I am in a frame, a spot on a painting on a wall in a hall full of other pieces of art.
Someone should be looking for Van Gogh,he's been ******' around with the paint ***.
What am I going to do as a spot?

Picasso
apart from painting me blue
missed out the ring finger on my left hand and the people who pass me always peer at me closely and linger a bit longer as if they can't believe it but it's true.

David Bailey took a picture of me
put me in 'Time Magazine
captioned it,
'the four fingered lingering blue dream'
it's a nightmare I tell you.

I wish I'd been done by Turner,in the best possible taste,
but the silly ****** wasted all of his time painting ships of the line.

So I'm a spot or a dot and the audience love it,but
I think it's **** hanging here in a frame
I only came here on loan and
now they've made it my home.
I wish that I'd been painted with a voice.

Walk under no ladders and step on no crack,
carry some salt in your pockets
and do not look back.
If you see a black cat, jump out of its way,
today is the thirteenth and
it's Friday all day.

Love songs number one.

I am so madly
in love with you
it's evident and it's true.
Tomorrow is shining through for me and you
my darling.

Ting a ling
my heart is tingling
I want to sing my love out loud
for you
my darling.

And
my life was in such a mess
until you brought me this happiness.
Oh
I can see that it had to be
a wonderful future for you and me,
it's such a wonderful chemistry
with you
my darling.

"Christmas is coming
the goose is getting fat"

there is no sign of pigeons for the poor have seen to that.
Old Santa had another clause
beggars do not get their paws on yuletide logs,
just kick the dogs and they will go away.

Christmas is coming
the weather's turning cruel ,
and all that I look forward to, is one more bowl of watered down, (while the rich folk go to town)
gruel.

Jump between and in two sticks
and cry wolf at the door,
let the dogs begin to howl
I don't hear them
anymore.

Jump between and in two clicks
my legs are tired and sore
let the dogs begin to howl
I don't hear them
anymore.

On and in and on and out
I wonder,
what's life all about?
This tree of knowledge
is all but bare,
I jump between and nothing's there.

This battery pack is on his back
the lights are going dim,
in or on or out and in
chances are and they're very slim,
I may, if luck is on my side,
last just long enough to
cast my shadow one more time.

Strange,
not quite garnets.
I strayed and went garnets once and stayed.
I like being garnets,but had to rearrange my life
and file back in to the pack,
playing cards are like that.
Now in situ a suit suits me,but I still see
garnets everywhere.

Moonlight falls
on the desert sands
only the scorpions
beam.

Never been to Camber
or walked along its sands
and never been to Rye
I
don't know why.

Places always places
those I haven't been
but seen them in a
thousand lights
each in a nightly dream.

They say that only words can rhyme
I hear that everywhere and all the time,the time that the creator took
to write the pages of the world within his book
and I have tasted rhymes in nature,true
It's what I feel and what I do.

the ocean deep can keep its blue and green in submarine
the conch shell with its sound of bells can like the rings of Saturn
bring us to a place
a space inside our space
I asked, is this all that we could see
and answered
if you could only be
the expansion of the universe another stretch,a rhyming verse
but if expanding
how outstanding, I exclaim

but
what is it outside this universe that we push aside to enter in
and where does this thing that we push aside begin
or does it not and never end
does it glide on the decay of moons from many moons that died before
and if it does what does it mean
what is life for?

On a star so far away,so long ago
someone knew
someone who I never knew but they knew me
and they could see that even then the time would come when men like me would ask these sorts of questions
and what of them
who were these men that climbed those mountains out in space
did they face the questions that we do
is that how they knew
how could we learn
how could we not?
this Earth is all we've got
and look at it
we've turned it into a pile of..have you seen the wars and ******* pouring out and dripping down the walls..
..of heartaches and in meal breaks we have never had it as good as what we had and knock on wood
which does no good at all
let's fall into the fires in monasteries and pray to gods of other times

but we are just lines in rhyming tales
ships with sails
and wings that never fly
beyond it all we are
we are
we are and could be
if we bothered to open up our eyes the lies that we have never told, the stores we bought and never sold, the age old thing
we are exactly what we bring and take away
each and every day we get further and further away from what we want and still we want some more
what is it if this life's not for
a betterment
we are not lees or sediment we
we
we
are the fruits
the shoots from which we spring
what do we bring?
and tell me if you can
if we are sentient and man
who are we?

