Sears and Roebuck
dreams 
for less than
a sawbuck
pictured on every page.

Wait fer the stage honey
before you parts with your
money 
honey,

Then we sailed down 
the 'ssippi 
to Orleans 
met a Southern belle
name of Dolores
played poker 
drank mash 
'til we ran out of cash
and took Shanks's pony
back home.

The mortgage fell due 
on the ranch house and
spread,
the cattle was out on the range 
with old Red,
most of my kinfolk was a prayin 
in town
thinking that Jesus would look kindly 
down on them 
misguided men for the most part 
hearts in the right place,
but iffen your face
don't happen to fit
Ya gets your 
*** out of here or be quick on the draw card and quit.

it's life, but
hard as ****
made easier no doubt
by
Sears and Roebuck.

We need a bit of magicry to cut
through all the tragedy,
a wizards wand to cast a spell and
a potion that would make us well.

The devil sits behinds the eyes,
manipulates the tongue that lies.

The brush does not tar all the same,
though some would rush to place
the blame,upon
the innocent by any name.

I have if wished, the right to pray,
democracy gives me the right to say,
with free will
God gives me this day and God by
whatever name he's known
does not condone
killing.

We take them for bandits and
not
Comancheros,
but who knows the
truth of them,
who's there when night falls
to pick up the pieces?

Hand out and hang out with
the drop outs and
layabouts
and tell me what's wrong
with the picture you're in.

I've been there in the round square
when the world looks lopsided
and topsy turvy becomes the
new inn,
where I've dropped in for a
quick one and stayed there 'til
the bell rung
and crawled through the streets to
get home.

And home is where a part of me
sees the other side which
is a blasphemy
and God help the traders
who are struggling to live.

If I give it's for love and not
for some great reward from
a God up above,
but
I suspect
that they may be the same.

Up early with the spyglass
on the hill to
see the ships pass.
The sun beams on me
I sparkle
like the blue sea.

I love it here on the hill
where everything
looks clear and yet
still
think
there's something missing.

Surprised that you've still got nerves that some people get on?

Offended is so easy and you pretend to be to please me because you know I love a fight.
When you're locked down and in and they won't let you play out
and the time's getting on and you're getting old, no money for the meter and the water is so cold,

remember
one day
it'll be over
one day
it'll be done.

Jonah
sliced through the waves
alas,
no mermaids
just the belly of a whale for him.

Times being grim
I think we're all a bit
of him,
sometimes.

I could have been a Maoist,
a Taoist, a cavalier, a buccaneer,
an egotist, a demagogue an atheist
or a communist.
I opted to be a ventriloquist
a chance or choice to have
more than one voice.

The world is at your fingertips
and you're just having
a scratch.

Looking back on easy is not so hard when things get tough,

that shuffle thing I do when largactil's running through me and
I'm not so sure I am me is okay,

The cotton wool that fills my brain becomes the wadding to ease my pain and whatever pill comes next is not that bad.

Side effects affect all sides unless you're playing solo and you're thinking what's this all about when nothing is about you.

Battery driven is okay too
unless you feel run down and
find the battery is in fact, you.

(20 minute poetry)

Fortune
plays a strange tune
on a strangers bed
in a strangers room.


I bleed a dime every
cent she takes
and
she takes me every time.

At the crossing point
where all life intersects
and lines of reference
blur
she is there
awaiting
my return.

Disenfranchisement and fear,
but
it's a happy new year until you wake
on the first with a thirst you can't
slake and a banging in your head
which could be the old year that is
dead, but won't die.

Should not have gone boozin'
you should have stayed in
and counted
what blessings you had,
but you did and got drunk
fell into the trap
of the rose-tinted glasses that
obscure all the crap.

There used to be fairies at the bottom of the garden until they sold off the plot to allow for the by-pass, alas fairies no more,
they flew off to Zanzibar or maybe to Ecuador, there's no more magic left in the ***, the warring political parties have taken the lot.

I worked new years eve and can hardly believe
that I'm bright-eyed and bushy-tailed almost as if
I was on the last ship that sailed from the last year
that failed all the tests.

