or

EGGSISTENTIALISM


I put eggs in a ***
with some water to cook
turned the heat up to hot
then the egg-timer took
and I gave it a spin
so the sand was on top
and an aperture, thin,
let the grains start to drop
like a little landslide
that just in a short while
had begun spreading wide
from a conical pile
then I saw myself there
in the egg timer's glass
and returned my own glare
just to fill the impasse
but my face looked obscure
seeming bulbous and stout
with my chin on the floor
and my brow at the spout
as the sand tumbled south
to the hour-glass base
down my nose to my mouth
just like tears on my face
then I had this strange thought
as I took an egg cup
of how time can run short
while it's filling right up
now a thousand yard stare
in those eyes, I could see
existential despair
facing infinity
they left no room to doubt
that we'd both been misled
that time doesn't run out
- it falls right on your head
'til you're buried alive
with a mouthful of grit
you might think you'll survive
but it's not prone to quit
then your eggs are all done
time's caught up and been spent
by the end of the run
your not sure where it went
but time waits for no man
that much can't be denied
so boiled eggs? change of plan -
in the end had them fried.

HANSEL & GRETEL

she tested his mettle
for crossing her path
was stung by her nettle
for one minor gaffe

to get back his fettle
he did him some math
bought chocolate and petal
then ran her a bath

that made the dust settle
placated her wrath
then boiling the kettle
he tried not to laugh.

JACK FROST'S OVERTIME


Jack gave the air a biting chill
the ground a thin white shroud
while icy mist curled in tendrils
and swathed his form in clouds

then puddles turned to milky glass
his breath, it's said, could freeze
the paths he makes a risk to pass
and skeletons from trees

on TV news this work he’d do
was clearly advertised
as weather maps from green to blue
were reacclimatised

all signs of warmth Jack Frost suppressed
with every step he’d take
each living soul he met he pressed
to shiver and to shake

all thumbs would then succumb to numb
and feet were primed to slip
like taps he made their noses run
and tremble would each lip

but soon enough the rising sun
would make it’s presence felt
then Jack would yawn, his work all done
and back to bed he’d melt

but that was then and this is now
his tenure will not cease
the price of gas will now allow
his hours to increase

not one to shirk the extra work
thanks to this corporate crime
these costs berserk present a perk
for Jack in overtime

he'll rap the door of old and poor
once their heat is denied
and freeze for sure to chair or floor
whoever lives inside.

took a bottle from the cupboard
then she tilted back his head
this meant trouble, he discovered
when she read out what it said

it said hazardous to health
twice as poisonous as bleach
keep it on the highest shelf
keep it out of children’s reach

treat like pepper spray or mace
or an acid that could maim
store it in a cool, dry place
and avoid all naked flames

the instructions then suggested
it could leave him stiff and pale
if by chance it was ingested
if by chance he did inhale

then its pungent, toxic odour
from its allergens, writ BOLD
burned his nose like caustic soda
made his nostrils yearn for cold

since the content seemed unstable
so she handled with a glove
but she let him read the label
and the word he saw was LOVE

held his nose and told him ‘swallow’
made him chug it in one go
and the pain was quick to follow
why she did it, hard to know

felt like acid ingestion
not a gentle warmth inside
so he asked the girl a question
‘is an antidote supplied?’

she said ‘there’s no medication
just a long and slow decline
there’s no cure or vaccination
you can only pray for time’

and that pain he still remembers
since his stomach’s still upset
just a pit of glowing embers
from that girl he can’t forget.

watching Where Eagles Dare
just ahead of Yuletide
came a bang from upstairs
while the snow fell outside
was that you, bro, up there
was it something you tried
just to make me aware
of the moment you died?
was that you, bro?

was your cigarette stink
by our old Christmas tree?
did you make its lights blink
and that bauble fall free?
did you want me to think
you were right there with me?
that you'd severed the link
from your human debris?
is that true, bro?

then an unconscious stream
brought a nice note of grace
in a bar, just a dream
where we had an embrace
and the overall theme
I recall, from your face
you're still part of our team
lost in time, Lost in Space
I miss you, bro

I said 'drop me a clue
next time, easily found
should you ever pass through
let me know you're inbound'
he said 'I always do
but it can't be profound
there'll be some subtle cue
so you'll know I'm around'
don't say boo, bro.