Come walk with me and let us
shuffle grains of sand beside
the sea.
She makes love with me
washes up all over me
froths and foams and combs in waves
she makes a slave of me
come walk with me
she makes this mister,mister mystery
and mystifies
in her I live and die
she gives
I sigh
and live and die
unto eternity
come walk with me.

Anthracite
might burn well
but most will never know,
the fires in grates have all burnt low.
We're farming wind and waves,harnessing the nuclear reaction,sadly I find not one ounce of satisfaction in this,
I miss the welcoming glow of red hot flames and the toasting of marshmallows and everybody knows you can toast them on turbines.
I whinge and whine but I'll be fine as soon as I step into line with modern inconveniences.

I am informed by those who know,that the fish with two heads and the greenish glow has nothing to do with you know what and all we're really lacking is a ******* good dose of cracking fracking.

There is a choir and an orchestra
and I talk less
when I know they're there,
somewhere an accordion plays, a busker,
me
in other days would prefer to hear
the street performer,
the troubadour,
the wanderer with his songs wrapped up and on his heart, trapped in the keys, he plays the accordion, at ease with all,
a penny for the guy.

Each note, a wave that reaches land, and slowly waits, almost hesitates to touch on ears and the ocean in his tunes fill me with something only I can see,
others hear and see so differently, but that is fine,
he becomes the metaphor for wine, the wind red cheeks of time, the autumn when the leaves turn green, the Northern lights, a postcard scene but others hear and see it differently than me and that is fine.

No less a choir and an orchestra, the wanderer who roams at will to fill me one again with the pain of never,
in the tunes
I
will be
forever
lost.

We sink or we swim where
does friendship begin?

Somewhere in the slick and the slime long before time, before the world had begun, before the stars started to run through the sky, even before the sky had been born we were being worn away only to come to this day and question why?

Sink or swim
live or die
where does friendship begin?

In the two up, two down with a tin tub to
bathe in, a cellar to put coal in,
a kitchen and pantry
can't you
be happy?

If his Lordship willed it we'd all live in pigshit,
that's Nobility for you

but
I work in the grounds of the great hall as a groom
for
sixpence a week and a small garrett room
and don't feel hard done by,

still a prison though.

I'll die in service but will need to give
a week's notice
such a shame you can't put a
poultice
on death.

It all appears to me to be
gobbledygook,
I look
try to see but
it means nothing to me.

Perhaps it's my age and
I can't see so clearly the
words on the page but I
have this idea that
all I can see here is..

..can't see to spell but this word certainly
smells ripe.

Give a paint brush to a guy and he can paint stars in the sky,black and white he paints the night time in a hearse driving through the universe,fixed in colours mixed,
how slick this guy could be,artistry universally.
Give a slide rule to a man and he can draw plans perfectly,draw cities,universities and cold dark lonely cemeteries,
where the dead and dying line up trying to escape,where fate intervenes with nightmarish dreams and scenes of the apocalypse.

Give a man a *** of gold,a rainbow that he cannot hold,a love before he gets to old and all his hopes sold to the wind that blows,
and who knows what the day might bring to me
I wait expectantly.

At least the coffee's hot and understands me
unlike today that just backhands me,

Is it too early for a glass of wine?

My life gets stuck on tic tac toe
a no win, no win, no point to go
on, but
I go on because
I'm an awkward cuss.

I saw the universe come to a stop,
but it started up again

( explain that one Brian ***. )

Should I, should I not have another
from the coffee ***?

I'm watching clouds break up
a bit like lovers do,
slowly disentangling,

to
be alone
to be at home
with oneself.

I need to, want to, got to,
soon.

Let's celebrate
underneath those arches
where our dreams
dreamed with the
Moon.