If this was a film we'd re-shoot it
if it was a computer we'd reboot it,
a point of order and we'd moot it
but it's not and we have to
get on with it,

there are no refunds
actually, there are no funds at all,
and for that
look to those in and about Whitehall,
yeah
that lot who swig Moet and scoff
potted caviar at the Freeloaders arms
also known as the
Strangers Bar
and that lot are definitely strange.

We try to spin things out
but things have already been spun,
we compete in this three-legged race
and the ****** thing has already been won.

I'd go fishing if she'd let me off the lead
take a book to read and while I go to seed
think of better days.

Sent out
lent out
bent out of shape
once in the trap and
there'll be no escape.

Pared to the bone
parted from family
from friends
from the home
all alone
in the trap
life
is
crap
for the few who
don't get what to do.

Run.

There is a key to open up and look inside of me
and see the river flowing
the mountain growing
the seeds I'm sowing,
unlocked I'll be
a symphony you hear just use the key,step inside be near me let's be free, together we can sing in harmony,
two voices singing from the same song sheet, you just can't beat it,so use the key to open up and then we'll both be free,
our ship that sails upon the sea,the mountain growing within you and me and all you've got to do
is use the key.

When the universe is disconnected
who are you going to call,

ITV, the BBC?
don't say Ghostbusters
they're all toast buster.

God's on freephone
someone's on the iPhone
I'm on my phone
with no signal to be found.

hearing that song,
'..going underground..'
thinking
it's a good idea.

You can all taste the waste,
but you keep on wasting
because you're hooked on
the tasting,

****** addicts everywhere
and I should know.

Now,
if I really knew the answer why,
I'd patent it,
appear in Fortune 500
buy a Lear jet and
******* out of here.

Really?
no not really,
but I'm sure that
she would steal me
away.

I like the concept of,
'accept the things and then rearrange'
it makes change more bearable.

The lies and spin
begin,
the no-win
and
dead is dead by any name,

who shot down the plane?

How easy to pick a slick,
oily and brown
and as I fall down the face that I see
is me looking at me
falling up.

And so what side am I on?
the slippery ***** of hope
against hope,
I hope so.

But the faces pass,
like
ships in the night,
no recognition signals,
no semaphore, one on
the way up and one
heading to the floor.

When I pick a slick
I'm slick,
I look for the one with
the rainbows on
and though I still fall up,
fall down,
the colours I see
remind me
that all is not what
it could be,
it could be
oily brown.

Some are still washed up
some have dried out,
some are still on the happy juice
Some have sadly died out

I place no blame
no one to shame
it is as it has always been.

It could be better,
of this I am sure,
we could educate the rich
to help out the poor

don't let them **** you
with food banks
or food stamps
which are
aimed at
keeping you down.

Ring a ring a roses
******* up your noses
atishoo
atishoo
the septum breaks down.

dedicated to all those hard working city boys.

Those that smoke dope,
shove coke up their nose,
the crack heads
the smack heads,
the dreams of a horse, Ketamin of course
the acid droppers,
speed freaks,
amphetamine fuelled droolers,
the tin foil sniffers,
black bombers and eggs and all of it begs for attention,
not to mention,
poppers and
the coppers, who'll pick you,
the dogs that will sniff you out of the crowd,
the loud ones.the proud ones,
the dealers and stealers,
they'll nick you and stick you
behind cast iron bars.

No more twenty pound deals
no more chillin' in wheels
no more girls on your arm,just
the sensuous balm of
**** pots and stale air
and care worn faces.

It's
no place to be and
jail's not for me.

This lunatic nation bent
on self medication is slowly
shifting its feet,
When the comatose know
there's no where else they can go
they wake.

Two diamonds watch from diamond tents the diamonds on a diamond fence
sunlight plays some tricks on me when diamonds in your eyes I see.

Jewels,
rubies?, but she's Sapphire blue
pearls?, but she's a diamond too

the music box with ballerina
shakes my world for I have seen her
in my waking dream.

Hi tech at breakneck, but
we all sweat the small stuff.

I've met enough in my time to fill up a book and on each page a rhyme.

But at the last of us
we'll all be back to
the abacus.

Who needs computers that shoot us so full of **** and bits that can byte us and who's always right?
us?

Thing is,
the screen sits like Jesus,
on the table it reads us,
promoting agendas and that's
what the end is.

