance is almost wreckless
when played such as these.
I'd rather wear my white dress
and yellow flip flops
just to spite you.
I can't  play your game
but I  convey to you
luckily your nothing but a one off
deemed quite not parfait enough

Sadness finite like drizzled rain
longing, banished by a spanish guitar
esperer too distant a word .

Lichen was her betrothal
stretching upon the skin,
by now her hurricane
grew boundaries.
No gaps  to loosen
the eternity.

Arctic baby, keep your furs  on
this is  no  bikini ride.

Its  I who has  to hush you
telling  this is  no invite  to  Cuba

Mountain sleigh why  cut marks
like your  stilettos heels

Just  count  the  self opportunities
unswore the  star  dust

Smell the  cedar and  cinnamon incense
burn a  candle  wholeheartedly

There is no merriment in our legend
a disparate history obliges,
like dust clouds we succumb
to a threadbare desert caravan.
Once we encountered happiness it outshone
even the azure skies
but recklessly we back slid
into the  vested nothingness.
We sated on Alpha
her eagerness was renown
but the locusts came yonder
and with Bet famished
scorned with the wind.

Why isn't everyone raving about
Harvey Andrews
or trying to memorise tranquility
Why did we ever leave 1975
when we had more hedgerows
and projected families in slides
Blondes didnt have to be peroxide
en naturel was a currency
Words were spoken with eye contact
and dreams came true

Winter came
wrapped my collar into my coat
Mellow was her smile
shes working on bringing
longer shadows
the brevity of tomorrow's  geschenk
Love where are you now
when  I need you?

Im hearing a siphon of a song
My love has gone away
The spindlewood has run dry
The seasons is awry
Tis the time of merriment
said the jester to the knave

By the border
they drink cactus  wine
breathless
outdoing   each other cussing their own Mothers
they tell poignant  stories  for a few guineas
on their first and only  loves
before they became tramps of sorts
profusely  coughing  up
nobody wants them mow

Could we ever communicate again?
when you said you didnt like
"Come to Me"
the orchestration was annoying!
Is it my place to say
you cannot love the sky
and yourself at the same time!
Perhaps you've changed
are you bothered by coolness
So you tough it out?

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 simple things
are backdated to yourself
like vain glass  
you rareify your blaze

I've been to many photography venues,
the equilibrium of exposure
the trade-off between exposed light,
can't say I have made  any friends
just recommended some classic cameras
like the OM1 and Canon EF SLR
with different exposures.

Seen Dungeness twice
the first time was like early  Christmas
with a certain light quality
caressing the wooden huts and boats
but we don't have a Mediterranean climate here

Herbaceous borders way lay me
stopping for a singular rose
in the Weald of Kent
the garden of England
the native bluebells
blend in the palm of my hand

Down the Greensand Way in Surrey Dorking by Juniper house
Field studies council
I solemnly believe the simple things are the best
as is High Beeches Garden  in Sussex
an independent woodland and water garden

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

The Soldiers return to their  home coming
at the same time
as the last M42 lenses were being sold
at  the down towns thrift shop.
There lay the rub
the old gun ** world was facing down
the commercial necessities of the Wild West.
The people had forgot their National pride
finding reasons to be embarrassed
for the hedonism sweeping the land
Their ostrich feathers
fluttered amongst abundance:
whose navel gazing allowed narcissism
to flourish.

In this void I question serenity
gazes are treated as lances,
even freckles are friendless
such is the self;
a bouquet of inward reverence.
Ashen is  this dayglow world
the past is pictured fairer
yet surely are we culpable
to be led so astray.

He offered her a song
in hope of a  reprieve
Her four poster was like the
sails of a ship
uncertain in progress.
For he was uncharted wooing such a heart
Would she breeze over like Canada
or provide merriment like wagtails in spring.
A tightrope on this and that,
eggshells for apology
get it right boy.

I only the wanted presents
to show you cared
bright  young shiny things
without a vacant stare

Why should you be good to me?
without counting the Peebles in your hand
Why should I exhale
your attention?

And now you've had your wickedness
Does that make me your gal?
Your bravado won the day
beneath the irksome mattress!

Flocks of seagulls by the quayside
A longing to know the poem's answer
Some 73 words to fix them
In  chaos choices are made