Friday clicks the switch
Rik says,
" Robinson, You're such a ***** "
I
mention jam
which is what I feel I'm in.
but
It'll pass, immortalised or
turn to gas
either way
Friday
is here until midnight.

They fall on me from the puzzle tree,
somewhat of a mystery.

A chimpanzee holds a dictionary,
has more words than me,
The puzzle tree's a puzzle to me.

In a faraway place with her hair tied in lace
she waits for gorillas to thrill her,
to **** her with flattery.

I **** her with words that are thrown at me
from the chimp on the top of
the puzzle tree.

It's always the poor folk who get dropped in it,init? and ain't that the truth,isit?It's
no wonder this country is lagging behind when all that you find are the youth who put more than the truth in the words that they use to confuse,like,
I was like init,wasit,yeah and she said,'get you, king for a day',d'ya get what I mean,d'ya see what I say and that's the problem with the country today,no one can understand the native language of this land.
I blame the teachers,the parents,street preachers,Tesco,Unesco,the allied mills,electronic tills and mostly these little blue pills which make me drawl and crawl across the unlined sheet until I meet the pen that meets my hand and makes me write about the language of the land.
Banned it should all be banned and we should speak in picture frames with names wrote out in jig sawed games and the youth should be seen but never heard,an absurd idea,another flawed plan for the youth will grow into the woman or man that we are,
never far from the truth are the youth of today,we should stop for a while and hear what they say,
but we won't and we don't because the truth's too close to home,so we'll gripe and we'll moan and understand even less,
c'mon fess up
you know that I'm right.

Cap guns on the stair
fighting monsters everywhere,
undefeated
caps depleted
johnny goes to bed.

Later on
the monsters gone
and johnny got all grown
but the poor boy should have known
the monsters
always
return.

There's still a hint of menace in the air from the
tapas bars that seem to spring up everywhere and
on
Electric Avenue,
there's few would argue 'bout that.

The night not flat but straight line curved, and keep your eyes peeled,hyenas prowl,stiletto heeled,
Coldharbour harbours much.

A touch of music and my eyes slant,
might catch a glimpse of Eddy Grant,
Once,
the new messiah with tunes to set the world on fire.

Mo's the man to go and see
(what you mean the guy with the Masters degree?)
that's the dude,
can chew up words and swallow them and yet the humblest of the humble men,
find him down
the Brixton Soup Kitchen
no whining,*******' ,
just getting on with it,in the thick of it
serving to his brothers,sons and fathers,mothers, sustenance,initiative indeed to live and give and love and feed.

You may think you've seen it all
but
you ain't seen nothing yet
not until
you get down Brixton way
see what the guys there do and say.
pure gold.

I jammed on my sneakers
took my walkman and speakers.
The forged American Express,Link and Barclaybank card
I had decided to leave in my yard.
I had to dash.

So I pocketed the ready cash
and scrammed up the lane.
I wasn't hanging about for the police.
I would have to explain
Why several large cases and antique
Chinese vases were tucked up in the attic.

Never static that's me
there is always another spree to go on.

Around about noon which seemed to come very soon
I was down on the coast looking for a mark
who would be marked before dark.
But the sirens waylaid me
the policemen had played me for a fool.
Being 'old school'
I bluffed it for a while
until the day of the trial when all was laid bare.

The judge(an old ****) played his part very well
Take the prisoner to the cell
I've given the wretch a twenty year stretch.

Now I sit and I stare at the bars and the wall
The call of the wild and the reckless behind me
Unbroken
Not free.
I look around me to see
a way out.

Permission to enter inside
is denied.

We're ******* on stones to get water to live
no one
wants to give us a break so we take.

The council estate.

These palaces built to house Kings have become the
playground of criminals among other things,
things occur.

Where were the planners and was this all planned, did they build these prisons to house all the ******?
I'm ****** if I know and will be ****** if I do.

Way out to the East.

Old Street became the new street when the new kids came to town, buildings surfaced like great white sharks, eating history,
making pock marks, but no green parks.
The starkness sets a nice trend,
we spend a fortune on lucky trinkets and
the Sun sets on
London town.