THE WOLFMAN


'neath full white moon, from wolfsbane bloom
there came a gloomy cry
this haunting tune of doom and tomb
made Tom assume he'd die

at first a growl and then a howl
what prowled beyond his sight?
the noise had fouled the evening's cowl
and scared an owl to flight

as if a hound was gaining ground
somewhere around the trees
these kinds of sounds can make hearts pound
and blood's been found to freeze

and though the thud of feet on mud
said likelihood a dog
still there Tom stood, scared in the wood
in scuds of misty fog

but who'd have guessed, a man, quite stressed
would crest atop the hill
who's vest did wrest, 'til bare of chest
and undressed, fell dead still

then with a moan, a snout was grown
while other bones constricted
just as was shown in films he'd known
or Twilight Zone depicted

like wolfman lore from days of yore
claws tore through finger tips
then paws to floor, down on all fours
teeth poured from jaw through lips

and with fur grew, transition through
it's blue eyes flew Tom's way
to seek a clue, accrue a view
if Tom knew what to say

Tom felt a chill, a deadly thrill
his heart stood still, a while
but soon wolf's will seemed to distill
and was to **** it's style?

it had not leapt or even crept
just kept Tom in it's eye
a slight misstep would be inept
it said "accept or die"

this lycanthrope was out to scope
how modern dopes react
how would Tom cope with this tightrope?
his only hope was tact

and thinking through what best to do
Tom soon came to this sense
where once was due a scream or two
might now construe offence

should Tom address it's differentness
and call it pest or clown?
or treat as guest this man cross dressed
with no thoughtless pronoun?

a quick brainstorm then Tom got warm
how he'd perform it's test
accept the norm that folks transform
to which form suits them best

a gypsy spell or silver shell
could mean death knell incurred
now Tom could tell how to do well
- just yell all the right words

best not hold with thoughts of old
be controlled by the past
forget what's told in books once sold
don't scold it an outcast

Tom did not dare to curse and swear
turn to the air his nose
was well aware it's wrong to stare
at men who wear wolf clothes

he'd tow the line, not undermine
so opined joyously
'if you define yourself lupine
or canine, fine by me'

the tension eased with wolf appeased
so pleased it wagged it's tail
it's test not breezed with expertise
he'd teased a pass from fail

so off Tom skipped (more likely, slipped)
his hat tipped in 'goodnight'
and though equipped with puns and quips
to stay tight lipped felt right.

there are times when I feel
like an old waterwheel
and my bucket fills slowly with drips
when it’s full to the top
I lurch forward and drop
and descend with my heart doing flips

or if that sounds unreal
think an old Ferris wheel
spinning round with the customers gone
or the space on a clock
that connects tick and tock
or the hand poised between twelve and one

on the brink of free fall
through a cavernous hall
to the skull’s epicentre, the brain
it’s a moment of doubt
or a temporal white out
as before, it just happened again

what goes round comes around
I'm a ship, run aground
not profound - just my mind being hacked
something wrong with my head
had a rupture and bled
or by anxiety just attacked?

MUTING THE BANG


admission was free
and all had to go
since all had to see
this ultimate show
on every street
in every mall
on every seat
in every stall
and all TV screens
on radio, live
in bars and canteens
or cars as they'd drive
of people agreeing
the world was devoid
still, no sense in fleeing
what you can't avoid
so watching the clock
from four down to none
with no sense of shock
the show was begun
the curtain was raised
with such a loud sound
the crowd were amazed
then razed to the ground
straight up from their seat
in unison, cried
but once on their feet
they instantly died
the roar of the crowd
had muted the bang
and though very loud
not one of them sang
well eight billion folk
can deafen it seems
while turning to smoke
in eight billion screams
with no one to wait
to see the encore
it might have been great
but nobody saw.

