Leaflet through the door on a 5K run for charity.
Spam email on the benefits of the Paleo eating regime.
Pals posting photo's of culinary creations on Facebook,
and Im in the queue for the food bank;
a hand to mouth existence.

In Scotland, half the people in poverty are working families
struggle to survive day-to-day and the basics of food to live
being asked to work longer hours for less money
while the politicians say they have nothing more to give
and the "Queen talks about austerity while wearing a £1 million hat"
(I'll thank Frankie Boyle for his razor sharp insights on that)
and Im in the queue for the food bank;
a hand to mouth existence.

Contrary to common misconception it doesn't always rain in Scotland.
This week its been 26 degrees, and Glasgow is awash in t-shirts and shorts, and beer gardens with bees. Cold beer never looked so refreshing.
West Enders in their top-down convertibles extolling the virtues of organic produce from Peckhams and their exclusivity price-point gourmet cheeses,
and Im in the queue for the food bank;
a hand to mouth existence.

My brain can't
compute haiku's.
There. No. ******.

*sigh

crystal - clean - clear - concise - cold
the juncture
the fracture
the untold stories
the harp crafted in mildew

so many things
so many many bits of things
square and curved and round things
and roads of never ending things
lots and lots and lots of things

the things would stretch
from here <
> way into the distance
to really really really
..........................................................­...................................  small things

dreams
defrosting
like tomorrow's chicken
waiting
to be cooked with love
unfold its
crispy juiciness

call me crazy
feel free
get in the queue
turn it up to 10
make yourself comfortable
gimme another shot
if there's something I do know

**we have time

Somewhere in the darkness
a godless conscience
wraps itself like a garment
the forgotten harlot
of monstrous prophets
gifting rocket droplets
in exchange for dancing shadows.

Muted in this world of words
stranded by the curb of verbs
caked in adjectives and nouns
and assimilated synchronized sounds
the subvert of the truly disturbed
to utter the unspoken
and mumbles left unheard
skin on skin on skin
left cracked and bleeding and broken
each time awoken
by the screeching echoes
the crescendo of burning sparrows
the stench of rotten carcasses
blinded by invisible needles unseen
accompanied by the shallows of
the sour and salted and hollow dreams.

The mask invades
where no other light remains
like bricked up windowpanes
the silence of the hurricane
and etched tears of faultless
fruitless freedoms refrain
shuttered and shattered and seething
in time to come, but until then
Inexorably
I call out her name
each time I'm breathing.

My Sister's a Poet.
She's the one who showed me the Path.
Introduced me to Maya Angelou and Ben Okri.
Taught me what a nom de plume was;
I could be anyone I wanted to be.

My Sister's a Poet.
She's the one who led the way of the Word.
Introduced me to Dylan Thomas and W.B. Yeats.
Taught me how to use a metaphor;
I could describe myself in analogies.

My Sister's a Poet.
She's the one who pointed the Way.
Introduced me to Sylvia Plath and Ezra Pound.
Taught me what Love could be in symmetry;
I could be the outstretched arm of mirrored caress.

My Sister's a Poet.
She's the reason I am Here and you reading This.
Introduced me to Poems on the Underground.
Taught me the creative cathartic value of words;
I have her to thank for giving my voice meaning.

We are the ***** purveyors of other peoples lives
renouncing the living breathing beating heart
in exchange for another photo of craft ale
and home-cooked food with a foot note description
as if it would fill our bellies and sate our hunger.

We are the dark wave tsunami of digital information
waxing lyrical about that holiday in Spanish sunshine
and a rant about car parking attendants and traffic jams
rather than the outstretched palm to jaw caress of realness
instead we line up perspectives of another bottle of wine.

We are the breeders of the optic L'enfant terrible
gorging on the memories of other worlds in 140 characters
snap shots of the life we could have had outside of the screens
the spineless automatons of digitized free love
the could've been, would've been lumbering electronic has-been.

We are the tumultuous storm rising fighting against the unknown power
we unite to save bees and coral reefs
and explore the concepts of actually doing something humanitarian
all we need do is sign the petition before the 11th hour
and be one of the thousand voices saying:
NO. We won't take this any more!

We are the saviours of our time and the rescue merchants of lost dogs
imbibed by Scrabble and Candy Crush weaving the elusive like a band aid
the tapestry of memes and images of cute kitteh's in boxes
chasing the shadows of reality on a stick for kicks
and all the while the moon is out there somewhere shinning her light
glorious silver light etching through the hash tag of cloud formations.

We are no longer what we thought we were. We are each other.
A haemoglobin gelatinous mass of misinformation and forgotten dreams
You are not alone. Even if you wanted to be,
my friend, my sister, my lover, my brother
quoting movies as if it were an inner wisdom speaking in tongues.

"Actually smearing grape jelly on your body and
running backwards in a cornfield doesn't sound half bad"

He said...

Looking forlorn outside a single glazed cracked window
comforted by burnt toast with jam
birch leaves laden with rain
carrying the weight of the heavens
blistered in angst and the Memoirs of The Sad
awash in the broken remnants of forgotten pain.

"in this pocket I have an itsy tiny universe
encased in an iridescent blue marble"

He said...

The Bearded Glaswegian Baptist evokes the reminiscent's
of a time before when we were all beard-less
lost in the dithering embryonic stutter mumble of life
diving gulls dunking for forgotten baubles and clear cut skulls

"I'd love to crush my ribs in this little beauty"

She said...

Stolen transmits of other worldly delights
like the chastity of a whale bone corset
strapped between the clunky and broad duty
of land licked silken shrouded soft moonlight

"so he totally set light to the kitchen table cloth
blowing out those candles and for some unknown reason
the family all gave a cheer. Thank God for Morphine"

They said...

Hiding in the sheltered shadows camouflaged in errors
mottled by the hues of indecision and impractical precision
lie the instabilities of truth in a blend of Codeine and Jasmine

"My brain cells keep fighting with each other! Poetry and Beer!"

She said...

Outcries of the exalted, bathed in salted peanuts
and yesterdays microwave meal
and the welcome stench of random ***
vibrates the very cherry of the soul and brings it to tears

"Enter the Dragon always makes me think of ******* Maggie Thatcher
*Christ that was a horrible night"

He said...

The shivers of monumental disgust run like an odious puddle
thoughts go out for Dennis knitting his escape hatch
and the unpronounceable muddle that befits the grave of beasts
and the microscopic sentiments of utter shameless sights

"Except for the offspring, soap and shampoo, This [all] makes sense"

Was the death knell...

Lost in ageless rhymes in legion soaked in the punishable treason
Purified by the age of reason and magnified by the madness of time
to think that any of the world makes sense at all if this is a slice
think twice before engaging the brain, and hence
if this is normal for you then at least
I know
Im actually sane.