It was a night unlike the nights before and longer if that can be true of any night where Angels flew with witches.
Do you think, that night was flat?
I ironed out the early evening late day sun unaware of events to come and sallied as I usually did,with hooded eyes to see surprising things occur.
In Hoxton Square and City Road where the dying light unloads its feeble rays,where days of top hat and tails once sailed into the West.
End is always best much better than the starting out.

A shout cuffs in on the Northerly breezing sleeve of winds that never leave this soul..

Buy me gas for a lighter head..words said,spoken from those tortured lips where sadness slips upon the oily streets.
Young girl sleeping in the rain..soaking up more pain on which no passing eyes will glance.
No measure there,no chancing of a lady fate to close that wound..without a sound or with no sound to hear..her eyes quite clear in the evening air,laying there for all the world to see and yet unseen.

Another queen of broken promises of beaten faces,broken heart the endings are maybe not as good as when we start.
Another night unlike and yet the same for some who sway with dreams upon the warming sun that they once knew.
Another do or die another sadness yet to lie..yet and die.
I cry myself to sleep.

Those corners that you turned did not learn you anything at all,
the walls that got bust through,did not open up a whole new world for you,they just created lots of rubble.
It was just another bubble burst,an unquenched thirst and you were left there high and dry.
Have you ever wondered why,the door was always shut,
or the hinges on the garden gate always seemed to make you cringe at night and keep you wide awake?
Was it that you feared the knock
did you hide underneath the bed, because the monsters there were something that you'd rather bear, instead of something that you did not know?
and did you never want to go out and explore or understand those new ideas,or were your fears the boundary fence you would not go beyond to seek,nor speak to passing strangers aware that dangers lurk in buttoned greatcoats and in flowing sleeves?

Life and the struggle to keep alive and why strive at all to stay in darkness,never knowing or going beyond the limits set by limited imaginations which were not at all the creations we we were meant to be.

I see an empty space,a place prepared for those who dared and dare to venture forth to find,
an open mind,two opened eyes and therein lies that great surprise of finding things you never new
and never new you didn't know,
will you go with me to see the dawning of the day or will you stay and play hidey with the spiders and the scuttlebutt that freeze you to the floor behind the door that's always shut?

One more time,
will you come and watch the sunset,get a feeling of the vastness where the deserts here seem much less than the desert in your soul or are you trapped inside the wall where the bricks will never fall in place,where you wait when you can't find a face to face another day?

There is nothing out there to fear
the fear sits inside you
the fear is in here and here's
where your breath dies, out there
a universe of silicone housing a thought coagulates,
out there
a blinding Sun is born and a galaxy fries,
but here
where oxygenation starves us anyway
we should fear,
where the day is so short and the night
is so near
we should fear.

The unknown is behind the curtain
undraw your last breath and paint
on it a death and then pull the
curtain aside
step in here and tell me of fear
here
is where it's at.

That was back in the time when the clothes line cried with the weight of our young ways
and mother's busy washing days
that left us bright and clean
can't believe I was there and have been
many seasons since then.

Reasons I had for turning bad washed away
in mums washing day and on the line
drying out fine in the sun.

Son that I am and a man for all that
I go back to the garden where drip dry's are dripping
and Sarah's still skipping
where I strip off pretending yet
glad that the ending has come
Mum stands there gleaming bright
an advert for 'PERSIL' white
hands chapped but that's alright
she doesn't seem to mind.

And mindful of all this
I give mum a kiss and tell her I love her
and glad that she cared for me
when I had not dared to see
any tomorrow.
I borrow from time to time a bit out of history
where melancholy plays a much tighter tune
and soon
I'll be there where I should have been
in the washing so bright and clean
and this time I know that I mean
it.

These lines are ley lines,
magnetic
like land mines.

To find my way I
must follow the ley line
finding the right time on
which I have no lien.

An ocean of webs,
what fun
the tide ebbs to
uncover the shore and
more
ley lines.

How fluid the Druid who
seeps out of time
like a mercury trail on
the magnetic
ley line.