I closed my eyes and heard a call
of curtain rise or curtain fall

then wind in sail, through stormy squall
I pierced a veil beyond the wall

back to the womb, I lived reverse
to birth from tomb, conveyed by hearse

this wilted bloom, with shroud supplied
smelled of perfume: formaldehyde.

something she had seen
mid the concrete, puddles, suds
made her think ‘is my car clean
look as shiny as it should?’
seeing sponges slapping screens
spying soapy splashes slosh
and those lads in skin tight jeans
working at the street carwash
so she pulled up in her Merc
where she stole more sneaky looks
as they set about their work
while she sipped on her Starbucks
and that soggy bunch of guys
put on something of a show
as the heater warmed her thighs
but quite needlessly so
made her bite the paper cup
sent her tongue across her lips
as a t-shirt pulled right up
and she fumbled for a tip
and some time in due course
her car looked forecourt new
but she panted like a horse
and her knickers stuck like glue
but she drove back to the street
to resume her working day
and she earned tomorrow’s treat
hitting puddles all the way

you’re so ****** keen
I’ll do as I’m told
you change what words mean
so scared becomes bold
and movement means still
and captive mean free
and things like free will
what you want them to be
your line stays upheld
by total compliance
and if I rebelled
to Hell for defiance
it is not allowed
to cast any doubt
your voice is so loud
you cancel me out
so I will not say
‘on the other hand’
a different way
you’d not understand
you’re too blind to see
the main cause of stress
adrift in a sea
of self-righteousness
but sleep well tonight
of worry, bereft
since you are so right
you’ve got nothing left.

once a man had a thought
that he voiced in a crowd
and it made the air taut
thinking was not allowed

with the mind of a hive
they all turned on their friend
and that last thought alive
soon they brought to an end

then with knives and with forks
on his carcass they fed
just like ravenous hawks
only leaving his head

and the ones who came late
as they chewed on his brain
found the thoughts that they ate
made them feel less insane

now the thinker is gone
but the seed he'd sown grew
so his thought still lives on
in the minds of a few

so the ending now nears
with the fable complete
and a moral appears
-that you are what you eat.

'farewell to the lost'
hear someone assert
how 'death has a cost
that's counted in hurt'

then offerings tossed
in handfuls of dirt
and crosses when crossed
leave mud on my shirt

but I do not cry
don't bawl and don't rave
no tears to supply
don't have to be brave

that would be a lie
no face I to save
I only stopped by
to spit on your grave.

in apogee
and full moon blue
the lunar sea
came into view
its effigy
a face I knew
invited me
to join the crew
 
with half hypnotic
thought implants
that loosened logic
with its glance
I felt exotic
queer, askance
tried a high kick
couldn’t dance
 
but in the thrall
of altered norms
went in withdrawal
and got reborn
in full recall
an idea forms
from dusty squalls
of lunar storms
 
then colour blind
except for red
heard words unkind
inside my head
asked would I mind
to wake up dead
but I declined
and so it fled
 
the moon’s decree
I did not do
thought fleetingly
it might be true
but now I’m free
from that voodoo
just lunacy
I once passed through.

I had weakess of grip
thoughts of madness and sin
at her pouty of lip
and her brownness of skin
and her smoky of eye
and her blondness of hair
and her longness of thigh
and her hugeness of pair
and her tightness of sweater
her made up to the nines
and her couldn't look better
and her blurredness of lines
I could see her undressed
still in fullness of clothes
but I lost interest
at her picking of nose.

is it cause and effect
when you pause and reflect
through a bus window driven at night
same view in reverse
or a new universe
with a face looking back that's not right

someone faking a smile
maybe ******* down bile
with a profile of rake thin grey cheeks
once enhanced with laugh lines
circumstance redefined
in a matter of just a few weeks

lights aglow on high streets
put on show the crows feet
that don't go with a face that's within
and etched in like stretch marks
they're a sketch of the darks
from a smile that's been spread far too thin

and defined by it's anger
this malign doppelganger
has no warmth in its eye, only cold
where the dread's run amok
and has sped up the clock
left a handsome face premature old

and it leers out of space
with a queer kind of face
that might once have been eager to please
looking weathered and strained
from endeavours that maimed
through the life it spent down on it's knees

in the glare of the ights
it stares back for a fight
and the raindrops leave pock mark and scars
like a comic *******
or a cosmic inversion
or perhaps that’s the person you are?