Formula one
Algorithmic and intense it
kicks all the sense from us
and ladles in tables and ****
sites and my nights are far
from dull.

I understand the pull of it
Google and broadband sit within
spitting distance of God and it's odd
don't you think that each time you blink a light goes off down the Amazon.

( that takes a bit of imagination, but Firefox being in on the creation makes it sound good)

Jerusalem.

Bring me my beads and frames made from wire
bring me connections for the pyre
'cause in the end. all it will be
is the abacus and me.

She short-circuited me
quite casually,

I
though she'd blown
all my fuses
by
bruising my ego,
how was I know
that this was only the
beginning
and
lights out
hadn't even been
mentioned.

She rocks in combination lock
Her mind knocked out of gear
And nothing ever touches her
Because no one gets that near.

Her thoughts are in there,somewhere deep within the sleeping of her fortress keep,and only she, has the coded key.

I let the ancients decide for it's them who ride roughly on the cobbled streets where my life is at bay.
As they fly through the night with the reins of my day held tight in their hands,they grandstand to me
as if I want to see what is slipping away.
Let them have today for tomorrow is mine and time in small doses is all I can take,I shall wager a stake on the pinwheel of fortune that soon they'll be gone,washed up as sand on some far distant beach,within reach of the sea but far removed from me,
I let the ancients decide,they reside in us all and the call of the wild will always remain on the lips of this child,
so let them ride rough,I am strong and am tough,I can roll with the punches and knocks,watching clocks as they tick and knowing tomorrow will lick me
into shape.

Impossibility?
I don't think so,
I can slow you down
to the nth degree
take you speeding through
the universe,
stop a taxi in the park.

I can tiptoe on a snowflake,
I can take you down and
let you see heartbreak.
Impossibility?
I don't think so,
let's go together
you and I.

The slow undress
the slight caress
the way that I
mess with my girl,
she
understands me and
believes I can be
better.

Ideally
she'd steal me
away,

weather permitting
I'd stage a sit-in
her heart.

just romanticising.

Monday's okay in a mundane kind of way,
it's just a cross we all have to bear,
some bear it gladly,the crazy and sadly I have to say,
that I'm one of them,
one of the
'I just love Monday men' and why 'sadly?' I'm happily madly in love with a Monday,just one way to show my affection for this wonderful creation, Sunday's salvation,perfection in twenty four hours and
in twenty four hours it's gone
I can taste on the tip of my tongue the last of the day,nothing can match its sweet flavour,I savour it well,the rest of the week is just one living hell.
I wait until Sunday,excited that Monday is on the horizon and then I wake from the nightmare,it's Saturday morning the weekend is just opening its big mouth and yawning and Monday is not even a thought.

Travelling in,
this city life's wearing thin while the fat cats are just getting fatter,
it never matters to me that the city don't see the time that it takes me to come or to go.

This city makes me slow and there are things that move past me which I don't want to know and if I did would it rid me of avarice and greed, would it be a panacea, could it make me feel freer in body or mind?

I am inside a prism and the city is my prison with flashing lights, blinding nights and I'm tired of these sights I have seen.

I'm going home now in the somehow and sometime in the future I might look back with some kindness on the flash of lights and the blindness, but
not tonight.

They rise as if in glory but there's no praises to a god in this,
this is the kiss off big goodbye to the peasants as they touch the sky and a pauper stands in awe at what he saw,
a million metric tonnes of concrete, chewing on his gums he thinks,
I'd like to meet the architect.

Some paupers are much more than all the rags they ever owned or wore and carrier bags they swore allegiance to, an oath on his lips as the ghost of him slips into awareness.

The blocks that block his way also block the light of day and nothing lives for very long, the weak die off, the strong lie low and the harsh winds of a harsher winter blow.

Up far above him to where a kind of gods love is owned by the few and the higher it goes although the winter wind blows they sway to a dance sound that only they hear and like scorpions in season it's the stings that I fear.


But when these blocks that are buildings are locked up they're filled in with more fear than I can imagine or could comprehend  if the means are a justification of the heights that men will go
who makes the loading that loads the loaded dice?
it would be nice to know.

She
lifts me
with a note or
a key,
we are the symphony
she plays.