Split light.
In the silence of the night
her petals open,
leaving me
heaving
rasping
pleading
grasping.

I hear the door close
the scent of a rose
lingers
in the air
where
she once was.

Chicken in boxes and burgers in bars,on the streets and in cars,everyone eats as if it's their last ever meal.
Did you ever feel that the whole world's a mouth and we're all going South or just me?
I see take aways being taken and salt being shaken on chips and on cod and I do think it odd that no one is satisfied with stone baked,grilled or deep fat fried and I've tried to resist the nice crisp of a pizza as sold in the hut but I'm just a man.
I can no more remain stoic, and I'm not that heroic that I would starve before eating,the fact is food's beating me down.

I could go into town and come back weighted down with bags full of haddock and tatties,sporadically I get these mad urges to merge into mutton become a glutton for punishment.
A lamb's not what I am
I am a man and can resist,deep crispy pancakes and sweet toasted lakes of fresh maple syrup,
but the indent is there and it's food that I care for,I swear I would die for and it's there,why should I wait for a blessing from you.
Come on and join in,come and give it a spin let's pig out together,whether you like it or not,it's food that is hot and it's fashion today,
so what do you say to a pie?

To the end of the fields where they meet the sun
and the blood runs up to the sky
where the youth of our nations fell in death,
100 years on
we're still wondering why.

I had to go
I knew I had to know,
so I rowed against prevaiing winds
and in the burning desert sands,  I scorched my feet and hands,
but what was it
I had to know, and was it that, I got?
I forget.

I was falling into that higher place
and so I stood and tore the net curtains aside.
and inside
I swear
I saw upon a stair,
nowhere and nothing and everywhere and everything standing still and there I was
but where was I?
inside the iris of my third eye
but I forgot it, can't remember anymore about the stairs behind the door that looks into the other place where lace curtains can be torn aside and mortal men can look inside,but they'll forget it too,these visions are not for me or you,the children of the soil,they'd only spoil our dreams at night,when we can dream of second sight that few of us will ever know
I had to go
I knew
then what did I do?
I forgot it all.

The sky rising up from the sea
something in me?

Each man sets his own horizon
which lies on
the
broadsword of the uncut
umbilical.

As much as I see
I see virtual reality
and a veil drawing
over the day.

Voices of reason chattering away
scattering the clouds that
lay over the bay and
spoiling the view, but
you are the muse where
the words from a heart and
the thoughts in a head
come together and
fuse.

The cat
(if there was one)
has gone
the bell tinkles on.

The fine line,
the first line of defence
was,
(when I was a boy)
the old garden fence where
words were batted like
ping pong *****.

Old fences fall and
innovation calls,
the mobile phone
the mobile office
the mobile home
and we're all immobilised
looking surprised.

The sea remains
stains on the bedsheets
***** plates in the sink
washing in the basket
I think
I must make
a move.

Make mine a Bernstein
a double,
Arias for chasers
stir with a lyre
and violins to .
pace out the night.

They painted it
battleship grey
and
sent it to
war.

I am swept up on the ocean of your love, and my devotion to you knows no bounds
my heart pounds as waves uncover me and you lay lightly on my sea,I think that we will always be,
always.
We may age
mellowing upon the page we write,
we may fight
make up and kiss,
this
perhaps is destiny and we
destined to be
in love forever on our sea.

I see
how good that this life is to me,and
forgetting thoughts of misery
I settle in to stay.

Today,tomorrow,yesterday?
it doesn't matter anyway
I found that part which I will play,and
settle in to stay.

She love me whether I've got or not,to
me that is an awful lot.
It gives me one more extra shot,and
I settle in to stay.

It's one eighty on the speedo,
I can almost touch Toledo
and the train is melting steel.
I feel
alive.

The face of a child where emotion runs free and is wild,
where faith is the face that it knows,
In the Mother,
light glows and the sleeping child knows, he
is safe.

He who laughs last
has only
just got the joke.

I wanna​ read a good book with a happy ending and that means me
spending some time in a chair, on the bottom stair, under the duvet or in the park where the local kids play.