FINDING A TEN

when finding a ten
you feel so alive
it's not the same when
you've just lost a five

the sun would have shone
if you'd had fifteen
five up but five gone
with envy, you're green

I know what you'll say
a half empty cup!
at the end of the day
these losses add up

you cannot ignore
the lesson, it's plain
the deficit's more
than any net gain.

there’s no nerve he won’t wrack
when reflected in glass
and he’s there looking back
from the windows I pass
turns my calm to unease
with his smell of ill health
he’s the walking disease
who's infected himself
and he sits by my wife
eating lunch with my kid
like a part of their life
that is usually hid
and I watch them lean in
on each word he spoke
and he gives me this grin
like it's all a big joke
so I show him some anger
I let it all free
say 'hey doppelgänger,
don't doppelgäng me!'
and I shoo him away
like he has leprosy
not before he can say
'I am you, me and we'
now he’s lying in wait
while his power accrues
if I dissociate
then he’ll walk in my shoes
so I have to prepare
as he’s bound to return
any time, anywhere
that's the first thing you learn.

the *** that was white
is now mostly rust
the lid had stuck tight
the handle is bust
and like something ballistic
had ruptured the tin
all the once optimistic
bright colour within
has bled down the side
and pooled at the base
faded and dried
and stuck it in place
so it’s left on the rack
where the damp and the cold
for a use leaves a lack
and it just gets more old
but not all went to waste
it was once on the wall
although paper and paste
long since covered it all
it’s the wrong side of thin
not much more than stains
but beneath that thick skin
surely some gloss remains?

MORE MAGIC SPELLS


the dark magic crept
when spells were heard spoke
and while some folk slept
you found yourself woke
that's when your eyes set
on who you should hunt
from those alphabets
you heard back to front
and those who couldn't
speak in that code
all those who wouldn't
walk down that road
or who'd missed the joke
and felt undermined
were just the right folk
you'd set out to find
so their stress increased
as soon all around
they saw how decreased
became common ground
and you ran them down
until they were gone
drove them from your town
until there were none
with old sorcery
so easily talked
that left hard to see
how your tongue had forked
developed this knack
of making sound right
how magic, once black
was now magic white
then what someone did
was change all the text
to keep from you hid
the ones who were next
so now you don't dare
to speak a **** word
until when they share
which spell will be heard
what will they incant?
what witchery bring?
and what if they chant
a spell you won't sing?
you'd best take a look
and make double sure
you're not on the hook
since no one is pure
and make sure you've checked
all your points of view
since their next suspect
is most likely you.

dead fly on my roller blind
dragged into the light
there to find as I unwind
or draw back up at night

round as ripples on a pool
flattened by the wheel
spinning on the pole and spool
cured of real by reel

this had happened long before
and would repeat again
knock he might on heaven’s door
but here he will remain

like that movie, Groundhog Day
from his dream never wakes
rolling out and rolled away
reminded of mistakes

reflecting on this gruesome sight
I think of my life too
and perhaps explain it might
why I get deja-vous

someone, somewhere pulls a string
and once again I'm seen
life and death are the same thing
we're dead flies on a screen.