I sail close to the wind
she
sails closer to me.

Give me the swing vote
bring out your dead.

I note with alarm
a severe lack of charm and
charisma has taken a back seat

but someone'll win
someone'll get beat
someone will sit on the
number one seat

I'm having breakfast and it
don't bother me.

In the long years
when the sun seared you
and the wind chilled,
and the lack
filled the days,
when you were throw-away,
and time played its tricks on you
when everything you tried to do
turned its back on you,
and you knew in the depths of what you were,
there stood a different view
of a man you once new
in the long years.

And  time flew through the windows,
where opportunity once grew,
in the fields,
where you once played,
now
playing tricks
on you.

In the long years
where one fears to go
where they know you and
the things you do
and the wind chills
'til it fills the void,
where you once stood
and the Sun sears
burning fears instead
of stars.

Pretend me a pen and let
me know when I can write,
pretend me a day
pretend me a night
pretend me the vision to write.

'one two buckle my shoe'
or will you do
it for me?

She says,
'that the boy is a man'
I can
do that too,
'one two buckle my shoe'
or will you?

Pretend me pretending that
this life's never ending
that the
light never fades me away,
pretending the night is the day.

Pretend me the pen
let me write it down
then
we can play.

In that moment
waking
when the dreams we had
subside
and
the only thing remembered
is that something in us
died,
when we shake our heads to
clear our eyes,
but can't unhear those
plaintive cries.

In that moment waking
do you feel that your
heart's breaking
too?

It is quite disconcerting to find I'm just
a speck of dirt in
the vast seas of the sky.
I have often dislodged such a speck from my eye,then
wiped my finger on a tissue,
the issue being,
did somebody die when I did that?

If we are just dust in an ocean of dust,sometimes
busting out of the sea for just one look at who
we really are,
what is the point of it all?

We mate,dissipate,gather together,amalgamate
but
I ask myself, why?
and in doing so,
I drown in the vastness of the seas
in the sky.

I am being whipped into shape
by the side
of the altar and fate
is the mistress
that handles the tawse,
of course, she had to be,
only she knew the answers,
not I.

Platform four,
what am I waiting for?
one leap into space
and I press my hands to my face, only
to find I cannot go through with it,
another venue
another place,
one more track as if to say,
I'll try again.

If not now, then when?
maybe
platform three will do
another trackside
one more venue.

I take the sidelong view and I wonder,
who are you?
one eye on the steel
the other closed as if not to feel, as if
one eye looking is not real.

Each train I see comes slowly as if it knows me  as if it knows the form I take and on platform three, I am curiously
torn.
I break.
Each thought hits home and home is empty,
there's only me on platform three,
what am I waiting for?

Omissions we make take us somewhere
but where that could be
I've no
clue,
I lose all momentum when friends come to stay
and the talk turns to
what shall we do
tomorrow.

Like
decaying uranium we linger, the fingers of time are our fate,
the half-lives of sinners are longer and get longer the longer they play on my nerves,
inner sanctums are no more a sanctuary
the walls I concreted broke down,
the lions may roar a denial, but something's
going on in the town,
ships sailing at dawn for the Islands
on missions to take them away,
only here for a day gone in sorrow,
in tears on the quayside
I see my
tomorrow.

The future is closer this evening
the day drifts off into the past,
uncertainty is the new reason
I'm glad that's
decided, at
last when the bell starts its long climb
before it falls back down
and chimes
I climbed that tall mountain
so often
and fallen back down
many times.

On the knocks.
I take them
slowly,
on the rocks
drink them swiftly,
let them trickle
away.

Like taking a bite from the night
and tasting each day
like it might be
some
poisoned apple,
grappling with this, who'd
want to kiss
a witch?
who might be
the tree from which
all things will spring.

On the knocks or on the rocks,
over easy
just to please me.

Feeding the ego,
a tiger on nitro' or
a bird in
the hedgerow?

Einstein hands me a relative,
a way to forget the negative.
I give him a big hand for that.

Catching bubbles which bubble within me,
to burst on the walls of adversity
where heat rises as
if this life's a chimney
and I am the one
being smoked.

The deep end is there just to tease me
to pleasure and please me
I always jump in.

Who wants to swim when to drown is more fun?