So I search out a story about happiness, but the librarian a giantess who towers​ over me won't let me see the adult section,
'happiness is in children's​ books' and
with the way that she looks
I can quite believe her.

If only I could capture calligraphy and
make it a part of me to
write it as literature,
I can just picture it
a bit of
happiness
in
copperplate.

Anemone
intrepid explorer
of the open
sea.
I want to be an
intrepid
anemone.

Doubting Thomas
your eyes are upon us,
we can see your shame.

And Judas Iscariot
who lived it
and carried it,
no one to blame
but himself.

It's now again
as opposed to
then again
but then again
it's always now
and when
you least expect.

They huddle together
those clouds of a
feather,
familiar and content.

I've been awake
and been asleep
living in suitcases in
which I keep
deep thoughts.

and when it's then
or just now and again
I pick up a pen
and write.

Take a look,
there is no shelter at this inn
we're all booked up,
so take your donkey and
'sling yer hook'

Having a baby and nowhere to stay..doh..should have reserved a bit earlier in the day,a bit late now you're having a baby and,
anyhow
who's the dad?

Then three old goats with long flowing coats who had checked it all out on tripfinder,couldn't find yer,so the gifts,one was scent,a towel set,a tent were then left in the cleft of the stick which Jesus walked with and boy was he sick,he called at the inn and found nobody there,no babies in cribs,no nappies or bibs,but he did find the cowshit which stuck just a bit to the soles of his sandals.

Waterloo.

So the nativity took place in left luggage,a case for a cot and a hot cup of tea though Mary preferred de-caff coffee,'it's free', said the clerk and he went back to work and the three men were none the wiser.

I tighten my belt,
thinner now.

The stream flies past me and will outlast me which is a random gurgling somewhere inside me.

There are too many instances of instant gratification and very few of self and self realisation,
in contemplation I reflect only consternation,
a satellite bereft of a constellation.

rock back and forth wearing a groove in the floor
life should be more.

Happiness is he that knows she loves him.

somewhere a unicorn
and somewhere a page is torn
from the book of magic.

She handles me quite dandily
and if I may say,
that comes in very handily.
I dress in elegance supreme
so I can bow
before my Queen and she seems
very pleased.

(20 minute poetry)

Late,
altering my gait to
be even later.

it's a slow day
Friday
even slower
the slower I go

but what do I know?
the world has sped up
and I'm really fed up

taking it down one more gear.

I'll be here
this time next year,

when everything else has
moved on.

I saw that when the morning came
the light was chequered like a game we play
and dealt itself a winning hand
within the dealing of its day.
Although the lick of dawn was dry
against my skin
I then knew why
the ocean leaned up to the sky
and why the Albatross would cry
when wandering and
shy was the Man who saw the nakedness of nature in the raw.
Before the sunshine grabbed my coat
undressed me in its heat
I wrote
several melodies and upon each note
I placed a bloom,
a rose, and soon when in the final hours
when petal showered down and made the music sad
the stripes of candy bumble bees
came singing as if just trying to please
and me,
I was on my knees picking up the dead and dying
crying out to God
'tell me why'
and as if in answer
the ocean kissed the sky
the heavens fell and suddenly it seems that all is well
and circles, cycles, riding through and round the avenues
of when I'm blue
return and when in this roundhouse
tolling bells
or in the chapel house declining invitations to accept the rules of hell
I think that I may understand
or maybe I don't see at all and all I do is fall into the trap
where I keep on falling back
and the ocean's just a sack of..
well it doesn't seem to bother some
who sit and watch the Sun at play
some days it really is not my day
however much I try
I should just accept the medications
sit back in my corner
and begin to cry.

Somewhere in the background in the light waves that swallow all sound there's a girl with a tambourine,
she lives in another dream where the music's written on the screen, the notes remind her that's she's single and behind her is the orchestra playing Schopenhauer
albeit silently,
the aesthetics pleasing me, the silence teasing me, she asks me out to tea and I agree.

In the background where the foreground falls away into the light waves that swallow all sound, she plays her tambourine and we start another dream,
silently at first until we thirst for more than this.