VAMP


I fell under a spell
looking into her eyes
and I thought 'what the hell'
holding on to my cries
as I fell to the deck
with her teeth sinking in
to the side of my neck
where the skin was most thin
and she drained off my tanks
'till my legs felt like lead
then with no word thanks
there she left me for dead
yet I couldn't help yearn
as I lay on the floor
that should my strength return
I might see her some more
since I'd had such a blast
while I slaked her of thirst
she would not be the last
and thank God, not the first.

in a shirt from Call of Duty
that could clothe four average men
in the aisle for hair and beauty
he was shoplifting again

so under shirt the contraband
goes soap and gel and wax
by not exactly sleight of hand
but still he clears the racks

to keep the house in big name brands
of shampoo and hairspray
the store detectives understand
and look the other way

since he's no criminal mastermind
public enemy number one
not the tooled-up, violent kind
not Godfather or Don

and not a man born to be bad
or ****** on the skids
he's just an ordinary dad
placating teenage kids

so dressed in clothes from car boot stalls
and charity shop spoils
he's robbing Peter to pay Paul
so they can live like royals

ignoring all the cheaper types
his kids won’t tolerate
stolen goods in one deft swipe
things just evaporate

and there to make his escape good
his wife is parked outside
engine running under hood
the Bonnie to his Clyde

for three more weeks 'til they get
paid
they’ll live under this gun
victims of the daily raid
on bank of dad and mum.

from there to back
you come and go
and hairline cracks
begin to show
from top to base
from toe to chin
to line your face
from outside in
then gold to brass
to false from just
with bones of glass
and blood of dust
then passion throes
turn malcontent
well, so it goes
and there it went
a shadowed earth
where suns are moons
and jagged curves
make knives from spoons.

MAGIC SPELLS

magic spells
through mystic words
spoken well
and yet sound slurred

meanings known
are not what's heard
plates get thrown
and pots get stirred

peace and love
are now deferred
hand in glove
with threat conferred

calm and still
as once preferred
to hate and ****
is now placed third

don't know when
this change occured
free speech then
now costs incurred.

look at him stand, like he’s in charge
shirt of a band, size extra-large
close to the bar, far from the floor
came in his car, came here to score

used to be trim, doesn’t know that
**** being him, **** being fat

scratching his chin, ******* in gut
tried to blend in, anything but
something to prove, probably won’t
making a move, no one says don’t

out on a limb, one he’ll allow
**** being him, up until now

“fancy a dance? don’t tell the wife”
“*******, fat chance - go get a life!”
back to the bar, put out, put down
permanent scar, permanent frown

sometimes a whim favours the bold
**** being him, out in the cold
back to the bin, thoroughly told
**** being him, **** being old.

what do you suppose is
the reason why roses
have thorns sticking out of their stem?
well my diagnosis
a kind of psychosis
has turned it to us versus them

i went for a flower
but bled for an hour
when stabbed by a spike underneath
but I will not cower
from their fire-power
next time I’ll prune armed to the teeth.

with a drink in my hand
where the ***** clicked and rolled
from the stool that I manned
I looked out at the cold
to a place on the street
from the warmth of the bar
where the homeless compete
for a jaw at the jar
and their eyes seemed to say
as they stared me right back
it is not a long way
to our side of the track
that it takes very little
to fall on your ***
because people are brittle
and shatter like glass
like the windows at home
or the face of a watch
the screen on a phone
or this tumbler of scotch
from the tiniest chip
and the lightest of scratch
anybody can slip
when there’s no one to catch
I was left in no doubt
that the membrane was thin
between those who were out
and the ones who were in
so said ‘thanks for the tip
but for God could be I’
raised the glass to my lips
and averted my eye.

it's not about the cost,
i heard it once explained
it's not about what's lost
it's all about what's gained

and things will always change
in life's unfolding game
so soon enough the strange
becomes the same old same

scenario case worst
is opportunity
although of course at first
that's often hard to see.

the sound of the chime
of some town hall clock
announced it was time
for head to meet block

no order belayed
no reprieve supplied
as justice delayed
was justice denied

so set to the task
he had his head bowed
the swing of an axe
the gasp of the crowd

decision so made
and sentence then passed
his head was displayed
so lessons would last

but once on the stake
his eyes opened wide
they saw him awake
he hadn’t quite died

and pouring with gore
in scarlet red drips
from jaw to the floor
came words from his lips

“I lived for so long
a life just like any
seen right become wrong
things turn on a penny
so this is no shock
it's mostly my lot
my neck's been on blocks
much more than it's not
so my head's been lost
more often than once
and if this the cost
well, here’s my response"

and then from the street
his torso did rise
made death obsolete
much to their surprise

they took to their feet
with yells, screams and cries
and beat a retreat
averting their eyes

so nobody saw
him take his head down
and fix it once more
then walk out of town

it took quite some pluck
to go to that length
and some called it luck
while others said strength

but now it’s the case
that he lives afar
his head still in place
above a deep scar

reminder he could
have died on that day
and one day he would
but not when they say.

just past darkest, in pre-dawn
where only ghosts belong
somnambulist stood on the lawn
in lonely morn birdsong

up high a sky of dark blue slate
and smudged by moonlit chalk
inquired why, so soon, too late
he’d judged it wise to walk

he’d missed the gold at set of sun
the cloak of night long fell
and kissed by cold, feet wet and numb
been woke under this spell

in bare feet, naked and alone
his toes caressed the grass
had rare, sweet, sacred things unknown
disposed themselves to pass?

if not then how had this occurred -
just slept-walked down the stairs?
alfresco now, from slumber stirred
and crept out unawares?

no light did switch, no latch did lift,
no dead bolt did he slide
what nightmare glitch cast him adrift
and led him on this ride?

to understand why he’d been drawn
he leaned upon the fence
and scanned the hills ahead, forlorn
but gleaned no ounce of sense

his thoughts parlayed a trick was played
a kind of waking dream
for sport that bade him walk or wade
the mind’s unconscious stream

but when coerced the mist did clear
on tracks once shaded black
how he’d traversed from there to here -
the facts cascaded back

he’d climbed in bed to get some rest
a touch before nightfall
an aching head and tight of chest
that much he could recall

he’d said “I’ll live, not really ill
-benign, not far from norm
I’m fed up with this winter chill
but fine, on par, just warm”

then pulled the sheets ‘til tightly wrapped
to burn that fever out
but lulled from sleep, felt shoulder tapped
he turned as if to shout

a djinn or sprite was in the room
beside him, floating there
it’s skin so white it lit the gloom
supplied him quite a scare

and tall and thin, half out, half in
each limb a branch of birch
with pointy chin and wicked grin
the grim of some dark church

he couldn’t deal with that right then
so lay to face the wall
in time he’d steal a look again
or maybe not at all

“I’ll save my view from things untrue
and hocus-pocus lies
that see-through, voodoo, bug-a-boo
made by unfocussed eyes.”

since that’s the way he dealt with things
and had done all his life
downplay, delay the woes it brings
he’d shun, defer all strife

with problems near, beset by fear
he’d sit them out and wait
his steer was clear, why interfere?
commit them unto fate

you might expect fiends from beyond
that form of fevered head
won’t interject, reply, respond -
but here’s what this one said

“Why, don’t be shy, deny your eye
or will me to wink out
divert, decry, dismiss, defy
I’ll still be here, don’t doubt

concerns you spurn when trouble stirs
you never make a stand
your court adjourns, your head inters
wherever you find sand

but think on this, somnambulist
who sleeps all through his day
ignorant bliss by case dismissed
won’t keep my kiss at bay

Death, the darkest, endless black
says nigh it’s time to pay
somnambulist get off your back
or die right where you lay.”

what happened then remained occult
but hindsight left implied
the whys and whens and end result
was in the night - he’d died

a skipped heat beat, forgotten breath
then pale and stiff and cold
beneath the sheet, begotten death
the tale at last was told

unless, undressed he’d thought to rise
impressed by Death’s dark voice
duress he guessed might make him wise
if pressed with that stark choice

to Heaven’s bliss, to Hell to roast
or on Earth still to dwell
somnambulist or new born ghost?
the birthing morn would tell.